‘What are they,’ Daphne said, ‘exactly?’

‘Well, they’re perfectly extraordinary,’ said Cecil, unfolding his lily, ‘though not I suppose strictly domes.’

‘They’re sort of little compartments in the ceiling, aren’t they,’ said George, feeling rather silly to have bragged to the family about them.

Hubert murmured abstractedly and stared at the parlourmaid, who had been brought in to help the housemaid serve dinner, and was taking round bread-rolls, setting each one on its plate with a tiny gasp of relief.

‘I imagine they’re painted in fairly gaudy colours?’ Daphne said.

‘Really, child,’ said her mother.

Cecil looked drolly across the table. ‘They’re red and gold, I think – aren’t they, Georgie?’

Daphne sighed and watched the golden soup swim from the ladle into Cecil’s bowl. ‘I wish we had jelly-mould domes,’ she said. ‘Or compartments.’

‘They might look somewhat amiss here, old girl,’ said George, pulling a face at the oak beams low overhead, ‘in the Arts and Crafts ambience of 2A.’

‘I do wish you wouldn’t,’ said his mother. ‘You make us sound like a flat above a shop.’

Cecil smiled uncertainly, and said to Daphne, ‘Well, you must come to Corley and see them for yourself.’

‘There, Daphne!’ said her mother, in reproach and triumph.

‘Do you have brothers and sisters?’ asked Mrs Kalbeck, perhaps already envisaging the visit.

‘There are only two of us, I’m afraid,’ said Cecil.

‘Cecil has a younger brother,’ said George.

‘Is he called Dudley?’ said Daphne.

‘He is,’ Cecil admitted.

‘I believe he’s very handsome,’ said Daphne, with new confidence.

George was appalled to find himself blushing. ‘Well…’ said Cecil, taking a first moody sip of soup, but, thank heavens, not looking at him. In fact anyone would have said that Dudley was extremely good-looking, but George was ashamed to hear his own words repeated back to Cecil. ‘A younger brother can be something of a bane,’ Cecil said.