“A Mexican bandsman.”

“Fine, well-set-up young feller. Inoculate your old stock. That’s Shakespeare, ain’t it Lisle? I understand he comes of a perfectly good Spanish family. Hidalgo, or whatever it is,” he added vaguely. “A feller of good family happens to be an artist and. you go and condemn him. Sort of thing that makes you sick.” He turned to his niece: “I’ve been thinkin’ seriously of givin’ up the title, Lisle.”

“George!”

“About dinner, can you find something for them to eat or can’t you? Speak up.”

Lady Pastern’s shoulders rose with a shudder. She glanced at Carlisle, who thought she detected a glint of cunning in her aunt’s eye. “Very well, George,” Lady Pastern said. “I shall speak to the servants. I shall speak to Dupont. Very well.”

Lord Pastern darted an extremely suspicious glance at his wife and sat down. “Nice to see you, Lisle,” he said. “What have you been doin’ with yourself?”

“I’ve been in Greece, Famine Relief.”

“If people understood dietetics there wouldn’t be all this starvation,” said Lord Pastern darkly. “Are you keen on music?”

Carlisle returned a guarded answer. Her aunt, she realized, was attempting to convey by means of a fixed stare and raised eyebrows some message of significance.

“I’ve taken it up, seriously,” Lord Pastern continued. “Swing. Boogie-woogie. Jive. Find it keeps me up to the mark.” He thumped with his heel on the carpet, beat his hands together and in a strange nasal voice intoned: “ ‘Shoo-shoo-shoo, baby, Bye-bye, bye Baby.’ ”

The door opened and Félicité de Suze came in. She was a striking young woman with large black eyes, a wide mouth and an air of being equal to anything. She cried, “Darling — you’re heaven its very self,” and kissed Carlisle with enthusiasm. Lord Pastern was still clapping and chanting. His stepdaughter took up the burden of his song, raised a finger and jerked rhythmically before him. They grinned at each other. “You’re coming along very prettily indeed, George,” she said.