It was a prophetic utterance, for he made such a fuss over the man next to his wife offering her his opera-glasses, that they left, at the urgent request of the management, in almost exactly that space of time.
“You’d better carry me about in a bandbox,” said Mrs. Gannett wearily as the outraged engineer stalked home beside her. “What harm was the man doing?”
“You must have given him some encouragement,” said Mr. Gannett fiercely—“made eyes at him or something. A man wouldn’t offer to lend a lady his opera-glasses without.”
Mrs. Gannett tossed her head—and that so decidedly, that a passing stranger turned his head and looked at her. Mr. Gannett accelerated his pace, and taking his wife’s arm, led her swiftly home with a passion too great for words.
By the morning his anger had evaporated, but his misgivings remained. He left after breakfast for the Curlew, which was to sail in the afternoon, leaving behind him copious instructions, by following which his wife would be enabled to come down and see him off with the minimum exposure of her fatal charms.
Left to herself Mrs. Gannett dusted the room, until, coming to the parrot’s cage, she put down the duster and eyed its eerie occupant curiously. She fancied that she saw an evil glitter in the creature’s eye, and the knowing way in which it drew the film over it was as near an approach to a wink as a bird could get.
She was still looking at it when there was a knock at the door, and a bright little woman—rather smartly dressed—bustled into the room, and greeted her effusively.
“I just came to see you, my dear, because I thought a little outing would do me good,” she said briskly; “and if you’ve no objection I’ll come down to the docks with you to see the boat off.”
Mrs. Gannett assented readily. It would ease the engineer’s mind, she thought, if he saw her with a chaperon.
“Nice bird,” said Mrs. Cluffins, mechanically bringing her parasol to the charge.