“I don’t need to. I cycled to Crump, this morning, to inquire, and had quite a long talk with Mrs. Stanley. We’ve sent over every day, of course. I’m so delighted he’s on the right road, at last.”
“You came away without lettin’ me know?” Larry asked incredulously. “You were actually in Crump, talkin’ to Nettie, without so much as askin’ to see me? I must say you have a fetchin’ friendly way of doin’ things!”
“Well, but, Larry, one doesn’t call at a house for bulletins, and ask to see a man who really ought to be living somewhere else altogether. Besides,” she went on, in a lower tone, “I wasn’t sure you would care to meet me. I knew—Lionel—wouldn’t, anyhow.”
“Lionel wants shootin’!” Larrupper observed thickly, very red and embarrassed, kicking the front tyre nervously. “It’s all been Lionel’s muddlin’ from beginnin’ to end—the grousin’, interferin’ blighter! He gets attacks of thinkin’ he knows better than anybody else, an’ starts makin’ himself a blatant, rampin’ nuisance. I’ve brought him over by the scruff of his neck to lick your boots; but of course, as I keep tellin’ him, he can’t expect to find you very forgivin’. Still, there’s just the chance you’ll stretch the hand of blessin’ on Larry’s account. Larry’s an ass, but he’s very well-meanin’, an’ if you can see your way to lookin’ over things for his sake, I’ll promise you that skunk Lionel shan’t ever get rampin’ round any more. I hope you’ll think it over, an’ give us both a chance.”
There was a long pause; and then, just as she made an effort to speak, Augustus, reaching too far in a vain endeavour to persuade the steering-wheel to continue his journey, fell heavily to the floor. Larrupper spun round on the instant and snatched him up, taking him in his arms and soothing him with a skill very surprising in a young man whose solicitude had hitherto been mainly expended upon motors. Verity listened in amazement to nursery endearments apparently quite at home on his lips, and a faint smile, first amused and then tender, came to her own. This was certainly Larry in a new light.
“I’ll fetch the cake,” she remarked, turning hastily to the house, and added, “Poor little man!” as Augustus resumed his seat, stooping to kiss his tear-stained cheek. He looked so like a newly-escaped cherub, with his solemn eyes and curling hair.
But Augustus hated women. He liked men-things with strong arms that could hold you without hurting you, and send shining monsters along the road at a deliriously exciting speed. Glancing at her stolidly, he lifted a chubby hand and slapped her face. The next moment she was in Larrupper’s arms, with her injured cheek against his coat. Augustus stared solemnly at the gravel.
“Seems almost as if he’d been sent on purpose,” Larry observed presently, when at last they found time to attend to him again, “though I’m not sayin’ he has a very elegant way of mendin’ things. Still, it’s not for Larry Lyndesay to be findin’ fault with the gods. Run along in for the grub, darlin’. It’s astonishin’ how we keep forgettin’ the poor little chap!”
“Old Savaury sent you his love,” he went on, when she came out again. “The dear old fuss-bird was soothin’ the dust with a sprinkler. He seemed hurt in his mind because you’d given up singin’. You might write askin’ for a song or two—he’s worth cultivatin’. How’s Billy-boy?” he added suddenly, stooping to start his engine.