“He wouldn’t bite a soul,” she said, rising to her full height, with a smile of invincible friendliness. “He is just a precious.”
“Carry it into the hall!” cried the old lady. “Marchbanks, fetch down Ponto.”
Poised very insecurely upon a chair, Mr. Marchbanks found it not altogether easy to induce Ponto to quit his place of refuge. At length, however, he was able to restore the quivering quadruped to his mistress.
In the meantime Miss Perry, with affectionate pride, had carried the wicker basket into the hall.
“Burden,” said the old lady, truculently, “that girl ought to be flogged.”
Upon the return of Miss Perry, with uplifted finger, the old lady ordered her to approach.
“Come here, girl,” said she. “I think your behavior is disgraceful. Were you brought up in a barn?”
Such a direct and ruthless mode of address caused a blush to overspread the extremely picturesque countenance of Miss Perry. Quite suddenly her great blue eyes swam with tears.
“Tobias did not mean any harm,” said she. “He is such a sweet. It was not his fault that I dropped the basket.”
“Let us have no more of Tobias,” said the old lady. “Now understand”—the finger went up again—“upon no pretext whatever will I allow in future a ferret to enter my drawing-room. I really—I—upon my word——!”