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In another moment all might have been over, and the poor Boodie a mangled corse, but that Roger, coming hurriedly to the rescue, declares there are two other "lovely things" in his portmanteau, suitable to the requirements of Pussy and her brother, whereon peace is once more restored. To Sir Christopher this unexpected return of Roger is an indescribable blessing.
So tea is got for them again, and the children, who always seem to feel when plum-cake is to be had, come trooping noisily up the steps to join, uninvited, in the festivities. Great content follows, and, indeed, all is peace until something said by the Boodie creates a confusion that sweeps calm to the winds. She has ensconced herself on Mr.
Even crusty old bachelors, educated to the belief that the young and innocent are only one gigantic fraud, have been known on occasions like the present to bestow upon them a careful, not to say artful, attention. To-night, Portia, Jacky and the Boodie are having it all their own way.
"Don't mind him," says Fabian, tenderly, placing his arm round the discomfited Boodie, and pressing her pretty blonde head down upon his breast. "I don't understand him, so, of course, you don't." "But why?" says Dicky Browne, who is evidently bent on mischief; "she has a great deal more brains than you have.
He says this very well indeed, and with quite an overflow of enthusiasm perhaps rather too great an overflow; because Roger, looking at him out of his dark eyes, decides within himself that this whilom friend of his is now his bitterest enemy, hating him with all the passionate hatred of a jealous heart. The Boodie is in a state of triumph bordering on distraction.
The little child he had loved the poor Boodie would not be forbidden, and, creeping into the sad room, had stolen to the bedside, and had laid upon his breast a little pallid blossom she had, secretly and alone, braved all the terrors of the dark night to gain, having traversed the quiet garden to pluck it from the tiny plot out there she called her own.
"No, I am not," persists the Boodie, in an unmoved tone. "Stephen," again turning his face to hers, "are you 'meke'?" At this word all the truth becomes at once known to Portia and Dulce. The Boodie had been in the room when they were discussing Stephen with her mother. She had heard everything. She is a little pitcher she has long ears. Can nothing be done to stop her further speech?
"Then what did you go to London for last week?" demands the irate Boodie, with rising and totally unsuppressed indignation. This question fills Mr. Browne with much secret amusement. "There have been rare occasions," he says, mildly, "on which I have gone to town to do a few other things besides purchasing gifts for you."
Here is New Year's Day, and he has not returned to redeem his promise." "He will come yet," says the Boodie, undauntedly. "'He will return; I know him well," again quotes Mr. Browne; "that's your motto, I suppose, like the idiotic young woman in the idiotic song. Well, I admire faith myself; there's nothing like it."
Browne, having sequestrated the remainder of the cake, the last piece being the occasion of a most undignified skirmish between him and the Boodie, the Boodie proving victor, is now at liberty to enter into light and cheerful conversation. "The meet, you know," says Dicky. "Long way off. Hate hunting myself, when I've got to leave my bed for it."
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