"Oh, you dear old Georgy-Porgy! What a shame to leave him all alone! What a naughty bad old girl!"
Somewhat mollified by this display of affection, George at last was prevailed upon to smile, and to give a brief account of his adventures, without moving from the spot. His wife assured him that everything would come right, and declared that his pursuers were the worst and horridest men in the world. She then gave him three special kisses for finding Tops, and bade him take a good look at that young lady from a distance of six feet, and say if she wasn't the dearest, sweetest, and prettiest girl in the world.
George did so, and diplomatically gave it as his opinion that she was the "second prettiest."
Mrs. Early dimpled, and, after vowing that her husband was a dear old stupid, warned him to prepare for a special favour.
"What is it?" asked the young man.
Mrs. Early looked first at her husband, then at her cousin, and then placing her hands behind her, and looking as regal and magnanimous as possible, she said—
"George, you may kiss Tops."
Like a dutiful husband, George obeyed, but not before Mrs. Early had received a scolding from her cousin, who received the salute under protest.
At dinner that evening George almost forgot his woes in the unceasing flow of conversation. Miss Fairbrother's legacy was the chief topic. In spite of the urgent cable presaging "a valuable property," this appeared to be nothing more than "a freehold house at Brixton with a long garden."
"It'll be nice to live in without rent," said Miss Fairbrother; "but of course I shall have to work for my bread-and-butter. Anyhow, I shall be near Babs, so it's worth having on that account."