“You knew quite well that I meant you to cut the acquaintance entirely. Millicent, what has come to you that you should disregard my wishes in this way?”
“I am very sorry, dad. I did not think I was doing wrong. I promise now that I shall not speak to Captain Stanhope again until you give me permission. If I had really meant to disobey you I would hardly have told you so openly at table. My idea was that you would like to know all about this ju-ju which Mr. Schwartz has lost, and the queer effect it may have in causing a West African war.”
Poor Mam was nearly crying, and Dorothy’s face was a study; she was terrified lest Minkie should blurt out the fact that she, too, was at the Four Lanes. As it happened, Minkie could not have mentioned a worse locality. It was the Four Lanes warren which first led to the quarrel between old Mr. Stanhope and the Guv’nor. There was a lawsuit about the shooting rights, which ought to have gone with our estate, but Mr. Stanhope’s lawyers made out a flaw in a copyhold, whatever that may mean, and we lost. I wonder why men invented law. If they followed our example, and fought in the good old way, our Old Man would now own that warren.
There might have been more unpleasant things said had not Polly yelled suddenly:
“Fire! Murder! Per-lice! ’E dunno where ’e are!”
The mongoose had just discovered that it was the parrot who was growling nasty remarks at Evangeline because she took the nuts from the sideboard without giving him any. Naturally, being a newcomer, Rikki was surprised, so he had jumped on to the window-sill to have a look at this queer bird. Minkie was told to put the mongoose in his box, as Evangeline declared she wouldn’t touch such an awful objec’, not for a million pounds.
While Minkie was out of the room the Guv’nor tried to recover his good humor.
“You must not pay heed to my little girl’s way of expressing herself, Schwartz,” he said. “We have rather encouraged her to be outspoken, and she has always been remarkably intelligent. Try that port. You will find it good, a ’74, the last bottle, worse luck.”
“Here’s to Holly Lodge and its owner, his wife and his charming daughters. May we all be sitting here this time next year!” cried Schwartz, lifting his glass and glancing at Dolly.
It was a pleasant enough toast in its way, but again I had that feeling under the fur that the words meant a lot more than they expressed. Dan naturally said he saw nothing particular in them, but you will find I was right. I noticed, too, that Schwartz drank two glasses of the wine in quick succession, though he had declined a liqueur the previous evening. I mentioned this to Dan, but he only growled: