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Authors: Georgette Heyer
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can talk to Dan some other time."
"But, Mummy, you don't understand! I particularly want to say something to him now.!"
"Darling, you're forgetting! You must stay and entertain Lance, and Mr. Harte. Besides, I want to have a word with Dan myself."
"We'll go into a huddle together later on, Cynny," said Seaton-Carew soothingly.
Cynthia pouted, and protested, but before her voice had developed more than a hint of a whining note her harassed parent had inexorably swept Mr. Seaton-Carew off to the library, to discuss with him, she said, certain minor details of the approaching contest.
"I do think people are sickening," Cynthia remarked. "Where's my coffee? Oh, thanks, Timothy, you are an angel! Did you pour it out for me?"
She then gravitated, as though drawn by a magnet, to the radio-cabinet in one corner of the room, switched it on, and began to twiddle the dials. Lord Guisborough followed her, and Timothy seized the opportunity to say to Beulah, in an undervoice; "Aren't we having fun? Have you had a bloody day? You look worn-out."
"That's not very polite. I expected better things of that charming Mr. Harte who has such lovely manners."
"Less of it, my girl!" said Timothy.
At this moment a reverent voice announced that they were listening to the Third Preeogramme, and were about to be regaled with a composition by Meeozart. "This little-kneeown work," continued the voice, in the kindly tone of one addressing a class of backward students, "was compeeosed by Meeozart at the age of eighteen. It was originally -"
"O God!" ejaculated Cynthia, swinging the dial round.
This seemed, on the whole, to be fair comment. "Well said!" approved Timothy. "I bar having my enjoyment of a concert marred by a patronising voice that tells me a lot of arid facts I am capable of looking up for myself, should I by any chance wish to acquaint myself with them."
"Wireless programmes are not primarily intended for the privileged few who have had the opportunity and the leisure to acquire your culture!" said Guisborough offensively.
"Wireless programmes are neither primarily nor secondarily intended for cultured persons," replied Timothy, quite unruffled. "Too often they appear to be intended either for the entirely witless, or for those desirous of acquiring without effort a little easy knowledge. I remember that someone once gave a fifteen minute talk on the Battle of Waterloo. A sobering thought."
"Well, at least that's better than incessant and uninspiring glorification of the Little Man," said Beulah.
"I suppose," said Guisborough contemptuously, "that you are one of those who fondly imagine that history is made by the so-called Great Man?"
"Yes," replied Beulah. "I am."
"Good heavens, woman, you mustn't say things like that!" exclaimed Timothy, shocked. "Next you will say that the race is to the swift!"
Guisborough flushed angrily, but the retort he was seen to make was providentially drowned by the cacophony of sound produced by Cynthia's efforts to discover a programme that appealed to her. While she rapidly travelled from one station to the next, conversation was impossible, and by the time she had switched the current off in disgust, Mrs. Haddington had come back into the room with the curt announcement that the first of the guests was arriving. She too was somewhat flushed, and it was apparent to the most casual observer that her interview with Dan Seaton-Carew had not been attended by complete harmony. Her lips were compressed, and her nostrils slightly distended; and it was some moments before she was again able to assume her social smile. She drove her guests upstairs to the drawing-room, told Beulah rather harshly to see to it that the coffee-cups were, removed from the boudoir, and swept out to receive Mr. Sydney Butterwick.
----
Chapter Six
By the time Mr. Sydney Butterwick had been relieved of his hat and coat, and sped on his way up the stairs to where Thrimby waited to announce hiss name, other guests were
"But, Mummy, you don't understand! I particularly want to say something to him now.!"
"Darling, you're forgetting! You must stay and entertain Lance, and Mr. Harte. Besides, I want to have a word with Dan myself."
"We'll go into a huddle together later on, Cynny," said Seaton-Carew soothingly.
Cynthia pouted, and protested, but before her voice had developed more than a hint of a whining note her harassed parent had inexorably swept Mr. Seaton-Carew off to the library, to discuss with him, she said, certain minor details of the approaching contest.
"I do think people are sickening," Cynthia remarked. "Where's my coffee? Oh, thanks, Timothy, you are an angel! Did you pour it out for me?"
She then gravitated, as though drawn by a magnet, to the radio-cabinet in one corner of the room, switched it on, and began to twiddle the dials. Lord Guisborough followed her, and Timothy seized the opportunity to say to Beulah, in an undervoice; "Aren't we having fun? Have you had a bloody day? You look worn-out."
"That's not very polite. I expected better things of that charming Mr. Harte who has such lovely manners."
"Less of it, my girl!" said Timothy.
At this moment a reverent voice announced that they were listening to the Third Preeogramme, and were about to be regaled with a composition by Meeozart. "This little-kneeown work," continued the voice, in the kindly tone of one addressing a class of backward students, "was compeeosed by Meeozart at the age of eighteen. It was originally -"
"O God!" ejaculated Cynthia, swinging the dial round.
This seemed, on the whole, to be fair comment. "Well said!" approved Timothy. "I bar having my enjoyment of a concert marred by a patronising voice that tells me a lot of arid facts I am capable of looking up for myself, should I by any chance wish to acquaint myself with them."
"Wireless programmes are not primarily intended for the privileged few who have had the opportunity and the leisure to acquire your culture!" said Guisborough offensively.
"Wireless programmes are neither primarily nor secondarily intended for cultured persons," replied Timothy, quite unruffled. "Too often they appear to be intended either for the entirely witless, or for those desirous of acquiring without effort a little easy knowledge. I remember that someone once gave a fifteen minute talk on the Battle of Waterloo. A sobering thought."
"Well, at least that's better than incessant and uninspiring glorification of the Little Man," said Beulah.
"I suppose," said Guisborough contemptuously, "that you are one of those who fondly imagine that history is made by the so-called Great Man?"
"Yes," replied Beulah. "I am."
"Good heavens, woman, you mustn't say things like that!" exclaimed Timothy, shocked. "Next you will say that the race is to the swift!"
Guisborough flushed angrily, but the retort he was seen to make was providentially drowned by the cacophony of sound produced by Cynthia's efforts to discover a programme that appealed to her. While she rapidly travelled from one station to the next, conversation was impossible, and by the time she had switched the current off in disgust, Mrs. Haddington had come back into the room with the curt announcement that the first of the guests was arriving. She too was somewhat flushed, and it was apparent to the most casual observer that her interview with Dan Seaton-Carew had not been attended by complete harmony. Her lips were compressed, and her nostrils slightly distended; and it was some moments before she was again able to assume her social smile. She drove her guests upstairs to the drawing-room, told Beulah rather harshly to see to it that the coffee-cups were, removed from the boudoir, and swept out to receive Mr. Sydney Butterwick.
----
Chapter Six
By the time Mr. Sydney Butterwick had been relieved of his hat and coat, and sped on his way up the stairs to where Thrimby waited to announce hiss name, other guests were
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