"Talking of husbands," he said, "how's the Torpichen Badger?"
She shook her head at him in the old way; keeping it up.
"Oh, Ranny, you mustn't call your father that."
"Why not?"
"It's a whisky, my dear."
(He could have sworn there was the ghost of a smile about her soft mouth.)
"So it is. I forgot. Well, how's the Hedgehog?"
For all her smile Mrs. Ransome seemed to be breaking down all of a sudden, as if in another moment the truth would have come out of her; but she recovered, and she kept it up.
"He's had the Headache come on more than ever. I've never known a time when His Headache has been so bad. Most constant it is."
Ranny preserved a respectful silence.