Colonel at the end of the week, and at the same hour and church Elizabeth was going to become Mrs Atkinson. Had these things no savour, because –
“How is ’oo?” said Georgie, with a sudden flush of the spring-time through him. “Me vewy well, sank ’oo, and me so want to read Peppino’s bookie-bookie.”
“’Oo come in,” said Lucia. “Evewybody come in. Now, who's got ickle bit news?”
Mrs Quantock had been walking on her toes all across the hall, in anticipation of the happy time when she would be from two to six inches taller. As the animated pamphlet said, the world assumed a totally different aspect when you were even two inches taller. She was quite sorry to sit down.
“Is next week very full with you, dear Lucia?” she asked.
Lucia pressed her finger to her forehead.
“Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday,” she began. “No, not Tuesday, I am doing nothing on Tuesday. You want to be the death of me between you. Why?”
“I hope that my dear friend, Princess Popoffski, will be staying with me,” said Mrs Quantock. “Do get over your prejudice against spiritualism, and give it a chance. Come to a séance on Tuesday. You, too, of course, Georgie: I know better than to invite Lucia without you.”
Lucia put on the far-away look which she reserved for the masterpieces of music, and for Georgie’s hopeless devotion.
“Lovely! That will be lovely!” she said.
