“I’ve lost the pot,” said Mike. Henry turned on his heel and came back into the hall. He picked up rugs and hats and slung them indiscriminately into the cupboard.
“That was a howling success, wasn’t it?” said Frid. “Did either of them so much as glance at us, do you happen to know?”
“They’ve got the manners of hogs,” said Patch violently.
“Uncle Gabriel,” muttered Stephen slowly, “is without doubt an old—”
“Shut up,” said Colin.
“Well, isn’t he?”
“I hope Mummy’s pleased,” said Henry. “She’s seen us make as big fools of ourselves as can reasonably be expected in one afternoon.”
“It’s not Mummy’s fault,” murmured Colin uncomfortably.
Mike came in looking scared. “I can’t find the pot I’ve got to give Uncle Gabriel,” he said. His brothers and sisters paid no attention; Roberta hunted helplessly round the littered hall. Mike, looking anxious, wandered into the drawing-room.
“Shut that d-door,” said Stephen.