“What's happening to Mary and Simon?”
“Oh, didn't you know?
That's broken up.”
“When?”
“It began in Austria this summer …”
“And Billy Angmering?”
“He's having a terrific walk out with a girl called Sheila Shrub.”
“And the Helm-Hubbards?”
“That marriage isn't going too well either … Daisy has started a new restaurant..
It's going very well … and there's a new night club called the Warren …”
“Dear me,” Brenda said at last.
“What fun everyone seems to be having.”
After tea John Andrew was brought in and quickly usurped the conversation.
“How do you do?” he said.
“I didn't know you were coming.
Daddy said he had a weekend to himself for once.
Do you hunt?”
“Not for a long time.”
“Ben says it stands to reason everyone ought to hunt who can afford to, for the good of the country.”
“Perhaps I can't afford to.”
“Are you poor?”
“Please, Mr. Beaver, you mustn't let him bore you.”
“Yes, very poor.”
“Poor enough to call people tarts?”
“Yes, quite poor enough.”
“How did you get poor?”
“I always have been.”
“Oh.”
John lost interest in this topic.
“The grey horse at the farm has got worms.”
“How do you know?”
“Ben says so.
Besides you've only got to look at his dung.”
“Oh dear,” said Brenda, “what would nanny say if she heard you talking like that?”
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-five.
How old are you?”
“What do you do?”
“Nothing much.”
“Well if I was you I'd do something and earn some money.
Then you'd be able to hunt.”
“But I shouldn't be able to call people tarts.”
“I don't see any point in that anyway.”
Later in the nursery, while he was having supper, John said:
“I think Mr. Beaver's a very silly man, don't you?”
“I'm sure I don't know,” said nanny.
“I think he's the silliest man who's ever been here.”
“Comparisons are odious.”
“There just isn't anything nice about him.
He's got a silly voice and a silly face, silly eyes and silly nose,” John's voice fell into a liturgical sing-song, “silly feet and silly toes, silly head and silly clothes …