“Yap! yap! yap!” barked the small dog.
“You must go, my dear. She’s a powerful woman. She always has her way. There, let me push you out. I wouldn’t have her catch sight of me at this moment for fifty pounds.”
The green baize door was opened a tiny bit, a violent shove was administered to Flower’s back, and she found herself in the arms of Mrs. Cameron, and in extreme danger of having her nose bitten off by the infuriated Scorpion.
“Just like Zebedee!” exclaimed the good lady. “Always struggling to impart the dry bones of obsolete learning to the young! Come this way, Miss—Miss—what’s your name?”
“Dalrymple—Flower Dalrymple.”
“An outlandish title, worthy of Sleepy Hollow. I have not an idea who you are, but come into the dining-room.”
“Might I—— might I have a little breakfast?”
“Bless me, the child looks as if she were going to faint! Ann, Ann, I say! Down, Scorpion! You shall have no cream if you bark any more. Ann, bring half a glass of port wine over here, and make some breakfast for Miss—Miss Rymple as fast as you can.”
“Dalrymple, please!”
“Don’t worry me, child. I can’t get my tongue round long names. Now, what is it you are called? Daisy? What in the world have you come to me for, Daisy?”