“It really is so funny; all the world is going to-night to the Gaiety Theatre. The coincidence is most amusing.”
“And yet the explanation is extremely simple,” commented Eveleen, speaking in a coldly acid voice, which meant that she was raging hot within. “We have all been talking about it lately, and I suppose that we have all dropped hints that we would like to go. These gentlemen, with that generosity which we know is one of their most charming characteristics, have acted on those hints—up to a certain point. They have all, with one accord, provided themselves with seats. Are we to take it, Norah, that you propose to occupy them all?”
Mr Hammond snapped his fingers, making a noise like the report of a pop gun.
“You’ve hit it on the head, Miss Eveleen; prevented bloodshed, and solved the problem. Miss Norah, we’ll act upon your sister’s hint. Tibbet, we all of us will dine with you.”
The Major looked as if the proposition took him by surprise—which was not to be wondered at.
“You’ll excuse me, Mr Hammond, but I’m hanged if you will.”
“Then Miss Norah won’t, for to-night we hunt in companies.”
The Major looked at the speaker with a rueful countenance.
“How many are there of you?”
“Four, barring Miss Norah, and she counts for all the world. At what time do you dine?”