Miss Pembroke laughed gayly. "I understood you to say last week, Mr. Van Pycke, that you were through with menagerie performances for all time." There was a witchery in her eyes that enthralled him.
"This is different," he protested in some confusion. "I draw the line at grown-up tomfoolery. It may interest you to know that I was a horse just before you came in. They've all had a ride on my back. This chap here, when I wasn't looking, took those cavalry spurs from the mantelpiece over there and, by Jove! he did get me moving!"
The children shrieked with glee.
"You poor man!" Mary cried, genuinely troubled over his experiences. "You've had a dreadful time. I'll save you before it grows any worse. Come upstairs, won't you, please? Father is very eager to meet you."
"But I've promised to be another horse," he said loyally.
"It wasn't a horse," corrected one of the boys. "You have been that. You said you'd be a jackass. None of us ever saw a jackass."
"You said you could be a jackass without half trying, Mr. Van Pycke," said the little pink Pembroke.
Mr. Van Pycke fled. His charming hostess overtook him in the hall, where, in dire humility, he had paused to wait for her. She was having immense difficulty to keep her face straight and serene.
"I—I wonder if the little beggars think I am such an idiot as I seem," was his unhappy lamentation.
"They adore you!" she cried. "You have been too splendid for anything. I am so afraid you have been bored by—"