“I rather think I’ll have plenty of visitors today—though it isn’t my day,” Lady Snow returned. “It is in the Post, and it’s sure to be copied in the Evening Star, that Mr. Sên King-lo dined here last night.”
“Great Scott!” was her husband’s comment.
Ivy giggled.
“Yes,” Emma told her, “I did. Justine knows a reporter. I never have any difficulty getting my nice bits in.”
“I wouldn’t do that, dear,” Snow said uncomfortably.
“Of course you wouldn’t. You’re a man. I shall. I like them in. Marion Lawson will be green. He never dined there en famille.”
“You didn’t put that in!” her cousin cried. And Sir Charles looked distinctly disturbed.
“No,” Lady Snow owned. “But I shall tell Marion.”
“I’m sure you will,” Ivy laughed, and the man retired philosophically to his ice-pudding.
“You’d have looked nice if he hadn’t turned up after all,” the girl remarked.