"Very well, Sir Gerald. If you think it is necessary, why then by all means, I shall concur in your views."
"Thank you," replied the Chief Executor.
Mrs. Chichester came into the room and went straight to Jerry. At the same time, Alaric burst in through the garden and greeted Jerry and Hawkes.
"I heard you were here—" began Mrs. Chichester.
Jerry interrupted her anxiously: "Mrs. Chichester, I was entirely to blame for last night's unfortunate business. Don't visit your displeasure on the poor little child. Please don't."
"I've tried to tell her that I'll overlook it. But she seems determined to go. Can you suggest anything that might make her stay? She seems to like you—and after all—as you so generously admit—it was—to a certain extent your fault."
Before Jerry could reply, Jarvis came down the stairs with a pained—not to say mortified—expression on his face. Underneath his left arm he held tightly a shabby little bag and a freshly wrapped up parcel: in his right hand, held far away from his body, was the melancholy and picturesque terrier—"Michael."
Mrs. Chichester looked at him in horror.
"Where are you going with those—THINGS?" she gasped.
"To put them in a cab, madam," answered the humiliated footman. "Your niece's orders."