John was so nearly on the verge of offering Eleanor the part of Mary of Anjou, for which she would be as suitable as a giraffe, that in order to effect an immediate diversion he asked her when the children were to arrive. "Let me see, to-day's Saturday. To-morrow I go down to Bristol, where we open. They'd better come to-night, because to-morrow being Sunday they'll have no lessons, which will give them time to settle down. Georgie will be glad to know they're with you." "I've no doubt he'll be enchanted," John agreed. The bell sounded for lunch, and they went downstairs. "I've got to be back at the theater by two," Eleanor announced, looking at the horridly distorted watch upon her wrist. "I wonder if we mightn't ask Maud to open half-a-bottle of champagne? I'm dreadfully tired." John ordered a bottle to be opened; he felt rather tired himself. "Let us be quite clear about this arrangement," he began, when after three glasses of wine he felt less appalled by the prospect, and had concluded that after all Bertram and Viola would not together be as bad as Laurence with his play, not to mention Harold with his spectacles and entomology, his interrogativeness and his greed. "The English governess will arrive every morning for Viola. What is her name?" "Miss Coldwell." "Miss Coldwell then will be responsible for Viola all the morning. The French governess is canceled, and I shall come to an arrangement with Miss Coldwell by which she will add to her salary by undertaking all responsibility for Viola until Viola is in bed. Bertram will go to school, and I shall rely upon Miss Coldwell to keep an eye on his behavior at home." "And don't forget the dancing-lessons." "No, I had Madame What's-her-name's account last week." "I mean, don't forget to arrange for Viola to go." "That pilgrimage will, I hope, form a part of what Miss Coldwell would probably call 'extras.' And after all perhaps George will soon be fit." "The poor old boy has been awfully seedy all the summer." "What's he suffering from? Infantile paralysis?" "It's all very well for you to joke about it, but you don't live in a wretched boarding-house in Earl's Court. You mustn't let success spoil you, John. It's so easy when everything comes your way to forget the less fortunate people. Look at me. I'm thirty-four, you know." "Are you really? I should never have thought it." "I don't mind your laughing at me, you old crab. But I don't like you to laugh at Georgie." "I never do," John said. "I don't suppose that there's anybody alive who takes George as seriously as I do." Eleanor brushed away a tear and said she must get back to the rehearsal. When she was gone John felt that he had been unkind, and he reproached himself for letting Laurence make him cynical.