Plenty? Oh, yes, plenty. Three was more than enough. Muriel tried to reconcile her conscience to the lie.
"Yes, thank you," she said.
The great lady nodded.
"That's right, then."
Muriel ran away.
She hadn't told a story. She hadn't. All the same, she felt as though she had.
Under the stairs she found a twilight alcove that would serve to hide her confusion. She was about to enter it when the murmur of voices told her that it was already occupied. Back to the cloak-room she ran, growing now a little desperate in her longing for solitude. A motherly old lady in black silk and bugles looked up from her seat by the fire.
"Well, dearie, have you lost something?"
Not daring to risk a second prevarication, Muriel fled.
The door of the supper-room stood open. Inside she saw a glitter of glass and silver, of quivering crimson jellies and high-piled creams, of jugs brimming with orange cup and lemonade. There were no questioning grown-ups to drive her from that sanctuary. She slipped inside and curled up on a chair near the door. From far away came sounds of music, of laughter, of occasional faint echoes of applause.