“Yes, sir—she came with Uncle Isaac, yesterday afternoon. Rare pretty young lady she is too. Naturally she and Uncle Isaac don’t get on well together. Fancy calling her Lizzie! It’s common. And when there’s nice names like Maud and Ethel and Agnes to choose from.”
Bobbie got back to normal with a struggle.
“Why—why shouldn’t she be called Lizzie? It’s—it’s an auntish name. Aunt Lizzie!”
Mr. Superbus helped himself from the decanter. He it was who had discovered the tantalus in a cabinet. And rights of discoverers are indisputable.
“Good health, sir!” he said, and drank.
“Aunt Lizzie!” muttered Bobbie.
“What I can’t understand,” said Julius, wiping his mouth deftly, “is, when she’s got a good name like Heloise—that’s what he calls her when they’re alone....”
It was not the whisky, for he had not drunk thereof; nor the smell of it, for the aroma had not reached him. The room suddenly spun before his eyes. He saw twenty-four Superbuses wiping twenty-four moustaches.
“Heloise! Heloise!” he muttered. “Has she—has she got hair dark as the raven’s?”
Julius considered. He had never met a raven, but he understood that it was a very dark bird.