But Patsy had vanished.
“Confound the boy!” said Mr Fanshawe. “What did he mean?”
Instead of a cigar he took a cigarette from his pocket, lit it, smoked it half through, flung it away, and re-entered the house. As he was crossing the hall he came upon Uncle Molyneux, who had just escaped from the dining-room, and who did not look cheerful.
“Come and have a game of billiards,” said Uncle Molyneux.
“I can’t for a moment,” replied Dicky hurriedly, “for I’m just running up to the nursery to say good-night to the children.”
CHAPTER XVII
THE STORY OF THE PIG
“Now sit down, Bob, and do try to behave yourself; Selina shall sit in my lap if she will promise to be good, and I will tell you a story—Doris, leave the poker alone—Dear me, dear me,” said Miss Lestrange, suddenly assuming a grandmotherly tone, “who’d be worried by children? Where is my snuff-box and my cane?—Well, then, sit still and count ten to yourselves all round whilst I think of a story.”
She was seated in the old broken-down nursery rocking-chair with Selina in her lap; there was no lamp, and the flickering fire-light lit the interminable man driving his pig to market and the broom-like tail of the rocking-horse, whose body was lost in shadow.
“Ten!” suddenly yelled Lord Gawdor.