"I say, I hope he isn't chasing Mrs. Worfolk up and down the house," he ejaculated as he hurried out on the landing. What ever Beyle had been doing, he was at rest now and smiling up at John from the front-door mat. "I hope it wasn't Mrs. Worfolk," he said, coming back. "She's in a very delicate state just at present."
"What?" James shouted, incredulously.
"Oh, not in that way, my dear fellow, not in that way. But she's not used to having so many visitors in the house."
"I'm going to take one of them away with me, if that'll be any consolation to her," James announced.
"Not Beatrice?" his brother stammered.
"It's all very fine for you with a mob of servants to look after you: but I can't spare Beatrice any more easily than you could spare Mrs. Worfolk. I've been confoundedly uncomfortable for nearly two days, and my wife must come back."
"Oh, but look here," John protested. "She's been managing the children magnificently. I've hardly known they were in the house. You can't take Beatrice away."
"Sorry, Johnnie, but my existence is not so richly endowed with comforts as yours. You'd better get a wife for yourself. You can afford one."
"But can't we arrive at a compromise?" John pleaded. "Why don't you come and camp out with me, too?"