She ought to have been warned by his fervour, but the immediate necessities of the moment threw her off her balance.
“Why, of course he’s here,” she said.
“Your uncle is here!” There was triumph in his tone, his wild eyes fixed her.
“Why ... why yes, Guiseppi,” she faltered and he closed his eyes in a rapt smile.
“Then the dream of my life is to be fulfilled. Your telephone—I may use it, yes?”
He was at the telephone before she could say yes or no. She heard him give a number, his hotel, and then:
“You will have my bags sent here at once, to Cheynel Gardens, yes? Two bags, do you not understand English? My grip, bags, send them to this place. What is the name, Cheynel? Yes, that is it, Cheynel Gardens, Number 61. You cannot mistake it. My pyjamas you will not forget. They are under my pillow.”
“Guiseppi!” she gasped. “What are you doing? Wait! You can’t stay here!”
“Yes, here, under your roof. The glory of it! It is wonderful, a fulfilment of dreams, oh my starry vision! Without your good uncle it was impossible. You have a new aunt? Ah, the poor Mrs. Tetherby! It was comical, to me tragic, yet this moment comical again!”
“But Guiseppi,” she wailed, “you can’t stay. My uncle doesn’t like people staying in the house....”