found himself in the melancholy position of being forced to order tea for her and sit in the drawing-room while she drank it. She speedily made it plain that she was only thus exacting because she had come on a matter of business. He was by no means exhilarated at the news.
“Katharine is out this afternoon,” he remaked. “Why not come round later and discuss it with her—with us both, eh?”
“My dear Trevor, I have particular reasons for wishing to talk to you alone. . . . Where is Katharine?”
“She’s out with her young man, naturally. Cassandra plays the part of chaperone very usefully. A charming young woman that—a great favourite of mine.” He turned his stone between his fingers, and conceived different methods of leading Celia away from her obsession, which, he supposed, must have reference to the domestic affairs of Cyril as usual.
“With Cassandra,” Mrs. Milvain repeated significantly. “With Cassandra.”
“Yes, with Cassandra,” Mr. Hilbery agreed urbanely, pleased at the diversion. “I think they said they were going to Hampton Court, and I rather believe they were taking a protégé of mine, Ralph Denham, a very clever fellow, too, to amuse Cassandra. I thought the arrangement very suitable.” He was prepared to dwell at some length upon this safe topic, and trusted that Katharine would come in before he had done with it.
“Hampton Court always seems to me an ideal spot for engaged couples. There’s the Maze, there’s a nice place for having tea—I forget what they call it—and then, if the young man knows his business he contrives to take his lady upon the river. Full of possibilities—full. Cake, Celia?” Mr. Hilbery continued. “I respect my dinner too much, but that can’t possibly apply to you.
