you never saw such ices. Only two kinds. And one a common little strawberry shop ice, in a sopping wet frill.”
“The food altogether was too appalling,” came from Marion.
“Still, it’s rather early for ices,” said Charlotte easily.
“But why, if one has them at all . . .” began Ethel.
“Oh, quite so, darling,” crooned Charlotte.
Suddenly the music-room door opened and Lola dashed out. She started, she nearly screamed, at the sight of old Mr. Neave.
“Gracious, father! What a fright you gave me! Have you just come home? Why isn’t Charles here to help you off with your coat?”
Her cheeks were crimson from playing, her eyes glittered, the hair fell over her forehead. And she breathed as though she had come running through the dark and was frightened. Old Mr. Neave stared at his youngest daughter; he felt he had never seen her before. So that was Lola, was it? But she seemed to have forgotten her father; it was not for him that she was waiting there. Now she put the tip of her crumpled handkerchief between her teeth and tugged at it angrily. The telephone rang. A-ah! Lola gave a cry like a sob and dashed past him. The door of the telephone-room slammed, and at the same moment Charlotte called, “Is that you, father?”
