“Mother—gone—where?” inquired George.
Joan only echoed “Don!” once more, and looked very sleepy.
“You won’t find out anything in that way Georgie dear,” said his wife. “I don’t believe Joan knows much more than we do ourselves.”
“Well, the sooner she is in bed the better,” said George.
* * * * * * *
Morning come, and Joan appeared at breakfast, fresh and rosy, still as George’s devoted attendant. He could not move an inch without her. Peals of laughter were evoked when she endeavored to place herself upon the same chair with her new friend. George laughed as heartily as any one, and Joan showed a sublime disdain of people’s opinions.
Breakfast over, a battle took place. Rather fortunately for George’s purposes, it had turned out a wet day. Inquiries about Joan were an immediate necessity, and there could be no doubt that they would be three times as rapid and efficient without Dulcibel to delay his steps. Rain came down in a continuous pelt, and she decided to remain indoors with Joan, while George and Leo sallied forth on their hunt.
But the parting of George from Joan was not quite an easy matter. Dulcibel coaxed and George reasoned without avail. Joan held on to his coat-tails like a vice. When at length he gently wrenched himself free from the little hands and vanished, shutting the door, Joan gave one fearful and prolonged yell of rage. Having thus let off steam, and relieved herself, she subsided into a corner of the drawing-room, with solemn disdain of everybody present, scorning all blandishments.
Lunch-time arrived, but not George or Leo. Dulcibel had scarcely passed so wearisome a day since her marriage. Hitherto her life had been as one continued honeymoon. She could almost have shed tears at her husband’s non-appearance, only she was ashamed.
Joan was by this time sufficiently hungry to consent to eat, and Dulcie found half an hour’s amusement in ministering to her wants. But, hunger once satisfied, Joan retreated again to the corner, presently dropping asleep there.