Forrester, who was lifting the covers of the hot dishes on the sideboard, glanced round over his shoulder.
“At your service, most revered aunt. What particular job is it? Which will you have? Bacon and eggs, or fish?”
“Bacon. I want you to go over to Heronsmere, if you will, and bring back that pedigree pup Mr. Coventry promised me.”
Brett surveyed the privileged classes on the hearth-rug with a ruminative eye.
“Are you proposing to add yet another to your collection of dogs?” he inquired with some amusement. “You must pay over quite a young fortune to the Government every year in the shape of dog-licenses.”
Lady Susan smiled deprecatingly.
“Well, I really didn’t intend to add to their number just at present,” she admitted. “But I couldn’t resist a pup by Mr. Coventry’s pedigree fox-terrier. It’s a first-class strain, and he promised he’d pick me out a good puppy.”
“Then hadn’t you better wait till he comes hack to make the selection for you?”
“He is back.”
Brett, who was in the middle of helping the bacon and eggs, paused abruptly, and a delicately poached egg promptly slid off the spoon he was holding and plopped back upon the dish, disseminating a generous spray of fat.