“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.

“There you are, you two,” said her ladyship; “I had quite determined to dine without you. General, give your arm to Lady Molyneux. What have you two been talking so earnestly about?”

“Roses,” replied Dicky, with a side glance at Violet Lestrange, who was passing him, on the arm of Mr Boxall.

“I’m glad they’ve done jawing,” said Lord Gawdor, when the last of the guests had vanished into the dining-room; “it’ll be an hour now before the sweets are brought up.”

“Bob,” said Doris, “I believe she’s in love with him.”

“Who?”

“Miss Lestrange with Mr Fanshawe.”

“Oh, that rot,” said his lordship. “Girls are always fallin’ in love with fellows—makes me sick. Hi, Patsy!”

Patsy was passing below carrying a tray with glasses on it; he did not hear the hail as Lord Gawdor dared not raise his voice. He passed on and vanished.

“Patsy heard all they were saying,” said Doris. “I saw him standing and listening at the passage door leading to the kitchen.”

“So did I. I tried to catch his eye, but he wasn’t looking this way.”

“I think the old General is a beast,” said Doris.

“He looks a hot ’un,” said Bob, who was whistling softly and making little slides down the banister rails.

“You know, at afternoon tea to-day,” said Doris, “when you upset that plate of cakes, and then joggled Miss Lestrange’s tea-cup half into her lap, I heard him saying to the Member of Parliament man, he said, ‘I don’t care whether they are the children of a prince or the children of a Kitmutgar’ (whatever that is), ‘children all the world over are just the same, and they are a damned nuisance.’”

“Hurroo! who’s swore now?” cried Lord Gawdor.

“I didn’t; I only repeated what he said, and Mr Boxall said he agreed with him——”

“I say!” cried Lord Gawdor, a happy recollection crossing his mind, “did you hear what Selina was saying all the time before gran’ma rang the bell for Biddy to take her out?”

“Yes; she was shouting ‘Grass-eye—grass-eye!’ What did she mean?”

“I’d told her before tea that Mr Boxall had a glass eye, and if she was good maybe he’d take it out and show it to her.”

“Oh, that was it, was it?” said Doris. Then the pair ceased conversation and hung, leaning over the banister rails, in silence, watching the dishes going in and coming out.

Patsy was greatly in evidence going and coming, and so busy that he never once glanced up. He was carrying, just now, a vol au vent in a silver dish; he paused in his passage across the hall with it, sniffed at it, stuck his thumb in it, sucked his thumb, wiped it on the side of his trousers, and then vanished into the dining-room with the dish.

“I hope the old General will have some of that,” murmured Doris.