"My lap is full of paws!" she exclaimed; "take them away, Katie! And oh!—my gown, my gown!—Billy, stop waving your tumbler around my face! If you spill that milk on me I shall ask your Uncle Philip to put you in the guard-house!"
"You're going to bolo us, aren't you, Uncle Philip?" inquired Billy. "It's my turn to be killed, you remember—"
"I have an idea," said Selwyn, "that Miss Erroll is going to play for you to sing."
They liked that. The infant Gerards were musically inclined, and nothing pleased them better than to lift their voices in unison. Besides, it always distressed Kit-Ki, and they never tired laughing to see the unhappy cat retreat before the first minor chord struck on the piano. More than that, the dogs always protested, noses pointed heavenward. It meant noise, which was always welcome in any form.
"Will you play, Miss Erroll?" inquired Selwyn.
Miss Erroll would play.
"Why do you always call her 'Miss Erroll'?" asked Billy. "Why don't you say 'Eileen'?"
Selwyn laughed. "I don't know, Billy; ask her; perhaps she knows."
Eileen laughed, too, delicately embarrassed and aware of his teasing smile. But Drina, always impressed by formality, said: "Uncle Philip isn't Eileen's uncle. People who are not relations say Miss and Mrs."
"Are faver and muvver relations?" asked Josephine timidly.