Sir Peter stopped his song abruptly, with a penitent, "Gobblessmysoul! I beg your pardon!"
Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn felt he had been out of the conversation long enough. He turned condescendingly to Basil. "Are we not to see the Misses Pennymint to-day?"
"They are very busy," replied the young violinist.
Mrs. Poskett saw her opportunity. "I saw Miss Ruth sewing at a ball-dress," she said; and then added with a meaning look at Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn, "I wonder which of them is going to a ball?"
Basil knew from experience what was coming. Mrs. Poskett continued, "I've seen them making wedding-dresses, and even," with pretty confusion, "even christening robes."
Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn turned to her with an outraged expression: "I trust you do not insinuate Pomander Walk harbours mantua-makers?"
"It harbours a poor, hunchback fiddler," remarked Basil, very quietly.
Sir Peter was getting red in the face. "The Misses Pennymint are estimable ladies, and we are fortunate to have them among us. Frequently when I have my periodical headaches—"
"Hum," said Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn.
"The result, sir, of voyages in unhealthy regions!—they have sent me their home-made lavender water. When you had your last fit of asthma, Mrs. Poskett, did n't they come and sit with you and give you treacle-posset? And when Mrs. Brooke-Hoskyn presented you with your fourth daughter, whose calves-foot jelly comforted her? We have nothing to do with their means of livelihood; we are, I am happy to say, like one family. What, Brooke?"