A thin butler, in charge of two footmen removing the tea-batteries, slid to a table and handed her a blue-and-gilt book. He was buttonholed by one of the men behind the harp, who wished to get a telephone call through to Edinburgh.
'The local office shuts at six,' said Peters. 'But I can get through to'—he named some town—'in ten minutes, sir.'
'That suits me. You'll find me here when you've hitched up. Oh, say, Peters! We—Mister Olpherts an' me—ain't goin' by that early morning train to-morrow—but the other one—on the other line—whatever they call it.'
'The nine twenty-seven, sir. Yes, sir. Early breakfast will be at half-past eight and the car will be at the door at nine.'
'Peters!' an imperious young voice called. 'What's the matteh with Lord Marshalton's Ordeh of the Gyartah? We cyan't find it anywheah.'
'Well, miss, I have heard that that Order is usually returned to His Majesty on the death of the holder. Yes, miss.' Then in a whisper to a footman, 'More butter for the pop-corn in King Charles's Corner.' He stopped behind my chair. 'Your room is Number Eleven, sir. May I trouble you for your keys?'
He left the room with a six-year-old maiden called Alice who had announced she would not go to bed ''less Peter, Peter, Punkin-eater takes me—so there!'
He very kindly looked in on me for a moment
