“Jim is just a sweet,” said she, “and Muffin saved him from falling over the precipice.”
“I was given to understand,” said Aunt Caroline, “that it was the man Lascelles who saved Elizabeth.”
“Yes, it was, Aunt Caroline,” said Muffin; “but Goose is rather a silly.”
Of course there could only be one conclusion to the whole matter. The massed force of public opinion was too much for the Whig remnant, even in its own stronghold. Ungraciously, it must be confessed, Miss Burden was commanded to write as follows: “The Countess of Crewkerne requests the pleasure of the company of Mrs. Lascelles and Mr. James Lascelles at dinner this evening at 8:30.”
“This is one of your white days, Caroline,” said her oldest friend, with approbation. “A singularly gracious act in a life which, if I may say so, has not been too full of them. We must mark it with a little white stone.”
“Don’t be a coxcomb, Cheriton,” said the old lady. “Who has dared to remove the ribbon from Ponto’s neck?”
“He lost it in the water, Aunt Caroline,” said Muffin, with all the assurance of one in favor at Court, “when he fell in.”
“When he fell in!” said Aunt Caroline.
“He went to sleep on the edge of the punt,” Muffin explained, “and he toppled over.”
“I trust,” said the least of Ponto’s admirers, “that the obese beast will not gain length of days from his immersion.”