“Well, my darling,” cried Eleanor, “what d’you know?”
“Little enough, old lady. I lost the mare, but Madge and Crispin were
there, and they helped me home. They want us to dine to-morrow. Will you
be fit?”
Eleanor sat up in bed.
“I’ld love to,” she said. “But d’you think we possibly can? I’ve put the
Festivals off.”
“Good Heavens, yes. I mean, they’re practically relatives, aren’t
they—Crispin and Madge?”
“Practically,” said Eleanor. “And much—much more intelligent.”