His mother was alarmed by this sudden cry of dismay.
“Now what is the matter, dear?”
“There’s no whisky in the decanter.”
“No whisky?”
“Clare,” said Herbert, appealing to his wife, “there’s not a drop of whisky left.”
“Well, I didn’t drink it,” said Clare. “You finished it the other night with one of your club friends.”
“So we did. Dash it!”
“Don’t be irritable, dear,” said Mrs. Heywood.
“Irritable! Isn’t it enough to make a saint irritable? These things always happen on our At Home nights. Nobody seems to have any forethought. Every blessed thing seems to go wrong.”
“That is why I wish one could abolish the institution,” said Clare.