Puggy's tone had supreme contempt in it.
"Dad says," Dawn asserted thoughtfully, conveying some apple tart to his mouth, "that the Scotch people's consciences make them dour; he says we have too little of it, and they have too much."
"Well, my conscience is just right," said Puggy. "I'm neither Scotch or Irish, so you listen to me, Tina. My conscience says go."
"Are you really listening to it?" questioned Christina anxiously.
"Of course I am, you stupid!"
"We'll just tell Blanche what we mean to do," suggested Dawn, pushing his chair away. "You leave her to me. I'll manage her. And if she says we can go, it will be all right."
Blanche had a great desire to go out shopping on her own account, so when Dawn with specious arguments convinced her that they would only walk up one street and down another, and come straight back to tea after seeing the pictures, she reluctantly gave her consent.
The three children started from the hotel in the highest spirits. Even Christina, now that her conscience was eased, felt the force of Dawn's gay humour.
He told them the drollest anecdotes, and was brimful of mischievous devices for spending the next few days.
"Not been to the Zoo? Of course we'll go there. We'll do it to-morrow. I've learnt the way to drive an elephant. A friend of dad's told me. He's been in India; and we'll get on the elephant's back and make him gallop! Wouldn't it be fun to tear out of the gardens and come galloping down Regent Street on him! What a sight we should be! Now come on, here we are, and its awful fun to hear what people say about dad's pictures! There's one of me, when I was quite a youngster, and I'm sitting in the sea; and then there are the three pictures, 'Dawn' and 'Day' and 'Dusk.' I can tell you those are fine!"