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I am interested in your Rodens and your Ferribys and your Whites, and even in your Tony Cornish. I wonder who will quarrel and who will well, do the contrary, and what will come of it all? In my day young people were brought together by a common pleasure, but that has gone out of fashion.
He was addressing Major White, Tony Cornish, Von Holzen, and Percy Roden, convened to a meeting in the private salon occupied by the Ferribys at the Hotel of the Old Shooting Gallery, at The Hague.
Women" the major paused in his great wisdom "women are a rum lot." Which, assuredly, no one is prepared to deny. Cornish glanced at his companion through the cigarette smoke, and said nothing. "However," continued the major, "I am at your service. Let us have the orders." "To-morrow," answered Cornish, "is Monday, and therefore the Ferribys will be at home.
Lady Ferriby will be sneaking about in the direction of Edgware Road fish is nearly two pence a pound cheaper there, I understand. My respected uncle is sure to be sunning his waistcoat in Piccadilly. Yes, there he is. Isn't he splendid? How do, uncle?" and Cornish waved a grey Suede glove with a gay nod. "How are the Ferribys?" inquired Major White, who belonged to the curt school.
There was a suggestion of superficial haste about him. For an idle man, he had remarkably little time on his hands. White took up his eye-glass, examined it with short-sighted earnestness, and screwed it solemnly into his eye. "Cambridge Terrace?" he said, and stared in front of him. "Yes. Have you seen the Ferribys since your glorious return to these er shores?"
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