“That’s as may be,” said the nurse with majestic significance, divided between her previous conception of Peter and the now very obvious fact that he was of gentle birth; “that’s as may be. But his aunt won’t care to hear of his goings-on, nor my Lady either, for that matter.”
“Lady Anne will understand,” protested Dickie, voicing Peter’s own opinion.
“She may and she mayn’t,” was the tart reply. “Now you’ll please to come home; we’re half an hour late as it is.”
“I said I was ready before,” remarked Dickie calmly.
The nurse jerked the perambulator round in a manner that caused the very young baby within to open its eyes in a kind of mild protest.
“I’ll come and see you again,” said Dickie confidently to Peter.
The nurse pulled him by the arm. “You’ll do nothing of the kind, Master Dickie.”
“Huh!” said Dickie, “you don’t know. I shall ask Lady Anne.”
And then the three disappeared down the lane.
“The Lady Anne,” remarked Peter to himself, “is evidently a divinity to another and much smaller person than I. I don’t exactly love that nurse,” he continued reflectively, “but I fancy she has her hands full.”