At that minute Ethel entered.
"No," she snapped. "I sat next a man who smelt of bad tobacco. I hate men who smoke bad tobacco."
Mr. Jones assumed an expression of intense piety.
"I may boast," he said sanctimoniously, "that I have never thus soiled my lips with drink or smoke ..."
There was an approving murmur from the occupants of the drawing-room.
William had met his father in the passage outside the drawing-room. Mr. Brown was wearing a hunted expression.
"Can I go into the drawing-room?" he said bitterly, "or is he bleating away in there?"
They listened. From the drawing-room came the sound of a high-pitched voice.
Mr. Brown groaned.
"Good Lord!" he moaned. "And I'm here for a rest cure and he comes bleating into every room in the house. Is the smoking-room safe? Does he smoke?"