disgust.

"Fact, I assure you. Put not your trust in Robert! He's always on with
the new love before he's off with the old. You ask him whose glove he's
still cherishing in the pocket next his heart."

Bob pushed his plate from him and, for a moment, seemed about to leave
the table. Laura could not lift her eyes. Tilly chewed in angry silence.

Here, however, the child made a diversion.

"You're a lady-kilda yourself, pa."

"Me, Thumbkin?--Mother, d'you hear that?--Then it's the whiskers,
Thumbby. Ladies love whiskers--or a fine drooping moustache, like my
son Bob's." He sang: "'Oh, oh, the ladies loved him so!'"

"Tom, dear, DO be quiet."

"Tom, Tom, the piper's son!" chirped Thumbby.

"Well, well, let's call in the cats!"--which appeared to be his way of
changing the subject.

It seemed, after this, as though the remainder of lunch might pass off
without further hitch. Then however and all of a sudden, while he was
peeling an apple, this dreadful man said, as though to himself: "Ra ...
Ra ... Rambotham. Now where have I heard that name?"

"Wa ... Wa ... Wamboffam!" mocked Thumbkin.

"Monkey, if you're so sharp you'll cut yourself!--Young lady, do you
happen to come from Warrenega?" he asked Laura, when Thumbkin's excited
chirrup of: "I'll cut YOU, pa, into little bits!" had died away.

Ready to sink through the floor, Laura replied that she did.

"Then I've the pleasure of knowing your mother.--Tall dark woman, isn't
she?"

Under the table, Laura locked the palms of her hands and stemmed her
feet against the floor. Was here, now, before them all, and Bob in
particular, the shameful secret of the embroidery to come to light? She
could hardly force her lips to frame an answer.

Her confusion was too patent to be overlooked. Above her lowered head,
signs passed between husband and wife, and soon afterwards the family
rose from the table.

But Tilly was so obviously sulky that the tense could not let her
escape him thus.

He cried: "For God's sake, Tilly, stand still! What on earth have you
got on your back?"

Tilly came from up-country and her thoughts leapt fearfully to
scorpions and tarantulas. Affrighted, she tried to peer over her
shoulder, and gave a preliminary shriek. "Gracious!--whatever is it?"

"Hold on!" He approached her with the tongs; the next moment to
ejaculate: "Begad, it's not a growth, it's a bustle!" and as he spoke
he tweaked the place where a bustle used to be worn.

Even B