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"Oh please, please take care of us," he cried, hiding his fair, curly head in her black skirt, "we're lostened. Muzzie's done away, you know, and we don't like being at London at all." The young lady for half a moment looked perfectly puzzled. Then a light broke over her face.
"You bet!" said Hughie, kissing her, and glad of the chance to get away. "Well, you will find something pretty nice in the pantry we saved for you. Guess what." "Don't know." "I know," shouted Robbie. "Pie! It's muzzie's pie. Muzzie tept it for 'oo." "Now, Robbie, you were not to tell," said his mother, shaking her finger at him.
Isn't this weather the deuce?" "Beastly, but it doesn't really matter. We're certain to " she broke off and looked closely at him. "Jimsy, what's the matter?" "Oh ... nothing." "Yes, there is! Come on in the house. There's no one home. Stepper's driving Miss Bruce-Drummond and Muzzie's being marcelled." She did not speak again until they were in the living room. "Now, tell me."
"I mean, are you Muzzie's step-husband, too?" It was the first time she had seen the lightness leave his eyes. "No. No. I am your moth I am her husband. There is no step there." He got up and walked over to where his wife was sitting and towered over her. He was a tall man and he looked especially tall at that moment. "Her plain husband.
"Muzzie's going to call on his mother, and then we'd better ask him to supper, hadn't we? He must be horribly lonesome." "I'll float over and see him," the last King suggested, "and sort of size him up. Give him the once-over. We don't want to start anything unless he's O. K. Might as well go now, I guess." "All right. Come in afterward and tell me what you think of him."
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