The next morning Clementina put off a sitter, a thing which she had never done before, and, letting work go hang, made an unprecedented irruption into Russell Square.
“It’s about this dinner of yours,” she said as soon as Quixtus appeared. “I telephoned you yesterday that I was coming.”
“And I said, my dear Clementina, that I was more than delighted.”
“It was the morose wart-hog inside me that made me decline,” she said frankly. “But there’s a woman of sense also inside me that can cut the throat of the wart-hog when it likes. So here I am, a woman of sense. Now will you let a woman of sense run this dinner-party for you? Oh—I know what you may be thinking,” she went on hastily without giving him time to reply. “I’m not going to suggest liver and bacon and a boiled potato. I know how things should be done, better than you.”
“I’m afraid I’m inexperienced in entertainments of this kind,” said Quixtus, with a smile. “Spriggs generally attends to such matters.”
“Spriggs and I will put our heads together,” said Clementina. “I want you to give rather a wonderful dinner-party. What kind of table decorations have you?”
Spriggs was summoned. He loaded the dining-room table with family plate and table-centres and solid cut glass. His pride lay in a mid-Victorian épergne that at every banquet in the house proudly took the place of honour with a fat load of grapes and oranges and apples. Clementina set apart a few articles of silver and condemned the rest including the épergne as horrors.
“You’ll let me have the pleasure, Ephraim,” she said, “of providing all the flowers and making out a scheme of decoration. Anything I want I’ll get myself and make you a present of it. I’m by way of being an artist, you know, so it will be all right.”
“Could any one doubt it?” said Quixtus. “I am very much indebted to you, Clementina.”
“A woman comes in useful now and then. I’ve never done a hand’s turn for you and it’s time I began. You’ll want a hostess, won’t you?”