“Alone?”
“Oh, you bet Mad’m or Miss Marcus or Bobby is with them. Our precious flapper mayn’t go a second unchaperoned. It’s hard luck on Dolph.”
“Dear Jenny, your point of view as Dolph’s wife is rather a novel one.”
“Excuse me, but is Jenny here?” A very aggrieved Carew stood on the threshold, glaring at his wife through an enmuffling tangle of beard and eyebrow. He was incredibly like the popular notion of a bushranger. Actually he had been traveller for a wholesale tobacco firm in the City. And was now out of work.
“Jenny, you might think of a fellow sometimes, I must say. Bobby keeps on running out of the room, and I’ve always got to haul him back. And you know quite well what Mad’m is like about Manong. Why don’t you sit with us and do some sewing till Bobby’s bed-time? You’re so selfish.”
Another ferocious glare—and Dolph was gone.
“Charming fellow, isn’t he?” remarked Jenny lightly. She shrugged her shoulders, and followed him out.
The soldier looked at Deb expressively: “Bit thick, isn’t it?”
“I hate Dolph Carew!”