“Very much,” said Captain Hatton with emphasis.
“I’ll fetch him,” she said, “but do sit down and be comfortable.” She went out and called, “Father! Father!” at the bottom of the stairs. “Father! Oh, drat him! I believe he is still in the bath.” Captain Hatton, erect on the hearthrug in front of the door she had left open, heard, and winced.
“Dick—y! Dick—y!” she called next.
“Oh, do come up, Chips, if you want anything,” he heard a small weary voice say upstairs. “Father is in the bath; he’ll be out directly.”
“Well tell him to hurry up; it’s Captain Hatton,” said Evangeline, and she plunged back into the dining-room.
“I am afraid my watch must be all wrong,” he said, as he glanced round the room in hope of moral support from an accusing clock. “I thought General Fulton said breakfast at half-past eight.”
“So it is,” said Evangeline. “It is only twenty minutes to nine now. Father won’t get up if he has an interesting post. What time do you get up?”
“Oh—er—a quarter to seven usually,” he replied.
“A quarter to——? Gracious! Do you mean in the very middle of a minute like that? It seems just as if you said ‘up goes the hand of my watch, down goes my leg on the floor.’ I couldn’t do that. I have to yawn a long time first and then get out by degrees till it gets too cold not to do something about it.”
There was silence. Evangeline felt depressed. All her gladness in the awakening spring had gone. “Would you like to look at the paper?” she asked with a sigh. He said, “Thank you,” but as he stretched out his hand to take it from her he saw that it was not Country Life, but a lady’s paper. Doll-like faces with no noses, shameless trousseaux, ridiculous young men in black, scent bottles and wigs met his eye on the open page.