CHAPTER VIII

A LITTLE DINNER AT UKRIDGE'S

"Edwin comes to-day," said Mrs. Ukridge.

"And the Derricks," said Ukridge, sawing at the bread in his energetic
way. "Don't forget the Derricks, Millie."

"No, dear. Mrs. Beale is going to give us a very nice dinner. We
talked it over yesterday."

"Who is Edwin?" I asked.

We were finishing breakfast on the second morning after my visit to
the Derricks. I had related my adventures to the staff of the farm on
my return, laying stress on the merits of our neighbours and their
interest in our doings, and the Hired Retainer had been sent off next
morning with a note from Mrs. Ukridge inviting them to look over the
farm and stay to dinner.

"Edwin?" said Ukridge. "Oh, beast of a cat."

"Oh, Stanley!" said Mrs. Ukridge plaintively. "He's not. He's such a
dear, Mr. Garnet. A beautiful, pure-bred Persian. He has taken
prizes."

"He's always taking something. That's why he didn't come down with
us."