"My dear Uncle," I exclaimed, grasping his hand, "pray trust me always to remember that I am a Vereker also."
"B'gad, and there ye have it, Jervas; couldn't ha' put it better yourself!"
"And pray, sirs, how is my dear and best of aunts?"
At this question my uncle Jervas pursed his lips in a soundless whistle and smoothed snowy shirt-frill with caressing fingers.
"Perry," said uncle George, removing his hat to ruffle his curls, "you've heard of bears robbed of cubs, of the Hyr—what's-a-name tiger—"
"Hyrcanian, George!" murmured uncle Jervas.
"Well, they're playful pets in comparison. How is your aunt? B'gad,
Perry, my lad, that's precisely the dooce of it, d'ye see!"
"She—she is very well, I hope?" faltered I.
"Assuredly!" answered my uncle Jervas. "But being the—ah—truly feminine creature she is, your remarkable aunt, with more or less reason, has leapt to the conclusion that we are the cause of what she terms your 'desertion', and is a little incensed against us—"
"Incensed, d'ye call it, Jervas?" exclaimed uncle George. "A little incensed is it—oh, b'gad!"