“Very nicely got up, isn’t it?” Philip next said, as he took up one of the volumes.
Opening it haphazard, he conned a page, while an amused smile played about his mouth.
Colonel Lane eyed him with marked disfavor.
“Got to run the gauntlet of reviewers yet, though,” Philip remarked.
“I am not afraid of reviewers,” blurted out Uncle Robert, who had succeeded in opening the bottle, and was filling the glasses. “I am not going to let the thought of a man in an iron mask spoil to-night’s pleasure. But the proverb says, ‘He who talks of happiness summons grief,’ so we will not talk of it. Drink to the success of ‘Wings and Winds!’”
Every glass was raised.
Mrs. Barrimore was standing by the Colonel, and when the toast had been drunk, she said to him: “Now you must have a meal, and you will stay here to-night, won’t you? Mrs. Ransom will not have made any preparations.”
“Of course he will stay!” exclaimed Uncle Robert. “We are going to make a night of it, eh, Lane?”
Philip went back to the smoking-room, the little volume in his hand, and after a moment Phyllis followed him.
“It’s awful rot, you know!” said Philip, indicating the book of verse.