Mr. Avery, now unable wholly to contain himself, indulged in a broad grin. “The idea isn’t half bad,” he said.
“Thank you,” from Agatha.
Miss Connaughton returned to the contest. “But the newspapers would surely get it!” she wailed, suddenly aware of the dramatics of the situation.
Agatha put out one small, gloved hand toward her kinswoman. “My aunt,” said she, “lives in daily horror of having the proud name of Connaughton dragged into the vulgar press. Well, I can just see the headlines: ‘Miss Connaughton’s Ward Has Softening of the Brain!’ Oh, it will be the limit!”
“Agatha!” groaned Miss Connaughton.
Mr. Avery interrupted hastily. “The suggestion as to a deaf-and-dumb attendant,” he began, coughing professionally, “is I think, an excellent one. Such a person would fulfil your requirements, madam.” This to Miss Connaughton, who had sunk back, chin on breast, in what was almost a state of collapse. Then, to Agatha, “May I ask if there are other specifications?”
“Well, yes,” drawled she teasingly, a roguish twinkle in those violet-blue eyes, “he must be good-looking” (Miss Connaughton’s brow clouded) “and smart in appearance. Why,” with an experienced air, “there isn’t any part of New York so quick to note the difference between real and sham people as the East Side, and the children have a most embarrassing way of throwing valuless etceteras.”
Mr. Avery picked up a pencil. “Deaf and dumb, good-looking, young, smartly dressed,” he enumerated. “Anything else?”
“Let—me—see,” pondered Agatha. After a moment, “I think I shan’t bother to stipulate the colour of his eyes and hair.”
“Huh!” observed Auntie.