When he returned to the drawing room, Olivia and the clergyman and the Pembrokes were all standing around the blazing fire. The Colonel walked in, and squaring himself before the generous fireplace with his coat tails over his arm, surveyed the company and remarked,
"Professional, by Jove."
"Now, papa," said Olivia, taking him by the arm, "you are the best and kindest of men, but you shan't say 'professional, by Jove,' of Madame Koller, the very minute she has quitted your house. You know how often I've told you of my rule that you shall not mention the name of a guest until twenty-four hours after that guest's departure."
She said it with an air of authority, and tweaked the Colonel's ear to emphasize her severity.
"But I am not saying any harm about her, Olivia."
"Just what I expected," groaned Mr. Cole.
"Perhaps her voice gave out, and she quitted the stage early," remarked Pembroke.
"Not a word more," cried Olivia sternly. "She sings delightfully. But—a—it was rather prima donna-ish."
"Aha! Oho!" shouted the Colonel. "There you are, my dear!"
