"No, thank you!" said Lady Grosville, hastily. And she rustled away followed by her daughters.
Kitty came flying into the inner room followed by Cliffe.
"What have I done?" she said, breathlessly, addressing Harman, who rose to greet her. "Mayn't one play the piano here on Sundays?"
"That depends," said Harman, "on what you play."
"Who made your English Sunday?" said Kitty, impetuously. "Je vous demande—who?"
She threw her challenge to all the winds of heaven—standing tiptoe, her hands poised on the back of a chair, the smallest and most delicate of furies.
"A breath unmakes it, as a breath has made," said Cliffe. "Come and play billiards, Lady Kitty. You said just now you played."
"Billiards!" said Harman, throwing up his hands. "On Sunday—here?"
"Can they hear the balls?" said Kitty, eagerly, with a gesture towards the library.
Mary Lyster, who had been perfunctorily looking at a book, laid it down.