“Indeed!” murmured Miss Brown.
With Mrs. Hudson as expositor, and Miss Brown as chorus, Mrs. Bo-gardus’s glory could not wane. She shone upon us, enigmatic, sphinx-like, throughout a somewhat oppressive meal. No one but Mrs. Hudson ventured to mingle in the conversation. Indeed, it was not necessary. Ernie waited very prettily; the croquettes were silently engulfed, likewise the custards. And, despite Mrs. Bo-gardus’s sensitive “stummick,” we were encouraged to believe that they would sit.
“My dear, will you play for us?” Mrs. Hudson asked after lunch. “Mrs. Bo-gardus is very fond of music.” It was rather a royal command than a request, but without an e string what could one do?
“Then perhaps your little brother will recite?” persisted Mrs. Hudson.
“What shall I say, Elizabeth?” asked Robin, obligingly.
“Suppose you say ‘My Shadow,’” I suggested.
So Bobsie, flushed and honoured, standing on the worn Bokhara rug, began:—
“I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me,
And what can be the use of him is more than I can see.”
The ladies sat about the parlour, their hands folded in their laps, Mrs. Bo-gardus with her head a little to one side as if listening for a false note, Mrs. Hudson pompously responsible, Miss Brown meekly appreciative.