“You may laugh,” said I, “but to have a mythical being out of Olympiodorus quartered on you for life is no jesting matter.”
“Olymp—?” began McMurray.
“Yes,” I snapped.
“Bring her this afternoon, Sir Marcus, when this unsympathetic wretch has gone to his club,” said his wife, “and I’ll take her out shopping.”
“But, dear lady,” I cried in despair, “she has but one garment—and that a silk dressing-gown of horrible depravity that belonged to a dancer of the second Empire! She is also barefoot.”
“Then I’ll come round myself and see what can be done.”
“And by Jove, so will I!” cried McMurray.
“You’ll do such thing,” said his wife
“If I gave you a cheque for 100,” said I, “do you think you could get her what she wants, to go on with?”
“A hundred pounds!” The little lady uttered a delighted gasp and I thought she would have kissed me. McMurray brought his sledgehammer of a hand down on my shoulder.