"And what's that?"
"Well, I'm rather sweet on her myself, do you see?"
"Oh, faith, you may trust me," said Mr. Giveen, in high good spirits. "I'm not a marrying man, or I'd have been snapped up years ago, musha! But oughtn't I to go back to me hotel for a black coat?"
"Oh, you won't want any black coats where we're going to," said Bobby with grim jocularity. "They are most unconventional people. But, maybe, you'd like to wash your hands. This is my bedroom."
He ushered his guest into the bedroom and left him there. When he returned to the sitting-room he found Robert waiting for him with the announcement that some parcels had come.
"Let's see them," said Mr. Dashwood.
Four large brown-paper parcels were on the floor of the landing; they had just arrived from Thompson's, the big Italian warehouse in Regent Street.
"That's right," said Bobby. "I'm taking them down to a place. And, see here, Robert, I may be away a few days. I've got a car coming; it will be at the Vigo Street entrance in a few minutes. Just keep a lookout for it, and let me know when it arrives."
"Yes, sir. Shall I pack you some things?"
"Yes; shove a few things into a bag—enough for a week—and stow the bag and these parcels in the back of the car when it comes."