“We thought you were Uncle Gabriel,” shouted Mike.
“What, dear?”
“Uncle Gabriel.”
Lady Katherine passed a grey-fabric finger across her lips. “Is Gabriel coming, Charles?”
“Yes, Aunt Kit,” said Lord Charles. And as she merely gazed dimly at him he added loudly: “He’s coming to see me on business.”
“We’re going to have some charades,” bawled Mike.
“I’m very glad,” said Lady Katherine emphatically. “I wish to see Gabriel. I have written to him several times but no response did I get. It’s about our Fresh Air Fund. A day in the country for a hundred children and a fortnight in private homes for twenty sickly mites. I want Gabriel to take six.”
“Six sickly mites?” asked Henry.
“What, dear?”
“Do you want Uncle Gabriel to take six sickly mites at Deepacres?”