"I asked where mother was. Do you know, Ada?"
Ada, a pretty, fair girl of fifteen, fresh as a rose, trim as a daisy, without an imperfection of any kind in her looks or in her dress, said, "Father wanted her, I believe;" while Salome, half satisfied, turned to her eldest brother Raymond.
"Is anything the matter, Ray?"
"I am sure I don't know," he answered carelessly. "There's something the matter with this soup—it's beastly."
"Raymond!" Ada exclaimed reprovingly, "pray, don't be so rude," as Raymond pushed away his plate, and, pulling another towards him, attacked some cutlets with tomatoes.
"The cooking is fifty times better at old Birch's," the young Etonian growled. "I can't think how mother can put up with that lazy Mrs. Porson."
"I say," said Reginald, "don't grumble at your bread and butter because it is not just to your mind."
"Shut up, will you," said Raymond, "and don't be cheeky."
And now the two little boys of eight and nine began to chime in with eager inquiries as to whether Raymond would help them with their tableaux, which were to be got up for their double birthday on the 1st of August. For Carl and Hans were both born on the same day of the month, Hans always affirming that he came to keep Carl's first birthday.
"Tableaux at this time of year; what folly! I shall be gone off in Strangway's yacht by then, you little duffer."