Let me relate the story as it sounded to my ears from the drawing-room. It is a source of regret to me that I cannot be present at meals, for the bicycle-room is not large enough to hold both the dining-table and my Ilkley couch. Still, with both doors set wide apart I can hear most of what is going on.
Peter's voice carried better than Amelia's; he is used to drilling. Mother's sounded like punctuation marks—notes of exclamation and interrogation, gentle little apostrophes, and full stops. But Peter was not to be stopped. This is how he began to annoy Amelia:—
THIS IS HOW HE BEGAN
"What's this?" A stab of a fork.
"Don't you know, sir?"
"No, I don't."
"Not seen lamb before?"
"Do you call this burnt cinder lamb?"