“Ronnie!” said Lady Wisbeach. “If Ronnie’s fads were attended to we should know nobody except our own families. Come along!”
He reluctantly submitted, deriving courage as he went from the memories of Von Holstein’s chefs. Her aunts looked unutterable reproach at Carrie Wisbeach as she murmured the inarticulate formula which presented Mr. Gwyllian of Lostwithiel to Mrs. Massarene.
“Pretty sight, isn’t it?” he said, as he sank back on cushions beside her.
“A beautiful sight,” said Margaret, with unction, “and one as I never thought to see, sir.”
He stared and laughed.
“Unsophisticated soul!” he thought. “Why has cruel fate brought you amongst us? Tell me,” he murmured, “is it true that you have Von Holstein’s cook?”
If she had, he would wait and take her to the supper-tables; if she had not, he would at once leave her to her fate.
“Meaning the German Ambassador’s, sir?” she replied. “Yes, we have.”
“Ah!” He decided to take her to supper.
“But I can’t say as we like him.”