She made no answer, but went on fidgeting the teacup. The entry of butler and footman with supplies did not move her.
Young Lord Gunner stood to his muffin, and confidently explained:
“It’s my fault, you must know. I was diving after half-crowns—and getting ’em, too.”
“He was though,” said Mr. Chaveney from his chair. “I ought to know. They were my half-crowns.”
“Well then, of course, I had to change. I’m not a mermaid, as it happens.”
“Not yet, my boy,” said the loser of half-crowns.
“So I sent a chap up for my chap with some things, and changed in the châlet. That’s why we’re late, if you must know.”
Miss de Speyne was pouring out tea. “I see. And the others reckoned up their losses——”
“Words to that effect,” said Mr. Chaveney.
Lord Gunner put down his cup. “Don’t know what they did. But I’ve brought them safe to port. Wilbraham, I’ll play you squash rackets before dinner. It’ll do you good. You’re overdoing it, you know, and you’re not used to it. You’ll get a hemorrhage or a nervous breakdown, and we shall have to give you a rest-cure. Chaveney shall score.”