Suddenly I remembered that Mrs. Winderby was literary.
She looked at me coldly, she did not help me. She saw my agitation, she watched the beads rise on my forehead, and the only word I could think of was "swelled." I could not say swelled—it was impossible to say swelled. I hugged the tortoise, and my slippers fell off.
"I am afraid I don't understand. I cannot see the connection between a mangel-wurzel and a successful author," she repeated.
"Why because," I laughed feebly, "I—I—they——" And Dimbie appeared from the cock-loft and saved me.
"Because they are both so nice," he said affably, offering a hand to Mrs. Winderby and drawing up a chair close to hers.
The situation was saved. Dimbie was covered with cobwebs. His hands were dirty, but his manners were irresistible; and that Mrs. Winderby fell in love with him straight away gave me no qualms of jealousy.
"It is so kind of you to come and call upon my wife," he was saying. "She is delighted to see any of the residents of Pine Tree Valley."
Oh, Dimbie, Dimbie!
Mrs. Winderby gracefully crossed one velvet-clad leg over the other. She was prepared to prolong her visit indefinitely now that Dimbie had appeared. Jumbles, giving her foot a wide berth, crept on to the couch and snuggled down beside me.
"I have been telling Mrs. Westover how much I had been hoping that you would have been one of us. We are wanting new members."