Arnott laughed.
“Suppose I come instead, kiddie?” he suggested.
But his small daughter was decided in her opinions, and unblushingly frank in the expression of them.
“I want mummy,” she announced. “I don’t want any one else.”
“I’ll tell you what I will do,” he said, rising abruptly, to Pamela’s wondering amazement. “The car is all ready for going out I’ll take the whole lot for a spin.” He tried not to look as though he were conscious of acting in an altogether unprecedented manner, and added: “You can nurse the boy between you.”
“That will be jolly,” said Pamela.
Little Pamela clapped her hands.
“That will be jolly,” she echoed.
“I feel quite the family man,” Arnott remarked later, when he had settled Miss Maitland in the back with the children,—an arrangement against which Pamela, the younger, at first protested loudly. She wanted her mummy. Why couldn’t Miss Maitland sit in front with daddy?
Pamela touched his arm affectionately as he seated himself beside her and grasped the steering wheel.