“This is the first bit of happiness I’ve had since I saw you last,” murmured Flower.
Miss Tipping squeezed his arm again.
“It seems almost too good to be true,” he continued. “I’m almost afraid I shall wake up and find it all a dream.”
“Oh, you’re wide-awake enough,” said Mr. Tipping.
“Wide-awake ain’t the word for it,” said the other gentleman, shaking his head.
“Uncle,” said Miss Tipping, sharply.
“Yes, my dear,” said the other, uneasily.
“Keep your remarks for those that like them,” said his dutiful niece, “or else get out and walk.”
Mr. Porson, being thus heckled, subsided into defiant mutterings, intended for Dick Tipping’s ear alone, and the remainder of the drive to Chelsea passed almost in silence. Arrived at the Blue Posts, Flower got out with well-simulated alacrity, and going into the bar, shook hands heartily with Mrs. Tipping before she quite knew what he was doing.
“You’ve got him, then,” she said, turning to her daughter, “and now I hope you’re satisfied. Don’t stand in the bar; I can’t say what I want to say here—come in the parlour and shut the door.”