“What a day for ducks!” he said; and again there was unmistakable alarm about the eye. Was it possible that he, too, dreaded something?
“I can't express—” began Shelton hurriedly.
“Yes, it's beastly to get wet,” said Mr. Dennant, and he sang—
“For we can wrestle and fight, my boys,
And jump out anywhere.”
“You 'll be with us for that dinner-party next week, eh? Capital! There's the Bishop of Blumenthal and old Sir Jack Buckwell; I must get my wife to put you between them—”
“For it's my delight of a starry night—”
“The Bishop's a great anti-divorce man, and old Buckwell 's been in the court at least twice—”
“In the season of the year!”
“Will you please to take some tea, gentlemen?” said the voice of Phoebe in the doorway.
“No, thank you, Phoebe. That girl ought to get married,” went on Mr. Dennant, as Phoebe blushingly withdrew. A flush showed queerly on his sallow cheeks. “A shame to keep her tied like this to her father's apron-strings—selfish fellow, that!” He looked up sharply, as if he had made a dangerous remark.