“I never could resist a man,” sighed Mrs. Gainsborough, with resignation. “There’s a character! Oh, well, it’s my own and no one else’s, that’s one good job.”
Michael had to wait until February was nearly over before he heard from her. It had been very difficult to remain quietly at Cheyne Walk, but he knew that if he were to show any sign of activity, Sylvia would carry Lily off again.
“A person to see you, sir,” said the tortoise-mouthed parlormaid.
Michael found Mrs. Gainsborough sitting in the hall. She was wearing a bonnet tied with very bright cerise ribbons.
“They’ve had a rumpus, the pair of them, this afternoon. And Sylvia’s gone off in the sulks. I really was quite aggravated with her. Oh, she’s a willful spitfire, that girl, sometimes. She really is.”
Michael was coming away without a coat or hat, and Mrs. Gainsborough stopped him.
“Now don’t behave like a silly. Dress yourself properly and don’t make me run. I’m getting stout, you know,” she protested.
“We’ll get a hansom.”
“What, ride in a hansom? Never! A four-wheeler if you like.”
It was difficult to find a four-wheeler, and Michael was nearly mad with impatience.