“Oh, so have I, of course. But it’s a rum thing, all the same,” said Dick, looking at Elizabeth.
“Now, Mr. Deane,” said Mrs. Atterton, “this is a family party, so we will just go in to dinner informally. But as you are the only one who does not know the way, you must come with me.” Then when they were all settled she added pleasantly, choosing a topic for Andy, “You’ll be sorry to hear that we are anxious about William. He is very ill. Elizabeth”—she spoke across the table—“do remember to go and see how he is to-morrow morning.”
“Yes, mamma,” said Elizabeth dutifully, from the midst of a laughing conversation with Dick Stamford.
“It will be a misfortune for the Petches if he does die,” said Andy.
“Elizabeth is the one who really ought to go to inquire,” said Mrs. Atterton vaguely; she was watching to see how the new footman handed the soup. “My poor Aunt Arabella was her godmother, and left her a small fortune.”
“I hear,” said Mr. Atterton from the other end of the table, “that the Gaythorpe Dancing Class is to be held in our ballroom to-night. What next, Norah?”
“I want to make quite sure that those girls know how to dance before I ask a lot of people down to the Garden Fête for the Children’s Hospital,” said Norah. “As I’m getting the thing up, I intend to see that it is properly done.”
“My daughter Norah,” said Mrs. Atterton, leaning confidentially towards Andy, “has a genius for organisation. Now, Elizabeth possesses no particular talent that way.”
Andy swallowed a piece of chicken hastily, choked, turned very red, and blurted forth—
“She always seems to be doing something.”