When the train containing Miss Dainty and the bouquets and the boxes and the maid and the dog steamed out of the station I sighed a great sigh, which had something of relief in it.
17th January.
[CHAPTER XLI]
KETTNER'S (CHURCH STREET)
"I have no amusement at all now," said little Mrs. Tota—we always called her Mrs. Tota up at Simla, for she was as bright and perky as her little namesake, the Indian parrot. "George says that the night air brings on his fever, and refuses to go out after dinner."
George looked up from behind his paper and grunted; but there was a quiver of his left eyelid which looked very like a wink.
"I never go to a dance now, and you know I love dancing. I never have any fun like we used to have at the Black Hearts' masked balls at Simla; the only kala jugga I ever go into is the coalhole. I never eat a nice little dinner like you used to give us at the Chalet. I never do anything, or see anything, and all because George thinks he might suffer from imaginary fever."
George from behind the paper moaned a mocking moan. "If George wouldn't mind," I said, "I should be delighted to take you out some evening, give you a little dinner, take you to a box at some theatre, and to a Covent Garden masked ball afterwards."