“Are you?” Charlot repeated. “Not too much of a hurry, I hope, Gabriel. We never see anything of you.”
“You never come to Deepacres when we ask you, Imogen.”
“I know. We’d adore to come, especially the children, but you know it’s so frightfully expensive to travel, even in England. You see we can’t all get into one car—”
“The fare, third-class return, is within the reach of most people.”
“ Miles beyond us, I’m afraid,” said Charlot with a charming air of ruefulness. “We’re cutting down everything. We never budge from where we are.”
Lord Wutherwood turned to Henry.
“Enjoy your trip to the Cote d’Azur?” he asked. “Saw your photograph in one of these papers. In my day we didn’t strip ourselves naked and wallow in front of press photographers but I suppose you like that sort of thing.”
“Enormously, sir,” said Henry coldly.
There was a slight pause. Roberta felt uncomfortably that Charlot’s plan should be amended and that they should leave the field to Lord Charles. She wondered if she herself should slip out of the room. Her thoughts must have appeared in her face for Henry caught her eye, smiled, and shook his head. The Wutherwoods were now seated side-by-side on the sofa. Baskett came in with the sherry.
“Ah, sherry,” said Lord Charles. Henry began to pour it out. Charlot made desperate efforts with her brother-in-law. Lady Katherine leant forward in her chair and addressed Lady Wutherwood.