Mrs. Batty had
suffered very much from the heat, Mr. Batty had suffered from
dyspepsia, and they were glad to be at home again, though it was to
find that John, without a hint to his parents, had engaged himself to
a girl with tastes like his own.
'But it's bull-dogs with her, instead of terriers,' Mrs. Batty sighed.
'She brings them here and they slobber on the carpets--dirty things.
And golf. But she's a nice girl, and they go out before breakfast with
the dogs and have a game--but I did hope he would look elsewhere,
dear.' She gazed sentimentally at Henrietta. 'I don't feel she will
ever be a daughter to me. Of course, I kissed her and all that when I
heard the news, but now she just comes in and says, "Hullo, Mrs.
Batty! Where's John?" And that's all. I do like affection. She'll kiss
the bull-dogs, though,' Mrs. Batty added grimly; 'but whether she ever
kisses John, I can't say. And as for Charles, he never looks at a
girl, so I'm as badly off as ever. Worse, for Charles, really Charles
hasn't a word to throw at me. He comes down to breakfast and you'd
think the bacon had upset him, and it's the best I can get. And his
father sits reading the paper and lifting his eyebrows over the edge
at Charles. He's very cool, Mr. Batty is. Half the time, John comes in
late for breakfast, after his game, you know, and then he's in too
much of a hurry to talk. They might all be dumb. With Charles it's all
that piano business.
Pages:
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167