“Oh no, don’t send out for it,” said Mrs. Railing, in tones of entreaty, “I could never forgive myself.”
“But I assure you it’s no trouble at all. And I should very much like to taste it.”
“Well, then, threepennyworth is ample,” answered Mrs. Railing, with a nervous glance at her daughter.
“You’re much better without it, ma,” said she.
“Come, come, you mustn’t grudge your mother a little treat now and then,” cried their host.
“And it’s a real treat for me, I can tell you,” Mrs. Railing assured him.
Canon Spratte stretched out his arm, and with a dramatic gesture pointed to the door.
“Threepennyworth of gin, Ponsonby.”
“Yes, sir.”
With noiseless feet Ponsonby vanished from the room. Mrs. Railing turned amiably to Lady Sophia.