"Oh, what happens to perambulators in Russia?" asked Myra eagerly.
"They spell them differently," I said, after a little thought. "Anyhow, Dahlia's all right."
"Well, I'll just take these flowers in and then I'll come back. If you and Peter will have me?"
"I think so," I said.
Myra went in and left me to my reflections, which were mainly that Peter had the prettiest aunt in England, and that the world was very good. But my pleased and fatuous smile over these thoughts was disturbed by her announcement on her return.
"Dahlia says," she began, "that we may have Peter for an hour, but he must come in at once if he cries."
I got up in disgust.
"You've spoilt my morning," I said.
"Oh, no!"
"I had a little secret from Dahlia, or rather Peter and I had a little secret together; at least, you and I and Peter had a secret. Anyhow, it was a secret. And I was feeling very wicked and happy—Peter and I both were; and we were going to let you feel wicked too. And now Dahlia knows all about the desperate deed we were planning, and, to make it worse, all she says is, 'Certainly! By all means! Only don't get his feet wet.' Peter," I said, as I bent over the sleeping innocent, "we are betrayed."