She hoped from her heart, this might lead him to say that he would look out for her there; but he did nothing of the kind. His answer was to the effect that this year they jolly well expected to knock Ormond into a cocked hat.
Lunch threatened to be formidable. To begin with, Laura, whose natural, easy frankness had by this time all but been successfully educated out of her, Laura was never shyer with strangers than at a meal, where every word you said could be listened to by a tableful of people. Then, too, her vis-a-vis was a small sharp child of five or six, called Thumbby, or Thumbkin, who only removed her bead-like eyes from Laura's face to be saucy to her father. And, what was worse, the Uncle turned out to be a type that struck instant terror into Laura: a full-fledged male tease.—He was, besides, very hairy of face, and preternaturally solemn.
No sooner had he drawn in his chair to the table than he began. Lifting his head and thrusting out his chin, he sniffed the air in all directions with a moving nose—just as a cat does. Everyone looked at him in surprise. Tilly, who sat next him, went pink.
"What is it, dear?" his wife at last inquired in a gentle voice; for it was evident that he was not going to stop till asked why he did it.
"Mos' extraor'nary smell!" he replied. "Mother, d'you know, I could take my appledavy some one has been using my scent."
"Nonsense, Tom."
"Silly pa!" said the little girl.
Ramming his knuckles into his eyes, he pretended to cry at his daughter's rebuke; then bore down on Laura.
"D'you know, Miss Ra ... Ra ... Rambotham"—he made as if he could not get her name out—"d'you know that I'm a great man for scent? Fact. I take a bath in it every morning."
Laura smiled uncertainly, fixed always by the child.