“Believe me, he’s happy,” muttered the old dog in my ear. “I see it in his eyes. He thinks the Wasp is beginning to like him.”
“I thought you liked money,” said Mr. Bonstone after a long time.
“I love it,” said the Wasp promptly, “heaps of it, but I like you better.”
“He’ll have to do something now,” said Gringo anxiously. “He’s very chilly in his ways.”
A red-hot spark just then flew out of the fire on my coat, and I was very much occupied with my little burn for a few seconds. When I again turned my attention to the room, Gringo was on his feet ejaculating excitedly, “Mister’s left his chair—he’s walking, fast round the room—he’s powerfully pleased—come on, let’s join the procession,” and he gambolled to the other side of the table.
I love to see human beings happy, and I trotted after Gringo. Mrs. Bonstone’s face shone like a fairy’s, and she was softly beating her hands on the arms of her chair.
“Never again tell me your master has cold eyes,” I said to Walter Scott, who had just come to the room, and stood in the doorway gazing in an amazed and disapproving manner at the cloak on the floor, his master’s excited face, and Mrs. Bonstone’s resplendent eyes.
“My dear lady is not going to the ball,” faltered Sir Walter—“she’s lost her repose of manner, and she’s singing, ‘Tum Tum,’ and beating her hands on the chair—what would Grandmother say, if she were here?”
“Fortunately, Grandmother is in Palm Beach,” I muttered.