“Did I?” said Herbert. “Oh, well, er—one has to say these things, you know. Polite fictions, eh?”
He laughed nervously.
“The fact is, she has a little headache. Hasn’t she, mother?”
“Yes, dear,” said Mrs. Heywood. “You know best.”
Mrs. Atkinson Brown rose from her chair again.
“Oh, I will go and see how the poor dear feels. So bad of you to hide it from us.”
“Oh, please sit down,” said Herbert in a voice of anguish. “I assure you it is nothing very much. She will be in directly. Make yourself at home, Mrs. Hargreaves. This chair? Mother, show Mrs. Atkinson Brown Clare’s latest photograph.”
“Oh, yes!” said Mrs. Heywood. “It is an excellent likeness.”
“But I want to see Clare herself!” said Mrs. Atkinson Brown plaintively.
“Sit down, Beatrice!” said her husband.