I never added it all up as it went along, and I hate it.”
Georgie thought of the spiritualistic truths.
“If you’re an incarnation,” he said in a sudden glow of admiration, “you’re the incarnation of an angel. How you can forgive her odious manners to you –”
“My dear, shut up,” said Olga. “We’ve got to do something. Now how would it be if you gave a nice party on Christmas night, and asked her at once? Ask her to help you in getting it up; make it clear she's going to run it.”
“All right. You’ll come, won’t you?”
“Certainly I will not. Perhaps I will come in after dinner with Goosie or some one of that sort. Don’t you see it would spoil it all if I were at dinner? You must rather pointedly leave me out. Give her a nice expensive refined Christmas present too. You might give her that picture you’re doing of me – No, I suppose she wouldn’t like that. But just comfort her and make her feel you can’t get on without her. You’ve been her right hand all these years. Make her give her tableaux again. And then I think you must ask me in afterwards. I long to see her and Peppino as Brunnhilde and Siegfried. Just attend to her. Georgie, and buck her up. Promise me you will. And do it as if your heart was in it, otherwise it’s no good.”
Georgie began packing up his paint-box. This was not the plan he had hoped for on Christmas Day, but if Olga wished this, it had got to be done.
“Well, I’ll do my best,” he said.
“Thanks ever so much. You’re a darling. And
