“I don’t perfess,” remarked the old lady, “to be first-class in me spellin’. ’Sides, I got someone else to write it.”
“And we decided that we’d get a friend of mine—a friend of ours to look after you for the day.”
“What’s he like?” asked the old lady, with reluctant show of interest.
“It’s a she!”
“Your young woman?”
“I don’t go in for anything of that kind,” said Erb, looking round the ’bus apprehensively. “Too busy for such nonsense.”
“Never knew the man yet,” said Aunt Emma, “that couldn’t make time to get fond of somebody.”
Arrived at the office at Grange Road, Erb was showing the aunt some of his newspaper notices, when he heard on the stairs the swish of skirts. He lost the remaining half of his remark.
“And you’ve been fairly walking out, then, as you may say, with our Lady Frances?”
“You can’t call it that, Aunt. I’ve only just been paying her polite attention.”