"That will be in September, then," she said. "I do not think I was ever
in London in September. I did not know that anybody was."
"The point, my dear, is not how or where you have been accustomed to
spend your Septembers," said her husband. "What we are talking about
is--"
"Yes, dear, I know quite well what we are talking about," said she. "We
are talking about Michael not studying music all September."
Lord Ashbridge got up and began walking across the terrace opposite the
tea-table with his elbows stuck out and his feet lifted rather high.
"Michael doesn't seem to realise that he is not Tom or Dick or Harry,"
said he. "Music, indeed! I'm musical myself; all we Combers are musical.
But Michael is my only son, and it really distresses me to see how
little sense he has of his responsibilities. Amusements are all very
well; it is not that I want to cut him off his amusements, but when it
comes to a career--"
Lady Ashbridge was surreptitiously engaged in pouring out a little more
cream for Petsy, and her husband, turning rather sooner than she had
expected, caught her in the act.
"Do not give Petsy any more cream," he said, with some asperity; "I
absolutely forbid it."
Lady Ashbridge quite composedly replaced the cream-jug.
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