“Hark!” said Mr. Marrapit.
Alarmed, his nerves unstrung, with straining ears George listened. The tense atmosphere made him ajump for outward sounds.
“Hark!” boomed Mr. Marrapit; lowered the warning hand; at George directed a long finger. “Are you not afraid that you will hear upon the threshold the footsteps of the young men who will come in, wind you up, and carry you out?”
“What on earth—?” George asked.
Mr. Marrapit poked the extended finger towards him. “Ananias!” he boomed. He poked at my quivering Mary. “Sapphira!”
“Hem!” said Mrs. Major. “Hem!”
George recovered. “Is this a joke?” he asked. “I tell you—look for yourself—I have found the Rose.”
Mr. Marrapit stooped to Mrs. Major's lap, hidden by the table. With a most queenly creature in his arms he stood upright. “Here is the Rose,” said he.
Instantly George forgot all that had immediately passed. Instantly he remembered that a bogus Rose was what he fully expected to see. Instantly fear fled. Instantly assurance returned.
In a full and confident note, “Uncle,” he said, “you have been deceived!”