He smiled at her. “Not precisely that, ma’am—but I have the stupidest wish that she would tell me the truth!”
“Pooh, why should she?”
“I can think of only one reason, ma’am. That is what vexes me!” said Mr. Beaumaris.
XII
On his way home from Wimbledon, Mr. Beaumaris drove up Bond Street, and was so fortunate as to see Arabella, accompanied by a prim-looking maidservant, come out of Hookham’s Library. He pulled up immediately, and she smiled, and walked up to the curricle, exclaiming: “Oh, how much better he looks! I told you he would! Well, you dear little dog, do you remember me, I wonder?”
Ulysses wagged his tail in a perfunctory manner, suffered her to stretch up a hand to caress him, but yawned.
“For heaven’s sake, Ulysses, try to acquire a little polish!” Mr. Beaumaris admonished him.
Arabella laughed. “Is that what you call him? Why?”
“Well, he seemed, on the evidence, to have led a roving life, and judging by the example we saw it must have been adventurous,” explained Mr. Beaumaris.
“Very true!” She watched Ulysses look up adoringly into his face, and said: “I knew he would grow to be attached to you: only see how he looks at you!”