What might have happened, it is impossible to say. This lamentable thing befell, bred directly by a statement of Mrs. Hauksbee that she would spend the next season in Darjiling.
“Are you certain of that?” said Otis Yeere.
“Quite. We're writing about a house now.”
Otis Yeere “stopped dead,” as Mrs. Hauksbee put it in discussing the relapse with Mrs. Mallowe.
“He has behaved,” she said, angrily, “just like Captain Kerrington's pony—only Otis is a donkey—at the last Gymkhana. Planted his forefeet and refused to go on another step. Polly, my man's going to disappoint me. What shall I do?”
As a rule, Mrs. Mallowe does not approve of staring, but on this occasion she opened her eyes to the utmost.
“You have managed cleverly so far,” she said. “Speak to him, and ask him what he means.”
“I will—at tonight's dance.”
“No-o, not at a dance,” said Mrs. Mallowe, cautiously. “Men are never themselves quite at dances. Better wait till tomorrow morning.”
“Nonsense. If he's going to revert in this insane way, there isn't a day to lose. Are you going? No? Then sit up for me, there's a dear. I shan't stay longer than supper under any circumstances.”