"But she said it," he replied tearfully.
"Said what?" I asked, puzzled. "Oh," I added, enlightened, "you mean when she said she was losing her voice! But she only meant for a little while. She did not intend to say she was losing it for ever. It is only because she has caught a bad cold. When her cold is better she will be able to speak again."
"Are you quite, quite sure?" he asked, anxiously, but relieved at my explanation.
"Quite sure," I answered.
His mind thus at ease, he returned once more to his painting and worked contentedly for another five minutes, at the end of which time his restless spirit reasserted itself.
"Now, what shall we do?" he asked, throwing down his brush and yawning. "Will you play at horses? You said you would."
"Well, for a little while," I answered, "but not too long."
"Oh, Briggs, what do you want?" Chris asked discontentedly, as at this point that worthy woman made her appearance.
"You are to come and put on your velvet suit against Mr. Wyndham comes," she announced staidly.
"I don't want to put on my velvet clothes," he replied rebelliously, annoyed at being thus disturbed. "They're nasty, horrid things."