“Except that we are not allowed to go up them—Ariadne and me—without taking our boots off first, for fear of scratching the polish. We have to strip our feet in the housemaid’s pantry, and carry them up in our hands. That’s rather a bore, you will admit!”
“And your father? Does he bow to his own decrees?”
“Oh, no!” I said. “Papa is the exception that proves the rule.”
“Capital!” again remarked The Bittern man. “I am getting to know all about the great Mr. Vero-Taylor in the fierce light that beats upon the domestic hearth! But, by the way,” he said, with a little crooked look at me, “it is usual—shall I say something about Mrs. Vero-Taylor? People generally like an allusion—just a hint of feminine presence—say the mistress of the house flitting about, tending her ferns, or what not?”
“You must put her in the kitchen, then,” I said, “tending her servants. Would you like to see her?”
“I should not like to disturb her,” he said politely. “Will you describe her for me?”
“Oh, mother’s nice and thin—a good figure—I should hate to have one of those feather-beddy mothers, don’t you know? But I don’t really think you need describe her. I don’t think she cares about being in the interview, thank you, but you may say that my sister Ariadne is ravishingly beautiful, if you like?”
“And what about you, Miss——?” he asked, looking at me.
“Tempe Vero-Taylor,” I said. “But whatever you do, don’t put me in! George would have a fit! He won’t much like your mentioning Ariadne, but I don’t see why she shouldn’t have a show, if I can give her one.”
“Very well,” he said. “Your ladyship shall be obeyed. Now I really think I have got enough, unless——” I saw his eyes straying up-stairs.