Cheriton shook his head protestingly.
“A curiously banal figure,” said he. “Why are you always so bourgeoise, Caroline? You have no need to be.”
Caroline shook her head also.
“Cheriton,” said she, with great resolution, “I don’t believe a word you have told me about Priscilla L’Estrange.”
CHAPTER XXVI
JIM LASCELLES ADDS HEROISM TO HIS OTHER FINE QUALITIES
FOUR hours later saw the inception of an imperial August day. The previous night Muffin had entered Goose’s chamber by stealth, with bare feet and clad in a white nightgown only, and armed with a fat bolster. After a solemn exchange of civilities, of which Muffin invariably got the worst, because Goose’s aim was wonderfully accurate and she was not susceptible to the most tremendous buffets, they ended as usual by sharing the same bed and going to sleep in one another’s arms. It was never their custom to heed anything else until the light of the morning touched their eyelids. As a general rule it touched Muffin’s first. It then became the duty of that active spirit, as soon as she realized that she was awake, to hale the still sleeping Goose out of bed. Sometimes, when even this herculean labor had been accomplished, she had to beat that somnolent person about the head with a pillow before she could be induced to put on her stockings. This morning provided no exception to the regular mode of procedure.
The mists were still gathered about Lake Dwygy, and little was to be seen of Gwydr and his brethren, when, hand-in-hand, Goose and Muffin came trampling the dew of the early August day. Bareheaded, laughing, blithe as the winged inhabitants of the air, they were supremely happy. Each had brought up the other from her earliest infancy, and although each was exquisitely modest in all that pertained to herself, in regard to the fruit of her handiwork each had formed an exaggerated estimate. Goose was inordinately proud of Muffin, and Muffin was inordinately proud of Goose.
Tobias was borne in a bag. Although he was strictly forbidden to catch rabbits, he was never denied an airing.
“There goes a squirrel,” said Muffin. “Look, in that tree. Up he goes; but it is not very high. I wonder if we could catch him for Aunt Caroline. Hold my bread and butter, and don’t eat it.”
Muffin had already established herself upon the first branch, when a voice, great alike in authority and scornfulness, was heard through the early morning stillness.