“Oh, she did, did she?” said Mr Fanshawe in an interested voice, as he brushed away at his hair. “Yes, sir; and the big Mimber of Parlimint wid the white face wanted to get in and drive her, an’ she up and give him a slap in the face.” “She _what_?” asked Mr Fanshawe, pausing with a brush in either hand. “Not with her fist but her tongue, sir,” replied the informant. “‘You can put the childer in the wagginette, if there’s not room. Let _me_ dhrive you,’ says he. ‘It’s the childer I wants to talk to,’ says she; and with that he shut up like a tiliscope, glass eye and all, for they say, sir, he’s got a glass eye in his head.” Mr Fanshawe chuckled. “Mr Robert,” continued Patsy, speaking in an apparently aimless manner, “he says, ‘That gintleman seems very sweet on you,’ says he; and with that she blushed up red wid vixation——” “You seem to have very sharp eyes,” said Mr Fanshawe. “How do you know when a lady blushes with ‘vixation,’ as you call it?” “Be the sparks that came into her eyes,” replied the observer. “Well, now, spark off downstairs,” said Mr Fanshawe, “and tell them I’ll be down in a minute, and not to wait dinner for me.” “Yes, sir,” replied Patsy, and he “sparked.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER XV GOING IN TO DINNER “Come along, Doris,” said Lord Gawdor, “and we’ll look at the dishes going in to dinner.” It was a favourite amusement when a dinner-party was on to hang over the banister rails and watch the dishes going in, and, sometimes, if, fortunately, the remains of a jelly or _mérangue_ were by chance left for a moment on the hall table before being carted back to the kitchen, to descend, capture it, carry it upstairs and devour it in private. They slipped down the stairs to the first landing and peeped over the banisters. Nothing was going in yet, the guests were still in the drawing-room. “It’s quarter past dinner-time,” said Lord Gawdor; “wonder what they’re waiting for?” As if in answer to his question, a step sounded on the stairs above and Dicky Fanshawe came running down. “Hullo, kids!” cried Dicky, as he passed them. He was in too great a hurry to stop. He took the remaining flight in two or three steps, and just as he reached the hall the drawing-room door opened and General Grampound came out. The General, seeing Dicky, closed the door behind him and came towards his nephew, looking, as he came, not unlike a ruffled cockatoo. “That’s General Grampound,” said Doris. “Wish we could hear what he’s saying to Mr Fanshawe.” “Looks as if he was wigging him for being late,” said Bob. “Yes, doesn’t he? He’s his uncle—old beast—look! he’s quite purple in the face.” “Look!” said Bob. The drawing-room door had opened, disclosing Lady Seagrave on the arm of Uncle Molyneux.