“You must make your own bed,” he said.
“The court can’t even make me do that,” she replied.
Mr. Cathcart saw her walking across to him and took up his pen hastily.
“Uncle Cathcart,” she said in a low voice, “I did so hope and pray that we should part friends! Every night when I kneel by my bed and say ‘Please, God, give Uncle Cathcart a sense of humour and make him a nice man,’ I have expected the miracle to happen.”
Uncle Cathcart wriggled.
“Have your own way,” he said loudly. “I can’t put an old head on young shoulders. Those who live longest will see most.”
“The proof of the pudding is in the eating,” she added gently. “You forgot that one.”
At luncheon, Mr. Collings tapped the ash of his cigar into the coffee saucer.
“What is this fellow like—this Selsbury?”
“He’s wonderful!” she said dreamily. “He rowed six in the University eight—I’m simply crazy about him.”