So now he laid emphasis on the appellation ‘my daughter,’ causing Miss Esther to toss her head, as she remarked: “Special afternoon Service at three o’clock, Peter, my dear, should you feel inclined to come,” signifying that she, more than Bertram, was responsible for the girl’s welfare and up-bringing.
“Do you want me too, Pierrot?” pleaded Chavvy, always alarmed at the prospect of a tête-à-tête with her husband’s sister-in-law.
“No,” snapped Pierrot; “stay where you are.”
—“I can’t make out,” he confided in Peter, as they strolled towards the garden-seat, “why those two don’t get on better; there’s a fuss every single time I run up to town.”
“You’ve been up every single day,” she reminded him gently. As, indeed, her pocket had good cause to know.
Bertram, misliking her accents of reproof, remembered his original intention in calling her aside:
“The—ah—young gentleman who seemed to occupy a great deal of your attention, Peter; I’ve been making enquiries, and he appears to be in a fairly sound position. He hasn’t called here lately, I’ve noticed; I hope,” with tender concern, “that he isn’t making a fool of my little girl?”
Peter gazed helplessly at the speaker; then bubbled over with joyous laughter.
“What would you do if that were the case, daddy, dear?”