Quixtus, with a grave face, bent lower and shook hands with the dog.
“And Pinkie.”
She lifted the dirty white plush cat. In an embarrassed way he wagged a stumpy fore-foot.
Sheila turned to Clementina. “Now he knows everybody.”
Clementina kissed her and rose from her seat; Poynter rising also.
“You’ll be a good girl if I leave you with Uncle Ephraim for a while?”
“My dear Clementina!” cried Quixtus aghast. “What do you mean?”
A gleam of kind malice flickered in her eyes.
“I find I must have some air, in my turn—and some absinthe which Mr. Poynter has promised to give me. Au revoir! I shan’t be long, Sheila dear.”
She moved with Poynter towards the door.