"Oh, I say," Bertram protested. "Have we got to go back to rotten old Earl's Court? What a sell!"
"I thought we were going to live here always," Viola exclaimed.
"But don't you want to go back to your father?" John demanded in what he hoped was a voice brimming with reproaches for their lack of filial piety, but which he could not help feeling was bubbling over with something very near elation.
"Oh, no," both children affirmed, "we like being with you much best."
John's gratification was suddenly darkened by the suspicion that perhaps Eleanor had told them to flatter him like this; he turned swiftly aside to hide the chagrin that such a thought gave him, and when he spoke again it was almost roughly, because in addition to being suspicious of their sincerity he was vexed with himself for displaying a spirit of competitive affection. It occurred to him that it was jealousy rather than love which made the world go round—a dangerous reflection for a romantic playwright.
"I'm afraid it can't be helped," he said. "To-morrow is definitely our last day. So choose your own method of celebrating it without dressing up."
"Oh, we only dress up on Sundays," Viola said, loftily.
"I vote we go to the Zoo," Bertram opinionated after a weighty pause.
Had his nephew Harold suggested a visit to the Zoo, John would have shunned the proposal with horror; but with Bertram and Viola the prospect of such an expedition was positively enticing.
"I must beware of favoritism," John warned himself. "Yes, and I must beware of being blarneyed." Then aloud he added: