"For goodness' sake, don't be excited. You get such an American accent when you're excited," whispered the Mariner, fiercely. "Be brave. Remember you're a Scotswoman."
"If I lose Tibe, I shall be a madwoman," she retorted.
"You won't lose him. Alb and I care at least as much for the girls as you do for your dog, and we're not worrying——"
"That's different. The girls don't belong to you," almost wept the tiny creature. "You haven't fed them, and brushed them, and washed their feet every day of their lives since they were a few months old, as I have with Tibe, and if you're not very nice to me, you never will."
"We never dared hope for quite as much as that," said Starr, "but we are being nice to you. What do you want us to do? They're half an hour behind time. Shall we give an order for the Town Crier? I dare say there's one in use still, as this is Holland."
"If you're sarcastic, Ronald, I'll leave you the moment I have my darling Tibe again," replied the Chaperon, and the threat reduced Ronald to crushed silence.
"What took them out so early in the morning?" I asked.
"Oh, Tibe escaped from my room for a minute, and was eating a boot which he found at somebody's door—a horrid, elastic-sided boot: I'm sure it couldn't have been good for him—and the two girls brought him back. They were going out for one last glimpse of that quaint, hidden square you call 'the village,' which they longed to see again, and they asked if they should take Tibe, so I said yes, as he's fond of driving.
"Oh, they were driving?" said I.
"Yes. They could easily have been in long ago. There must have been an accident. Miss Rivers is always so depressingly prompt. Such a strange girl! She considers it quite a sin to break a promise, even to a man, and she seems actually to like telling the truth."