“Yes,” said Robert.
“Did you decide on the pierrot’s costume, after all?”
“Oh, no,” said Robert, “didn’t I tell you? Victor’s going to lend me his Charles I costume. He’d meant to go in it but his cold’s so bad that he can’t go at all, so he’s sending it over to me.”
“How kind,” said Mrs. Brown, “William, dear, do stop staring at your brother and get on with your tea.”
William obligingly began to demolish a slice of cake in a way that argued a rhinoceros’ capacity of mouth and an ostrich’s capacity of digestion. Having assuaged the pangs of hunger for the time being, he turned to Robert.
“You got that costume upstairs, Robert?” he said guilelessly.
“Perhaps I have and perhaps I haven’t,” said Robert.
Thoughtfully William demolished another piece of cake.
Then he said, still thoughtfully, and to no one in particular:
“I’d sort of like to see a Charles the First dress. I sort of think it might be good for my history. I think,” with a burst of inspiration, “that I’d sort of learn the dates of him better if I’d seen his clothes. It’s history, an’ my report said I din’t take enough int’rest in history. Well, I’d sort’ve take a better int’rest in it if I’d seen his clothes. It’d sort of make it more int’resting. I bet I’d get an ever so much better hist’ry report next term if I could only see the Charles the First dress what Robert’s got.”