"Good evening, Miss Merritt," said Cameron. "Hello, Bill! Where's your mother?" His tone struck false, for through his mind was booming the horrible question, "Can Nellie have gone out with that ass Crane to dine?"
Miss Merritt's mousy face became all eyes.
"Why, sir, Mrs. Cameron has gone out to dinner, and after to a concert. I guess you forgot, sir."
"Oh, yes," said Cameron, easily. "This is the night of the concert. I had absolutely forgotten. I'd have got a bite down town if I'd thought. Is the cook in?"
"Sure, sir. I'll call her."
She left Cameron alone with Billy, who, cannibal-wise, was chewing his father's hand and crowing over the appetizing bumps and veins.
"If you'd jest 'ave 'phoned, sir," panted the cook, who was a large, purple-faced person.
Cameron sighed.
"Just anything, Katy. I have a headache. Some eggs and toast—poached eggs, I think."
In another moment the maid passed the nursery door, with white things over her arm, on her way to set the table.