This just suited me. I hadn’t been out all day, except for my little walk before dinner, and I jumped and fawned round Mr. Bonstone.
“Who is she?” he inquired in his short way.
Master explained how much he thought of her, and even wrote her a note, introducing Mr. Bonstone.
“Does she know?” inquired Mr. Bonstone.
“About the baby?” said my master with a heavenly smile. “She was the first one to get a telegram.”
Mr. Bonstone didn’t understand this, but I did. Old Ellen would be in the seventh heaven, and Robert Lee and Beanie would be half way there.
I danced downstairs, and danced up to Mrs. Bonstone, and she let her handkerchief fall on the floor like a little damp cobweb. Then she sniffed, and asked her husband to lend her his.
He took out his big one for her, then he telephoned for a taxi-cab.
“If you let the baby get cold, I’ll never forgive you,” said Mrs. Bonstone.
“It won’t get cold,” he said, and seizing her satin, fur-trimmed cloak, he doubled it all up, and put it under his arm.