“I know. He’s not exactly sociable but we can have some quite jolly times driving down here from town while he’s away. I think it would be an awfully good plan to have the dress rehearsal here on Thursday, don’t you? All come down in cars and picnic and then have dinner here. He’s got an angelic cook and he said we could feed here whenever we like and then drive back to Town by moonlight.”
“Don’t you think we ought to mention it to him—the rehearsal, I mean?”
“Well, we might if it were anyone else but you know what he is. If it were any other play, too, we might, but a play about the Russian Revolution—well, it’s like a red rag to a bull to him. He’s scared stiff of a revolution, you know. It’s a regular bee in his bonnet.”
“He said to me only last week that he never went away from home without being quite prepared to find the communists in possession of his home when he returned. So the poor old thing wouldn’t be able to sleep o’ nights if he thought we were rehearsing a play like that in his house. He won’t be back till the day after so he won’t know. In any case he doesn’t know any of the people who’re acting except us so it’s just as well the old boy shouldn’t know anything about it.”
“Right! And it would be fun to come down here and make a real excursion of it. This room is a bit too small, isn’t it? Freddie, go and see whether the library would be better.”
Freddie departed and they turned to William again.
“Better, dear?” they said again.
“Yes, thank you,” said William.
“What is this vert whatever it is that Freddie says he’s got?” said the dark-haired girl to the red-haired girl.
“Something to do with the backbone, I think,” said the red-haired girl vaguely. “You know they call things that haven’t any backbone invert something or other.”