“I never dreamed of it,” she said again, and added: “Mrs. Kenner and I were talking about this dress only last night and I said—I never, never dreamed of such a thing!” She broke off with sudden inconsequence, as women will.
We had now to quiet the nipper in his box. I saw even then that, domineering though I may be, I should probably never care to bring the child’s condition to her notice again. There was something about her—something volcanic in her femininity. I knew it would never do. Better let the thing continue to be a monstrosity! I might, unnoticed, of course, snatch a bun from its grasp now and then.
Our evening rush came and went quite as if nothing had happened. I may have been rather absent, reflecting pensively. I mean to say, I had at times considered this alliance as a dawning possibility, but never had I meant to be sudden. Only for the woman’s remarkably stubborn obtuseness I dare say the understanding might have been deferred to a more suitable moment and arranged in a calm and orderly manner. But the die was cast. Like his lordship, I had chosen an American bride—taken her by storm and carried her off her feet before she knew it. We English are often that way.
At ten o’clock we closed the Grill upon a day that had been historic in the truest sense of the word. I shouldered the sleeping nipper. He still passionately clutched the beef-rib and for some reason I felt averse to depriving him of it, even though it would mean a spotty top-coat.
Strangely enough, we talked but little in our walk. It seemed rather too tremendous to talk of.
When I gave the child into her arms at the door it had become half awake.
“Ruggums!” it muttered sleepily.
“Ruggums!” echoed the mother, and again, very softly in the still night: “Ruggums—Ruggums!”
That in the few months since that rather agreeable night I have acquired the title of Red Gap’s social dictator cannot be denied. More than one person of discernment may now be heard to speak of my “reign,” though this, of course, is coming it a bit thick.