had happened. Just the invasion of elders into the room had changed them all.
"Mother!" he appealed. "Tell the truth, it's awfully important, cross your heart and hope to die. Do you have a good time?"
A chorus of laughter from the adults.
"Why, dear, what an absurd question. Do we look so miserable?"
"They won't tell us," he cried bitterly. "They're all liars!"
There was an appalled silence.
"It's time to get them home. Parties always upset them. Ben, stop biting your nails."
"Joyce, what on earth are you snivelling about? Really, it seems as though the more you do for them the less they appreciate it."
The rain had thinned to a drizzle. Martin stood uneasily in the hall while the others collected umbrellas and rubbers and repeated their curtsies. The house smelt of raincoats and fresh wallpaper.
"Martin, what is it? Don't you see I'm busy talking to Mrs. Clyde? What do you keep twitching my arm for?"
He had only wanted to ask her if they could invite Joyce to stay to supper. But he couldn't shout it out before everyone.
