“Except one Algernon Weatherhead, Esq., eh?” whispered Travers, jocosely, in my ear.
“No; but,” persisted the colonel, advancing, “look here! Has the dog damaged any of your shrubs?”
“No, no!” I cried, piteously; “quite the reverse. Let’s all go indoors now; it’s getting so cold!”
“See, there is a shrub or something uprooted,” said the colonel, still coming nearer that fatal hole. “Why, hullo, look there! What’s that?”
Lilian, who was by his side, gave a slight scream. “Uncle,” she cried, “it looks like—like Bingo!”
The colonel turned suddenly upon me. “Do you hear?” he demanded, in a choked voice. “You hear what she says? Can’t you speak out? Is that our Bingo?”
I gave it up at last; I only longed to be allowed to crawl away under something! “Yes,” I said in a dull whisper, as I sat down heavily on a garden seat, “yes . . . that’s Bingo . . . misfortune . . . shoot him . . . quite an accident!”
There was a terrible explosion after that; they saw at last how I had deceived them, and put the very worst construction upon everything. Even now I writhe impotently at times, and my cheeks smart and tingle with humiliation, as I recall that scene—the colonel’s very plain speaking, Lilian’s passionate reproaches and contempt, and her aunt’s speechless prostration of disappointment.
I made no attempt to defend myself; I was not, perhaps, the complete villain they deemed me, but I felt dully that no doubt it all served me perfectly right.
Still I do not think I am under any obligation to put their remarks down in black and white here.