"Fanciful baby," says Dulce, with very superior scorn; "old Slyme could not work ill to anyone. He has lived with us for years; but lately, within the last eight months, he has become—well, a little uncomfortable; indeed, perhaps, unbearable is the word."
"How so?—what has he done?" asks Portia, unaccountably interested in this shadow that has crossed her path.
"I think he is very fond of brandy," says Dulce, reluctantly, and in a very grieved little tone. "Poor old Gregory!"
CHAPTER VI.
"Present mirth hath present laughter,
What's to come is still unsure."
—Shakespeare.
"Julia is coming to-day," says Dulce, looking at them all, with the tea-pot poised in her hand. It is evident that this sudden announcement has hitherto been forgotten. "I heard from her this morning," she says, half apologetically, "but never thought of telling you until now. She will be here in time for dinner, and she is bringing the children with her."
"Only the children?" says Roger, the others are all singularly dumb.
"Yes. The ayah has gone home. Of course she will bring a nurse of some sort, but not Singa."