"A very good poet, too," said Bob. "And I sell him bulldogs."
"Oh," said Mr. Bunting, blankly, "you do, do you? Why?"
"Because Pen thought they would do him good."
Mr. Bunting shook his head.
"Thicksides is lucid compared with this!" he murmured. "But patience, patience, and I shall construe it yet."
"And what did Mr. de Vere say?" asked Bob.
"The same thing. He stood there and said I must contradict it. And he said of course it was very kind of her to have me educated, but that, if I had a spark of decency, I should know that a man who had once occupied the position I had couldn't possibly marry her. And, by the way, what position had I occupied in regard to her?"
"A groom," said Bob. "You were supposed to have been a groom."
"Dear me," said Mr. Bunting, "how interesting and remarkable. Still no light, no real light! And of course I said I had married her, and I asked him did he think I would desert the lady now? And he went scarlet. Why did he go scarlet do you think?"
"I know," said Bob, "it must have been on account of the baby!"