In her pearly pale
cheeks was a lovely pink tinge.
"What a day!" she cried. "I can't kiss you, mother--how d'ye do, Gerald?
Tommy, you angel, come and be drowned in sister's fond embrace!"
They all stared at her. "It's such a jolly rain. I drove myself in the
cart that had gone for Mr. Green. Green came in the brougham, poor dear!
Well--what are you all staring at, souls?"
"You look so--so young, Bicky," answered Tommy, with an effort. "What a
good time you must have had!"
Having taken off her coat and thrown her ruined gloves into the fire,
she sat down by her brother and put her arm round him.
"Dear little boy! I _am_ young, Thomas, and I did have a good time. He
is going to play for you, dear--all you want him to. He is a--a--what
shall I say?" Her eyes crinkled with amusement as she sought for a word.
"He really is a--ripper, Tommy. And he has a human dog named
Papillon--But-ter-fly," she added, still smiling and obviously quoting,
"also a parrot."
"And a wife," put in Carron sharply.
She looked at him, her face stiffening into its old expression of surly
hauteur.
"You have seen her?"
"No. But a friend of mine has. Charley Masterson, Tony.
Pages:
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81