"You must forgive my staring," said George Alison, gazing upon Anthony, "but you just fascinate me. To think that you're not going to suck wind when drinking, or clean your nails with a fork, is too wonderful. Your predecessor's habits at table were purely Johnsonian."
Betty shuddered at the allusion.
"If he'd been decent," said Anne, "I could have borne it. But he was just odious. The idea that we'd come down in the world fairly intoxicated him."
"It's true," said George. "And when Val wrote and——"
A vicious kick upon his ankle silenced him abruptly.
"I beg your pardon," said Anthony, who had been busy with Patch.
"I was saying that—er—if you value your dog, and he's only just over distemper, I shouldn't let him run loose just yet. José's a terrible huntress, and she's sure to lead him astray. Stays out all night sometimes."
"Right oh!" said Anthony cheerfully.
It was manifest that Patch was going to have the time of his life.
When Betty returned from ushering their new footman into the presence of Mr. and Mrs. Bumble, she reviled her husband as he deserved.