(Ah!)
—“with those lace lilies round her front, so’s she could look more like a bride!”
(What I did look like at that moment I don’t know. But the Governor couldn’t have looked more like the executioner in a cloak-and-dagger film drama.)
“And do you see the confetti, of those teeny silver horseshoes, and the pink rose-leaves strewn over—Oh, Nancy!”—reproachfully—“Look what’s happened to the Heart! And that was supposed to be Billy’s!”
Here I saw the mouth of Uncle Albert, who was sitting facing me at Mrs. Waters’ right hand, open in readiness for that approving bellow of his. “Never mind, I’ll make another. I wanted to do it all like this the first evening she came down,” explained Theo further. “Only, of course, we weren’t quite sure then whether she’d like it—”
(Like it!)
—“but it was all my idea!”
Then came the bellow of laughter, and—“A jolly good idea too, Kiddie!” from the other of my employer’s “loud relations,” his odious uncle. “Very pretty, Theo!”
“Yes, I thought it would be rather sweet! Doesn’t Billy?” said the child, with a half-defiant look towards the Head of the House, who looked—there is no denying it—as if he were longing to kick someone. He did kick—a smothered yelp from under the table told me what. He had vented some of his feelings upon the little dog whose name meant “Sweetheart” in Welsh—who came from that port—one of those by the sea! where there are two cottages and a wooden woman—whatever that meant! The taller of the parlour-maids, handing lobster soufflé to her master, wasn’t wooden enough, nor quick enough in repressing her smile.
A glare of reproof was her portion as he refused the dish, and a peremptory, “Move that—er—thing. It’s in the way!” with a jerk towards the silver pot that held the spraying conservatory plant.