Pierrette opened to the knock at the door. And, with a cry of joy, held out both hands to welcome in the truant.
“I knew you would come home, Pierrot,” quoth Chavvy.
CHAPTER V
WORSHIPPERS ALL
The end of September saw the Johnsons back again in their Turnham Green residence, named, somewhat misleadingly: “Town House.” Thus it was an easy matter for Mr. Johnson to say, wherever he might chance to spend his summer holidays: “Mother, this time next week we’ll be in our Town House!” airily creating out of his harmless little vanity, a whole host of shooting-boxes, country mansions, river bungalows, and Riviera villas. Mrs. Johnson would smile tolerantly; she encouraged originality, even in her husband.
Sebastian Levi took a room near by, where he wrote the final chapters of his book, and impatiently awaited the return of Stuart from Bournemouth, that the whole might receive his sanction and benediction. A fortnight afterwards, and he was summoned one evening to Carlton House Terrace; and in an apartment which was curiously ordinary for the shrine of so exalted a being, found Stuart sprawling in a low shabby arm-chair, and poking at the smouldering coals with his foot.
“Hullo, Levi, how’s—let me see, I’ve forgotten the name——”
“‘Shears,’” supplemented Sebastian excitedly; “I’ve got it with me.”
“No, you ardent flame-headed lover. Letty. How’s Letty?”
“Letty’s all right, except the days when she has to starve herself to make her father receive me. I say, Heron,” looking about him, “what a queer sort of room—for you.”