“I am very sorry—very sorry indeed, Dexter,” said the doctor. “There, sir, you can go now. I will have a talk to Mr Limpney. We must see if we cannot bring you to a better frame of mind.”
Chapter Twenty Five.
Dexter’s Dumb Friends.
Dexter went out into the hall feeling exceedingly miserable, for he had left the occupants of the study talking about him, and, as the saying goes, it made his ears burn. “I couldn’t help it,” he said dolefully: “I did try. I’ll go and tell Miss Grayson all about it, and ask her to take my part.”
He went into the drawing-room, but Helen was not there, so he ran upstairs, and was in the act of tapping at her bedroom door, when Maria came out of another room.
It was a curious fact, but there it was: Dexter always had the effect upon Maria that a dog has upon a cat. The dog may be of the most amiable disposition, and without the slightest desire to fight or worry, but as soon as he is seen, up goes the cat’s back in an arch, the tail becomes plumose and the fur horrent, while, with dilated eyes and displayed teeth glistening, puss indulges in the bad language peculiar to cats.
Maria being of a different physique did not display these signs of aggression exactly, but she invariably became vicious and metaphysically showed her teeth.
“It’s of no use your knocking there, Master Dexter. Miss Helen isn’t at home, and I’m quite sure if she was that she wouldn’t approve of your trapesing up out of the garden in your muddy and dirty shoes. I’ve got enough to do here without cleaning up after you.”