They're wonderful. I always think we are at our best in the morning. They say Mr. George Lloyd governs the country at breakfast. Such an appetite I'm told—and what charming manners. So tactful with the Labour Members. I always tell Lola they're more important than morals. Manners I mean, not the Labour Members. You'll love Mr. Quelch, Lady Drewitt. He's so gifted. So psychic. Don't forget half-past eight. We always breakfast early."
Beresford looked at Lady Drewitt. She certainly did not inspire confidence in her power to love anything or anybody as she stood there, a grim figure determined to achieve her ends. The thought of Drewitt being at his best at breakfast was amusing.
Beresford found himself wondering what Lola Craven was like. It would be worth a fortune, he decided, to marry a niece of Mrs. Crisp, no matter how great her attractions. He never remembered to have met so strange and bird-like a creature. Her round eyes were entirely devoid of expression, beyond a glint, and her face moved as if controlled by steel springs. Added to this was her unrestrained flow of words. Whatever she might be, no one could withhold his sympathies from Lola Craven upon the possession of such an aunt.
For the next half-hour he chatted with acquaintances among the guests, confident that Drewitt would get him away as soon as he decently could. From time to time he caught a glimpse of him still
