bowls occupied it. Three contained the finest flowers to be bought in London,
the tribute of the natives to her talent; the fourth was brimmed with peaches
at four shillings a peach. She threw one apiece to her brother and the Knight
of the Silver Point.
"I can't make out this Jack of Clubs," went on Amy Brough, "it's something
about a large building!"
Blaustein, the artist, buried his face and his heavy curved spectacles in his
peach.
"Yes, dearie," went on Amy, with a hiccough, "there's a journey about a
letter. And nine and one's ten, and three's thirteen. You'll get another present,
dearie, as sure as I'm sitting here."
"I really will?" asked Lisa, yawning.
"If I never take my hand off this table again!"
"Oh, cut it out!" cried Lavinia. "I'm going to bed!"
"If you go to bed on my birthday I'll never speak to you again!"
"Oh, can t we do something?" said Blaustein, who never did anything,
anyhow, but draw.
"Sing something!" said Lavinia's brother, throwing away the peach-stone, and
settling himself again to sleep. Big Ben struck the half hour. Big Ben is far
too big to take any notice of anything terrestrial. A change of dynasty is
nothing in his young life!
"Come in, for the land's sake!" cried Lavinia King. Her quick ear had caught
a light knock upon the door.
She had hoped for something exciting, but it was only her private tame
pianist, a cadaverous individual with the manners of an undertaker gone mad,
the morals of a stool-pigeon, and imagining himself a bishop. [13]
"I had to wish you many happy returns," he said to Lisa, when he had greeted