“By no means,” said Philip; “I never was more in earnest in my life.”
“I have always thought just what I now say,” protested Mrs Enderby.
“Yes, my dear ma’am,” said the daughter, scornfully, “we are all aware of your ways of thinking on some points—of your—”
“Of my mother’s love of justice and neighbourly temper,” said Philip, giving his little nephew a glorious somerset from his shoulder. “I believe, if we could find my mother’s match, the two would be an excellent pair to put into Eddystone lighthouse. They would chat away for a twelvemonth together without ever quarrelling.”
“Philip, do let that poor boy alone,” said mamma. “You are shaking him to pieces.”
“We have both had enough for the present, eh, Ned? Mother, I am at your service, if you are going to call at the Greys.”
Mrs Enderby rose with great alacrity.
“Come to me, my pet,” cried mamma. “Poor Ned shall rest his head in mamma’s lap. There, there, my pet!”
Mamma’s pet was not the most agreeable companion to her when they were left alone: he was crying lustily after uncle Philip, for all mamma could say about uncle Philip always tiring him to death.