And that’s the worst of love—there are such ordinary topics which it endows with the power to sting—even poll-parrots, for instance. Elizabeth thought of that moment in Sam Petch’s kitchen when the gates of the Enchanted Muddle shone near and splendid before her happy eyes, and felt she could not bear it. Yet she also felt that she loved the deceiving bird about whose obstinately silent head shone the glory of that time when she and Andy had laughed together. She could not have it branded as an impostor and turned out into the cold world of cheap bird-fanciers’ windows. And that was what seemed about to happen.
“I shall be so grateful if you will drive over with me and look at a valued parrot which belonged to my poor aunt,” said Mrs. Atterton. “I feel I have neglected my duty—but my back——”
“Of course,” bowed the celebrated ornithologist, paying the deference due. “No one could expect——”
“Especially,” said Mrs. Atterton, “one who now understands everything. There were times on earth when she did not quite appreciate, poor dear, how I suffered. But,” she added, “that makes me all the more anxious to look after the parrot, if you understand? And the poor bird has changed so. Lost its voice and its—its wonderful assertiveness.”
“Ha-ha! that’s what you call it, do you?” laughed Mr. Atterton. “Most ill-tempered, ugly old bird! Those poor Petches must have been more than thankful when it lost its voice. Enough to drive you into a lunatic asylum.”
Elizabeth felt profoundly thankful that Norah was away and had never been moved to investigate the parrot problem, for she recognised that danger was in the air.
“I am sure Mr. Parrish gets enough birds at home. Besides, he only goes in for stuffed ones,” she interposed hastily.
“They were all alive once, my dear young lady,” said Mr. Parrish, smiling on Elizabeth, whom he liked because she did not seem very clever. He was of those who prefer to hold all the cards in their own hand.
“Oh, of course; how silly of me,” said Elizabeth, with a meek little laugh. The best of women will understand how, though they may not own it. “I had been thinking of asking you to walk through the woods with me—I know hardly anything about birds, and there are so many in Millsby woods—but, of course, you would prefer to drive with mamma.”
The eminent ornithologist was also a man, and he was torn between an intense desire to walk through the woods instructing this sweet and teachable young lady, and politeness to his hostess. Happily Mrs. Atterton herself solved the difficulty by saying, with a sigh of relief—