“Certainly not,” said Cyril. “I know of old that if there are two courses before you, you always make a point of choosing the one you like least.”
“I see that you have not changed at all in these seven years,” she said, smiling, as she led the way into the hall.
“Perhaps not,” said Cyril in his own mind, “but you have; or you would have hastened to assure me that I was much mistaken, and that you preferred the committee meeting.”
“You won’t be long, Carlino?” Nadia was saying to her husband. “I told the children that they might have tea with us in the hall, and they will be down very soon.”
Almost before Caerleon and Cyril had laid aside their hats and coats, the children were upon them, Philippa looking very demure in her pink dress, and holding the hand of her brother, who was a year younger than herself. Yet that the interval which had elapsed since her father had sent her on in advance had not been altogether devoted to personal adornment was evidenced when she looked up from her cake and remarked—
“What a funny man your servant is, Uncle Cyril!”
“Oh, you have discovered the taciturn Dietrich, then?” said Cyril.
“Oh yes,” put in Usk. “We went to see him unpacking your things. Nurse came to see him too, because he is a foreigner.”
“You must be rather hard up for sights here, I should imagine. Well, did you find him communicative?”
“I don’t know what that word means, Uncle Cyril.”