But the time flew by. Preparations had to be made to leave this fascinating city, and one day Archie proposed that Bob and he should visit Winslow in his suburban villa.
CHAPTER VII.
MR. WINSLOW IN A DIFFERENT LIGHT.
"You'll find him a rough stick," said Archie.
"What, rougher than me or Harry?" said Bob.
"Well, as you've put the question I'll answer you pat. I don't consider either you or Harry particularly rough. If you're rough you're right, Bob, and it is really wonderful what a difference mixing with the world has done for both of you; and if you knew a little more of the rudiments of English grammar, you would pass at a pinch."
"Thank ye," said Bob.
"You've got a bit of the bur-r-r of Northumbria in your brogue, but I do believe people like it, and Harry isn't half the Cockney he used to be. But, Bob, this man—I wish I could say gentleman—Winslow never was, and never could be, anything but a shell-back. He puts me in mind of the warty old lobsters one sees crawling in and out among the rocks away down at the point yonder.
"But, oh!" added Archie, "what a little angel the daughter is! Of course she is only a baby. And what a lovely name—Etheldene! Isn't it sweet, Bob?"
"I don't know about the sweetness; there is a good mouthful of it, anyhow."