“It must be an antediluvian cock,” he decided. “Phyllis, I fear your talent does not lie in the direction of drawing.”
“It lies in the direction of my making a fool of myself,” she replied.
“Ah, well, little Phyll!” retorted Uncle Robert, smiling. “Horace says: ‘Dulce est desipere in loco,’ which being interpreted, is, ‘It is sweet to play the fool now and then, in the place for so doing.’ But draw the line at hurting, little Phyll—either others or yourself. Then it does not much matter.”
“Mr. Burns, I have been hurting you and dear Mrs. Barrimore these last days. I have been a disagreeable pig.”
“Look here!” broke out Uncle Robert. “You are a bit moped. What do you say to the Hippodrome? Annie has a crusty old maid who is coming to spend the evening here. Supposing you and I go off on our own! We can get an early dinner, just for us two, and then be off before Miss Nightingale appears. Nightingale, indeed! She has a voice like a raven!”
Phyllis laughed naturally now. She was delighted to go out with Mr. Burns, who always gave her a good time.
“How lovely!” she cried, pulling off a pinafore, with which she had tried to get a professional appearance, and flinging her picture in a corner. “But look at the weather!”
“What does that matter!” said Uncle Robert. “I shall order a cab. What says the proverb: ‘For the morning rain leave not your journey.’ I think it will clear up, but, anyway, get your bib and tucker ready. I’ll go and ask Annie to arrange our early dinner.”
“How good—how very good they all are to me!” Phyllis told herself when Mr. Burns had departed on his errand. “And what a horrid little wretch I am!”