CHAPTER XVI
Leonard accepted the invitation to tea next Saturday. But he was right; the visit proved a conspicuous failure.
“ Sugar?” said Margaret.
“ Cake?” said Helen. “The big cake or the little deadlies? I’m afraid you thought my letter rather odd, but we’ll explain—we aren’t odd, really—nor affected, really. We’re over-expressive—that’s all.”
As a lady’s lap-dog Leonard did not excel. He was not an Italian, still less a Frenchman, in whose blood there runs the very spirit of persiflage and of gracious repartee. His wit was the Cockney’s; it opened no doors into imagination, and Helen was drawn up short by “The more a lady has to say, the better,” administered waggishly.
“ Oh yes,” she said.
“ Ladies brighten—”
“ Yes, I know. The darlings are regular sunbeams. Let me give y
