Mrs. Gannett nodded.
“He’s awfully jealous of me,” she said with a slight simper.
“I wish he was my husband,” said Mrs. Cluffins in a thin, hard voice. “I wish C. would talk to me like that. I wish somebody would try and persuade C. to talk to me like that.”
“It shows he’s fond of me,” said Mrs. Gannett, looking down.
Mrs. Cluffins jumped up, and snatching the cover off the cage, endeavoured, but in vain, to get the parasol through the bars.
“And you believe that rubbish!” she said scathingly. “Boo, you wretch!”
“I don’t believe it,” said her friend, taking her gently away and covering the cage hastily just as the bird was recovering, “but I let him think I do.”
“I call it an outrage,” said Mrs. Cluffins, waving the parasol wildly. “I never heard of such a thing; I’d like to give Mr. Gannett a piece of my mind. Just about half an hour of it. He wouldn’t be the same man afterwards—I’d parrot him.”
Mrs. Gannett, soothing her agitated friend as well as she was able, led her gently to a chair and removed her bonnet, and finding that complete recovery was impossible while the parrot remained in the room, took that wonder-working bird outside.
By the time they had reached the docks and boarded the Curlew Mrs. Cluffins had quite recovered her spirits. She roamed about the steamer asking questions, which savoured more of idle curiosity than a genuine thirst for knowledge, and was at no pains to conceal her opinion of those who were unable to furnish her with satisfactory replies.