“I hope you’ll do it nicely”—smiling.
“I shall hear of it from Uncle Philip if I don’t!”—grimly. “But you needn’t worry. I got all my best manners down from the top shelf this morning and gave ‘em a brush up.”
“Good boy.” Ann nodded approval.
“And by way of reward,” insinuated Tony, “you’ll come to the dance at the Gloria this evening, won’t you? I could come over and fetch you about ten o’clock, after this precious Venetian fête is over. I’d have liked to go on the lake, but Uncle Philip has ordained that we are to watch the proceedings from our balcony at the Gloria. After that, I should think ‘cousin’ will be sufficiently exhausted to contemplate the idea of retiring to bed like a Christian woman. She’s seventy-nine.”
“People fox-trot at seventy-nine nowadays,” suggested Ann mischievously. “Perhaps your duties won’t end at ten.” Then, seeing his face fall: “But I’ll come to the dance, if Lady Susan doesn’t happen to want me this evening.”
At that moment Lady Susan herself came into the room. She still limped a little, leaning on an ebony stick with a gold knob.
“Who’s taking my name in vain?” she asked, as she shook hands with Tony. “I’m sure to want you,” addressing Ann, “but I suppose I shall have to go without you if Tony wants you too.”
Ann explained about the dance, adding: “But of course I shan’t think of it if you’d rather I stayed at home.”
“Of course you will think of it,” contradicted Lady Susan with vigour. “I’d go myself if it wasn’t for this wretched ankle of mine, and then”—bubbling over—“Philip and I could tread a stately measure together. I can just see him doing it!” she added wickedly.
“That’s fixed, then,” said Tony. “So long. I’ll call for you about ten o’clock, Ann.”