The blend of disinterested concern and absolute innocence was perfectly charming.
“I could never have believed it,” said Cheriton, with a pained air. “The finished duplicity, the Jesuitical depth.”
“Have you seen him?” demanded Miss Perry.
“Have I seen Gobo? I have seen a roaring, outraged lion in the guise of a rampant turkey cock.”
“It is an awful pity,” said Miss Perry. “We missed him.”
Cheriton felt that he had never observed such gravely sweet concern in the human countenance. To have suspected its proprietress of arrière pensée would have been barbarism.
“Yes; an awful pity,” Cheriton assented. “Particularly for men of a rather full habit of body who are decidedly short in the neck.”
“Do you think Gobo will mind?” said Miss Perry. “You see, Jim”—the handle of Jim’s crop was ominously near to her knee—“Mr. Lascelles came up, and we thought if we went down we should be sure to meet Gobo, but we didn’t.”
“Lascelles, my good fellow,” said his friend, “isn’t it time you began to play up a bit? Miss Perry’s lucidity is admirable, but somehow one has the feeling that her verisimilitude wants eking out a little. Your version will be interesting.”
“My mount cost a cool half-sovereign which I couldn’t afford,” said Jim, brazenly, “and I thought as it was a fine morning I had better have my money’s worth.”