“And I've seen you before,” proclaimed Mr. Cuthbert, “but I can't for the life of me think where.”
Honora did not enlighten him.
“I shan't forget, at any rate, Mrs. Spence,” said Cecil Grainger, who had not taken his eyes from her, except to blink.
Mrs. Kame saved her the embarrassment of replying.
“Can't we go somewhere and play bridge,” Trixy demanded.
“I'd be delighted to offer you the hospitality of my packing-case, as you call it,” said Brent, “but the dining-room ceiling fell down Wednesday, and I'm having the others bolstered up as a mere matter of precaution.”
“I suppose we couldn't get a fourth, anyway. Neither Jimmy nor Toots plays. It's so stupid of them not to learn.”
“Mrs. Spence might, help us out,” suggested Brent.
“Do you play?” exclaimed Mrs. Kame, in a voice of mixed incredulity and hope.
“Play!” cried Mr. Brent, “she can teach Jerry Shorter or the Duchess of Taunton.”