“You are distraught, Mrs. Major. Have no fear. To your room.”
The curl-papered head waggled. Mrs. Major beamed. “Darling. Darling—um!”
“Exercise control,” Mr. Marrapit told her. “Banish apprehension. There are thieves; but we are alert.”
The head withdrew. Mrs. Major gave a tiny scream: “Thieves!” She took a brisk little run down the short flight which gave from where she stood; flattened against the wall that checked her impulse; pressed carefully away from it; stood at the head of the stairs facing Mr. Marrapit.
He gazed up. “I fear you have been walking in your sleep, Mrs. Major.”
Mrs. Major did not reply. She pointed a slippered toe at the stair below her; swayed on one leg; dropped to the toe; steadied; beamed at Mr. Marrapit; and in a high treble coquettishly announced, “One!”
Mr. Marrapit frowned: “Retire, Mrs. Major.”
Mrs. Major plumped another step, beamed again: “Two!”
“You dream. Retire.”
Mrs. Major daintily lifted her skirt; poised again. The projected slipper swayed a dangerous circle. Mrs. Major alarmingly rocked. That infamous Old Tom presented three sets of banisters for her support; she clutched at one; it failed her; “Three four five six seven eight nine ten—darling!” she cried; at breakneck speed plunged downwards, and with the “Darling!” flung her arms about Mr. Marrapit's neck.