Whatever pre-occupation it was that held Peter, he seemed to shake himself free of it.
“Yes, I’ve got news all right,” he said. “Domestic tragedy.”
“Oh, my dear, what?” asked she. “Nothing awful?”
He seemed to know for certain that she was figuring in her mind something about himself and Silvia. So, in the upshot, the sequel, the development, he was. But he tested her, so to speak, over the domestic tragedy itself.
“My mother has run away from home,” he began.
Nellie did not laugh. She only bit her tongue with firm purpose.
“Dear Peter!” she said, when she released it.
“She has simply gone,” he said. “Round about ten days ago, when father arrived to study his first cartoon, with a view to the rest of the series—Mrs. Wardour bought it, by the way—gracious me, what a lot we have got to talk about.”
“Never mind the cartoon,” said Nellie with thrilled interest. “Get on with the tragedy.”
Quite uncontrollably Peter’s mouth began to lengthen itself. He did not quite smile, but the promise of a smile was there.