"Oh no," said Elizabeth, vainly trying to smooth her rumpled hair. "Get up, boys, and let Mr. Townshend near the fire; and we'll get some fresh tea."
"Please don't. I lunched very late. I suppose one of these young men is Buff?"
Ellen, meanwhile, had drawn the curtains and lighted the gas, and the company regarded one another.
"A monocle!" said Elizabeth to herself, feeling her worst fears were being realised, "and beautifully creased trousers." (Had Ellen remembered to light his bedroom fire?) But, certainly, she had to admit to herself a few minutes later, he knew how to make friends with children. He had got out his notebook and was drawing them a battleship, as absorbed in his work as the boys, who leaned on him, breathing heavily down his neck and watching intently.
"A modern battleship's an ugly thing," he said as he worked.
"Yes," Billy agreed, "that's an ugly thing you're making. I thought a battleship had lovely masts, and lots of little windows, and was all curly."
"He's thinking," said Thomas, "of pictures of ships in poetry-books."
"I know," said Arthur Townshend. "Ballad ships that sailed to Norroway ower the faem. This is our poor modern substitute."
"Now a submarine," Buff begged.
Arthur Townshend drew a periscope, and remarked that of course the rest of the submarine was under water.