Eddy, as they waited for Claude and Daphne at the gate, was wondering a little whether his new friends would fit easily into this picture. He hoped so, very much. The others came up, bickering as usual. Molly put Diddums into Daphne’s arms and told him to stay there, and they parted. CHAPTER VII. VISITORS AT THE DEANERY. Eddy, while they played coon-can that evening (a horrid game prevalent at this time) approached his parents on the subject of the visitors he wanted. He mentioned to them the facts already retailed to Daphne and Molly concerning their accomplishments and virtues (omitting those concerning their domestic arrangements). And these eulogies are a mistake when one is asking friends to stay. One should not utter them. To do so starts a prejudice hard to eradicate in the minds of parents and brothers and sisters, and the visit may prove a failure. Eddy was intelligent and should have known this, but he was in an unthinking mood this Christmas, and did it. His mother kindly said, “Very well, dear. Which day do you want them to come?” “I’d rather like them to be here for New Year’s day, if you don’t mind. They might come on the thirty-first.” Eddy put down three twos in the first round, for the excellent reason that he had collected them. Daphne, disgusted, said, “Look at Teddy saving six points off his damage! I suppose that’s the way they play in your slum.” Mrs. Oliver said, “Very well. Remember the Bellairs’ are coming to dinner on New Year’s Day. It will make rather a large party, but we can manage all right.” “Your turn, mother,” said Daphne, who did not like dawdling. The Dean, who had been looking thoughtful, said, “Le Moine, did you say one of your friends was called? No relation, I suppose, to that writer Le Moine, whose play was censored not long ago?” “Yes, that’s her husband. But he’s a delightful person. And it was a delightful play, too. Not a bit dull or vulgar or pompous, like some censored plays. He only put in the parts they didn’t like just for fun, to see whether it would be censored or not, and partly because someone had betted him he couldn’t get censored if he tried.” The Dean looked as if he thought that silly. But he did not mean to talk about censored plays, because of Daphne, who was young. So he only said, “Playing with fire,” and changed the subject. “Is it raining outside, Daffy?” he inquired with humorous intention, as his turn came round to play. As no one asked him why he wanted to know, he told them. “Because, if you don’t mind, I’m thinking of going out,” and he laid his hand on the table. “Oh, I say, father! Two jokers! No wonder you’re out.” (This jargon of an old-time but once popular game perhaps demands apology; anyhow no one need try to understand it. _Tout passe, tout lasse_.... Even the Tango Tea will all too soon be out of mode). The Dean rose from the table. “Now I must stop this frivolling. I’ve any amount of work to get through.”