“I will, my dear Mrs. Fontaine,” she said sweetly. “If I can. Good-bye. It has been so delightful to have had you.”
Her exit with Lady Louisa was confused with that of other stragglers. The Admiral, Etta and Tommy remained. They all went down to Quixtus’s study, the little back room of the adventure of the drunken housekeeper now cheery with decanters and syphons and cigarettes, and chatted intimately till the Admiral reminded Etta that the horses—such fat horses, murmured Etta—had been standing for nearly an hour. Tommy accompanied father and daughter to the carriage. Quixtus and Clementina were left alone.
“Can I tell Sheila to-morrow that you’re coming down to Moleham?”
“I think you can,” said Quixtus. “I think you can quite safely.”
“I’m sorry Mrs. Fontaine wasn’t able to join us.”
“Now why?” he asked, vaguely conscious of outstretched claw and flying fur.
“Because she has such brilliant social gifts,” replied Clementina.
There was a span of silence. Clementina inhaled a puff of the Turkish cigarette she had lit and then threw it into the grate.
“For God’s sake, my dear man, look in that drawer and give me some tobacco I can smoke. I smuggled it in yesterday.”
Quixtus gave her the yellow package and papers and she rolled a cigarette of Maryland and smoked contentedly. Tommy came in.