“But dad’s so obstinate, Syd. You give him a good talking-to. Don’t be afraid.”
“I’m not—not a bit; but I don’t want to have a row just at present.”
“But it’s got to be done, Syd dear. You have a good go at dad. Tell him it’s of no use for him to kick, and he must make the best of it.”
“Yes, yes, I will, pet; but in the middle of the night like this? I want to get uncle to bed. He’s very queer yet.”
“Yes, he does look groggy,” said the girl, innocently; “but you needn’t be in such a hurry to get rid of me now I am here.”
“I am not, darling. I should like to keep you here—always; only uncle isn’t fit to talk to yet.”
“He does look dazy. I say, Syd, he does understand that we are married?”
“No, pet, he hasn’t an idea.”
“What a shame!” cried the girl. “You said you’d tell him at once.”
“Look at him! What’s the good of telling him now, when every word would roll off him like water from a duck’s back, and not one go in?”