Mr Rumbold is always singing
carols all Christmas evening with the choir, and she will be alone."
"Ah, those carols" said Lucia, wincing.
"I know: I will provide you with little wads of cotton-wool. Do come
and we'll have just a party of eight. I've asked no one yet and perhaps
nobody will come. I want you and Peppino, and the rest may come or stop
away. Do say you approve."
Lucia could not yield at once. She had to press her fingers to her
forehead.
"So kind of you, Georgie," she said, "but I must think. Are we doing
anything on Christmas night, carrissimo? Where's your engagement-book?
Go and consult it."
This was a grand manoeuvre, for hardly had Peppino left the room when
she started up with a little scream and ran after him.
"Me so stupid," she cried. "Me put it in smoking-room, and poor caro
will look for it ever so long. Back in minute, Georgino."
Naturally this was perfectly clear to Georgie. She wanted to have a
short private consultation with Peppino, and he waited rather hopefully
for their return, for Peppino, he felt sure, was bored with this
Achilles-attitude of sitting sulking in the tent. They came back
wreathed in smiles, and instantly embarked on the question of what to
do after dinner. No romps: certainly not, but why not the tableaux
again? The question was still under debate when they went in to lunch.
It was settled affirmatively during the macaroni, and Lucia said that
they all wanted to work her to death, and so get rid of her.
Pages:
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312