Dora again burst out laughing.
“Dad, we shall drive Uncle Alf off his head if we all think so much about each other,” she said. “He’s been making a formal complaint to me about it. He finds us all very trying!”
“And where’s Claude and Jim?” asked Alf. “I hope they’re taking great care of each other. Claude cut his finger this morning, and he bore it wonderfully. Never a cry nor a sob. But I wonder at you, Maria, letting them ride horses all about the country, without a doctor or a pair of surgeons to follow them in case of accidents. They might fall off and be hurt. A savage and dangerous beast is a horse, and more especially a mare, such as Claude was riding.”
Lady Osborne entirely refused to notice the sarcastic intent of this.
“Well, to be sure, we’ve all got to take our risks,” she said. “There’d be no sense in passing your life wrapped up in cotton-wool, and waiting for the doctor!”
“Why, and you used to ride too, when you was a lad, Alf,” said her husband. “You’re making Dora laugh at you. And I don’t wonder: I could laugh myself!”
Alf got up from his chair.
“I think you’d both be the better for an operation, you and Maria,” he said. “I should have a bit of humour put in, instead of a bit of tumour taken out. Not but what it’s a far more serious affair. I doubt if either of you would get over it.”
“Well, and it’s you who talked about my tumour this time,” said Lady Osborne triumphantly.
This was too much for Alf: he walked shufflingly back to the house, leaving his sister-in-law in possession of the field. But she used her victory nobly, with pity for the conquered.