Southerley took it very quietly; he just nodded and went upstairs softly whistling, with his hands in his pockets. Then he went out at once, without seeing either of the others again, and he did not come back until long after they were both in bed.
And he alone of the three made no remark whatever when Susan informed them on the following evening that Miss Merriman had gone away and had taken the child with her.
Repton gave a long whistle.
“Well, I’m blest!” he exclaimed tersely.
Bayre was indignant. Surely he had a right to know where she was taking the child, he who claimed not only to be the infant’s cousin but to have more than a fanciful claim to be its guardian! Miss Merriman was surely carrying a woman’s privileges too far.
“Cousin or no cousin, it’s abominable,” said Repton, indignantly. “We’ve had all the trouble of the journey from Guernsey, all the expense of milk and biscuits, sausage rolls and bananas for the brat, and flowers and sweets for her. And now we’re left in the lurch like this! It’s infamous. I’m hurt in my very tenderest feelings. I shall advertise.”
“What! For the price of the flowers and the bon-bons?” laughed Bayre.
“Of course not. But I have a third share in the proprietorship of that infant. And it may be worth money some day. Besides, I ought to have been consulted.”
All this time Southerley never moved a muscle. But that he was hard hit it was impossible not to see. His eyes looked glassy and his ruddy skin livid.
“Cheer up, old man!” cried Repton, giving him a ferocious thump on the back. “She wasn’t worth troubling about, a woman who could go without a word after that last box from Fuller’s—the one with the gold ribbon and the picture of the two cupids in a basket. Thank goodness, she’ll never be able to look at those two pink cupids without a self-reproachful thought of you and me!”