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Charles.”
    “Oh,” said Lord Charles. “Are you? Oh — well—”
    “Are you?” Charlot repeated. “Not too much of a hurry, I hope, Gabriel. We never see anything of you.”
    “You never come to Deepacres when we ask you, Imogen.”
    “I
know
. We’d adore to come, especially the children, but you know it’s so frightfully
expensive
to travel, even in England. You see we can’t all get into one car—”
    “The fare, third-class return, is within the reach of most people.”
    “
Miles
beyond us, I’m afraid,” said Charlot with a charming air of ruefulness. “We’re cutting down
everything
. We never
budge
from where we are.”
    Lord Wutherwood turned to Henry.
    “Enjoy your trip to the Cote d’Azur?” he asked. “Saw your photograph in one of these papers. In my day we didn’t strip ourselves naked and wallow in front of press photographers but I suppose you like that sort of thing.”
    “Enormously, sir,” said Henry coldly.
    There was a slight pause. Roberta felt uncomfortably that Charlot’s plan should be amended and that they should leave the field to Lord Charles. She wondered if she herself should slip out of the room. Her thoughts must have appeared in her face for Henry caught her eye, smiled, and shook his head. The Wutherwoods were now seated side-by-side on the sofa. Baskett came in with the sherry.
    “Ah, sherry,” said Lord Charles. Henry began to pour it out. Charlot made desperate efforts with her brother-in-law. Lady Katherine leant forward in her chair and addressed Lady Wutherwood.
    “Well, Violet,” she said, “I hear you have taken up conjuring.”
    “You couldn’t be more mistaken,” said Lady Wutherwood in a deep voice. She spoke with a very slight accent, slurring her words together. After each phrase she rearranged her mouth with those clicking movements and stealthily touched away the white discs at the corners, but in a little while they reformed.
    “Aunty Kit,” cried Frid, “will you have some sherry? Aunt Violet?”
    “No thank you, my dear,” said Lady Katherine.
    “Yes,” said Lady Wutherwood.
    “You’d better not, V.,” said Lord Wutherwood. “You know what’ll happen.”
    Mike walked to the end of the sofa and stared fixedly at his aunt. Lord Charles turned to his brother with an air of cordiality. “It’s a sherry that I think you rather like, Gabriel, don’t you?” he said. “Corregio del Martez, ’79.”
    “If you can afford a sherry like that—” began Lord Wutherwood. Henry hurriedly placed a glass at his elbow.
    “Aunt Violet,” asked Mike suddenly, “can you do the rope trick? I bet you can’t. I bet you can’t do that and I bet you can’t saw a lady in half.”
    “Don’t be an idiot, Mike,” said Patch.
    “Mikey,” said his mother, “run and find Baskett, darling, and ask him to take care of Uncle Gabriel’s chauffeur. I suppose he’s there, isn’t he, Gabriel?”
    “He’ll do very well in the car. Your aunt’s maid is there, too. Your aunt insists on cartin’ her about with us. I strongly object, of course, but that makes no difference. She’s a nasty type.”
    Lady Wutherwood laughed rather madly. Her husband turned on her. “You know what I mean, V.,” he said. “Tinkerton’s a bad lot. Put it bluntly, she’s damn well debauched my chauffeur. It’s been goin’ on under your nose for years.”
    Charlot evidently decided that it would be better not to have heard this embarrassing parenthesis. “Of course they must come up,” she said cheerfully. “Nanny will adore to see Tinkerton. Mikey, ask Baskett to bring Tinkerton and Giggle up to the Servants’ sitting-room and give them a drink of tea or something. Ask politely, won’t you?”
    “O.K.,” said Mike. He hopped on one foot and turned to look at Lady Wutherwood.
    “Isn’t it pretty funny?” he asked. “Your chauffeur’s called Giggle and there’s a man in the kitchen called Grumble. He’s a…”
    “Michael!” said Lord Charles.