"But," Miss Angela said by-and-by, seeking to quieten him, "I've forgotten to ask you how your father is. Better, I hope?"
"The pater? Oh, he's all right; it's only a bilious attack. Afraid he got poisoned with some foie gras he ate—jolly good tack I call it—I'll have some more, please. And what's that you've got to drink there, Evie?"
Evie poured him out some lemonade. He looked at it, but made no remark on it.
"Here's your foie gras—have some cress with it," said Miss Angela.
And so we fêted his lordship.
After supper there were nuts and almonds, which we ate sitting round the fire. I say "we," but Archie had what was left afterwards. With a "Half-a-mo," he had gone out, and I myself thought our party much pleasanter without him.
But as he remained away, Miss Angela had no choice but to say presently: "What can have become of our young man? I wonder if you'd mind fetching him, Mr Jeffries!"
I went, and found him.
He had picked up, on the stairs or in the hall, a Japanese with whom he had contracted some sort of acquaintance, and I heard his call as I passed the half-open door of the dining-room.
"Here—Jeff!" he called. "Hold on—I sha'n't be a minute—come and let me introduce you to Mr Shoto—Mr Shoto, Mr Jeffries."