At the lunch-table, Amaryllis looked round her, and felt the last of her troubles was over.
Randal showed, she thought, a face more serene and contented than she had ever before seen him wear.
During the earlier part of the meal the talk went to and fro over the track of what George rashly called the Amarylliad.
Randal told him the word was falsely constructed, Iliad, Odyssey and Aeneid being, he said, syncopated adjectival forms derived from their respective substantive stems.
"Ours," said George, "has been a rag-time Dunciad."
And when the coffee and George's elbows were on the table, and four of his irresistible cigars alight:
"And us," he said, "not to get one little puff out of it all!"
"Advertisement," said Randal, "is the false dawn of fame. You, Mr. Bruffin, do not, I believe, need it, and will certainly not get it out of the Dope Drama. Miss Caldegard and my brother, who are likely to get a great deal, will hate it."
Amaryllis flushed a little at the coupling of names, but faced it bravely.
Her father drew a crumpled newspaper from his pocket.