‘My dear!’ called Mrs. Barret, ‘will you be so good as to throw me over my apron. I am dressing baby for the night, and heaven alone knows where his little night-shirt is. I’ll tie him up in this apron.’ ‘Does your mother know you’re out?’ asked the parrot with its head on one side, looking at Eve.
‘I think,’ said Jasper, ‘it would be advisable for me to have a private talk with you, Mr. Barret, if you do not mind walking with me in the square, and then Miss Eve Jordan can see you after. Our time is precious.’
‘By all means,’ answered the manager, ‘if Miss Jordan will remain with my wife.’
‘O yes,’ said Eve, looking at the parrot; she was alarmed at the bird.
‘Do not be afraid of Poll,’ said Mr. Barret. Then to his wife, ‘Sophie! I don’t think it wise to tie up baby as you propose. He might be throttled. We are going out. Look for the night dress, and let me have the apron again for Polly.’
At once the article required rushed like a rocket through the air, and struck the manager on the breast.
‘There,’ said he, ‘I will cover Polly, and she will go to sleep and talk no more.’
Then the manager and Jasper went out.
‘Now,’ said the latter, ‘in few words I beg you to tell me what you know about the wife of Mr. Jordan of Morwell. She was my sister.’
‘Indeed!—and your name? I forget what you wrote.’