Evan wondered if the sick disgust he felt of the woman showed in his face. As a matter of fact his face was simply wooden. Carmen rattled on unsuspiciously:
"That's enough for me. I don't care if I never rent the rooms. No more women in my house. They lower the tone. A man of course can do anything and it doesn't matter, but a woman in the house is a cause for suspicion even if she doesn't do anything."
Evan was not interested in Miss Sisson's ideas. He wanted information. "What reason did she give for leaving?" he asked carelessly.
"Said she had an important musical offer from out of town. But do you believe that? I don't."
"She didn't lose much time in moving her things," suggested Evan.
"No indeed. Looks very suspicious if you ask me."
Evan was obliged to put his question in more direct form. "Who moved her things?"
"Just an ordinary truck without any name on it. I looked particularly. The piano people came for the piano. Rented. It was a Stannering."
Fearing that the next question could not but betray him, Evan was nevertheless obliged to ask it: "Did she leave any forwarding address?"
Miss Sisson's gimlet eyes bored him through before she replied. "Yes, I asked her. She said she didn't expect anything to come here, but if it did I could forward it care of her friend Miss Evans, 133 West Ninth street. Did she owe you any money?"
This was too much. "No, indeed," said Evan, and hurried away.
He walked blindly across the Square, conscious only that Carmen was probably watching him through the narrow pane beside the door. How well he knew her expression of mean inquisitiveness. He was marching into blackness. He was incapable of thinking consecutively. What was left of his faculties was concentrated to the sole end of concealing his hurt.
But he still had two clues. He automatically turned down Ninth street looking for 133 only to find what everybody knows that West Ninth street ends at Sixth avenue and there are consequently no numbers beyond 100. He went to the Stannering piano warerooms to ask if they had the new address of Miss Corinna Playfair on their books. He was told that Miss Playfair had returned her piano that morning saying that she was leaving town and would require it no longer.
CHAPTER X
MAUD'S INTEREST
Meanwhile Evan's association with Simeon Deaves was not without its humorous side. By the exercise of patience and diplomacy he gradually learned how to manage the old man like a child, though like a child there were times when he was perfectly unmanageable. Evan in a way became quite attached to him simply because he was a responsibility.
Avarice was a kind of disease that afflicted him. Apart from that he was a harmless, even a likable old fellow. He suffered from acute attacks, so to speak: these were his unmanageable times. He became sly and furtive, and sought for pretexts to sneak out of the house without Evan, or to give him the slip in the street. Evan had to watch sharp to keep him out of trouble. He had little doubt but that they were generally followed, but by more experienced trackers than the youth in grey for he could never be sure of it.
Simeon Deaves had a thousand foibles, some of which Evan found sadly trying. For instance it was his delight to walk up and down the aisles of department stores asking to be shown goods, and haggling over the price without the slightest intention of purchasing anything. The audible remarks of the salesgirls made Evan's cheeks burn.
When he remonstrated with the old man, the latter would not rest thereafter until he had given Evan the slip. Under cover of the crowds he would slip out of a side door, or dart into an elevator just as the door was closing. After a search Evan would find him perhaps entering a second-hand shop to trade the decent clothes that Maud made him wear for something out of stock with a little cash to boot. At other times Evan would track him by the crowd that gathered to hear his argument with a shoe-string peddler or a push-cart man. A favourite trick of his to evade Evan was to suddenly dart behind a moving trolley car. More than once this almost ended his career on the spot. At other times he was quite tractable and seemed almost fond of Evan.
Bargaining was his ruling passion. Consequently they haunted such places as the sidewalk market in Grand street, and the fish market under the Queensboro Bridge. Notwithstanding his avarice the old man not seldom bought things for which he had no possible use, simply because he thought they were cheap. He would bring home a doubtful fish in a bit of newspaper or a bag of pickled apples which promptly found their way into the Deaves' garbage cans.
His pet aversion was beggars. Woe to the beggar who tackled Simeon Deaves unwittingly. He would receive a lecture on Thrift on the spot. This likewise furnished amusement to the street crowds.
Evan's grand object, of course, was to keep the old man from doing anything which would give the blackmailers a further hold on him. One of his narrowest escapes took place under the very roof of the Deaves house. The old man was considered safe in his own little junk room in the basement, and was allowed to potter there unwatched. One rainy morning while he was supposedly so engaged Evan was enjoying a respite with a book in the little office adjoining the library, when through the open door into the hall he saw one of the maids whisper to another, then both tittered and scampered down stairs. Evan always on the alert for mischief, quietly followed.
He found most of the servants of that disorderly establishment gathered in a basement passage with heads bent, listening to sounds that issued through the door of Simeon Deaves' room. Among them was Hilton the butler, an oily, obese rascal whom Evan thoroughly distrusted. All vanished the other way down the passage at Evan's approach.
Evan knocked peremptorily, and the door being opened, he saw that the multi-millionaire was closeted with a typical specimen of old clo' man, bearded, dirty and cringing. It was their dispute over sundry articles in Simeon Deaves' weird collection that had drawn the giggling servants. It appeared that the old man was the seller. Evan bounced the old clo' man in spite of his protests.
"I come by appoindmend, mister. I come by appoindmend!"
"All right" said Evan. "Call it a disappoindmend, and get!"
The old man was indignant too. "A very honest man," he protested. "He was willing to pay me twenty-five cents for my alarm clock. I could have got him up to thirty. It isn't worth more than fifteen!"
"You can be sure then that he was taking a chance of picking up something for nothing," said Evan. "When will you learn sense! All the servants listening and giggling in the passage. Nice story the alarm clock would make in the papers!"
But it was impossible to make the old man realize his own absurdity. "Well, you needn't bite my head off," he said pettishly. "Come on, let's go out. A little rain won't hurt us."
From which it will be seen that their relative positions had undergone a considerable change since the beginning. Evan had become the mentor and guide.
In the past the demands for money had come pretty regularly about once a fortnight, Evan learned. As the end of the two weeks drew near a certain apprehension was evident in the house. George Deaves was wretchedly anxious, Evan somewhat less so, while the old man went his ways undisturbed.
And then the letter came. One morning on his arrival Evan was directed to the library where he found George Deaves in a state of prostration. He waved a letter at Evan in a kind of weak indignation. Evan took it and read:
"Dear Mr. Deaves:
Another story has been written to add to the blithe biography of your parent. It is the most humorous chapter so far. We do not enclose it, as we desire to stimulate your curiosity. You can read it in the Clarion to-morrow evening – unless you wish to reserve that pleasure exclusively to yourself. In that case you may send a picture to the rummage sale of the Red Cross at – Fifth avenue. Mrs. Follett Drayton is in charge. Send any framed picture and between the picture and the backing insert five of Uncle Sam's promissory notes of the usual denomination. Put your name on the picture for purposes of identification.
Yours as ever,
THE IKUNAHKATSI."
"This is the return I get for the money I have paid you!" said George Deaves reproachfully.
"It's a bluff!" said Evan.
"Can you assure me of that?"
"I can't swear to it of course. Mr. Deaves gives me the slip once in a while. And there was one day I was not with him. But he says he didn't go out that day. I'm sure it's a bluff. If they had a new story on him they'd send it fast enough."
"Maybe they're going to print the last one."
"Maybe. But in that case why not say so? They have shown a queer sense of honour heretofore in suggesting that when you paid for a story that was done with. Have you got the envelope this came in?"
George Deaves handed it over. It was of medium size and made of cheap "Irish linen" paper. The post-mark was Hamilton Grange. A small peculiarity that Evan marked was that though it had been sent from a New York post-office the words "New York City" were written in full.
"What do you think about this Mrs. Drayton?" asked Deaves.
"A woman above suspicion. They're using her as they used Hassell. Easy enough to plant somebody in the Red Cross shop to watch the packages received. Someone to buy the picture you send."
"You advise me to ignore this then?"
"No, if it was me I'd call their bluff. Have a better moral effect. Get an old picture from somewhere and stick a piece of paper in the back. The fellow who wrote this letter fancies himself as a humorist. Answer him in kind. Write on the paper: 'Show me first your wares.'"
"What does that mean?" asked George Deaves innocently.
"A quotation from Simple Simon," answered Evan grinning.
The other man hung in a painful state of indecision, biting his nails. At last he said breathlessly with a tremendous effort of resolution: "Very well, I'll do it."
But the gang proved to have another shot in its locker. Next morning Evan was sent for again to the library where he found a family conclave in session. The gorgeous Maud in purple velvet and pearls ("How does she get the money out of them?" thought Evan) was detonating like a thunderstorm in the hills. George Deaves sat crushed at his desk, and the old man sputtered and snarled when he could get a word in. Maud (it was impossible for Evan to think of her by a more respectful name) promptly turned to discharge her lightnings at Evan's head.
"What are you good for?" she demanded. "Aren't you paid a good salary to keep my husband's father from disgracing us all? Why don't you do it then? Why don't you do it?"
Evan bit his lip to keep from smiling in her face. To an outsider these family rows smacked of burlesque. One could always depend on the actors to play their regular parts.
"If you would please explain," said Evan mildly.
"Read that!" She thrust a letter at him.
Evan read:
"Mrs. George Deaves:
Dear Madam:
Your husband has declined to purchase the latest anecdote of Mr. Simeon Deaves, and has bidden us to let the general public enjoy the laugh. This we will very gladly do, but knowing you to be a lady of sensitive nature, it seemed too bad not to give you a chance to act in the matter first. The story will be published in the Clarion this evening unless we hear from you or from Mr. Deaves. In case you wish to stop it please see our letter of yesterday for instructions how to reach us and what to send.
In the meantime pray accept, dear Madam, the assurances of our distinguished consideration, and believe us,
Yours most respectfully,
THE IKUNAHKATSI."
"Why wasn't it sent?" she cried.
"Mr. Deaves decided that they were bluffing this time," said Evan.
"You advised me!" said Deaves.
"Certainly" said Evan. "That's all I can do. The decision rests with you."
"Why wasn't I consulted?" cried Maud.
And so the storm raged up and down. Evan devoutly wished himself some place else.
"Knowing your father's propensity for disgracing us I don't believe it's a bluff!" cried Maud.
"Disgracing you!" retorted the old man. "Whose money paid for those gew-gaws?"
"Must I stand here to be insulted in the presence of my husband!"
"Papa, be quiet!"
"Disgracing you? Where would you all be, but for this disgraceful old man I'd like to know!"
But neither of the men was any match for Maud. Within a quarter of an hour she had driven the old man from the room and reduced her husband to a palpitating jelly.
In the end the latter said hopelessly: "Very well, I'll send the money."
Maud swept triumphantly out of the room. Evan looked after her with a new eye. During the last few minutes an extraordinary suspicion had come into his mind, an incredible suspicion, but it would not down.
The wretched George Deaves played with the objects on his desk. "All very well to say I'll send it," he muttered. "But where am I going to get it? Useless to ask Papa."
Evan was silent. There was nothing for him to say.
George Deaves looked at him aggrievedly. "You think I'm wrong to send it."
"I should think it would be hard enough to send it when they had something on you, let alone when they were only bluffing."
"It is hard," whimpered the other. "I think it's a bluff myself. But suppose it isn't and the story is printed. What would I say to Maud? How could I face her?"
"It's for you to decide," said Evan.
George Deaves rapped on his desk, bit his fingers, looked out of the window, got up and sat down again. Finally he said tremulously: "Very well, I'll take a chance."
With what anxiety they awaited the appearance of the Clarion may be guessed. Simeon Deaves and Evan started out immediately after lunch to get a copy. The old man wanted to go direct to the publishing office to get it damp from the press, but Evan persuaded him it would never do to betray so much anxiety in the matter. The Clarion office might be watched. Indeed it was not unlikely the gang had an agent there.
They found that none of the newsstands in the vicinity of the plaza carried the Clarion: "a socialistic rag" it was called in that neighbourhood. They had to walk all the way to Third avenue to find a dealer who would confess to handling it. It would be up at four he said, so that they had an hour to kill, which old Simeon spent very happily in the fish-market.
For the last fifteen minutes they hung around outside the newsstand while the proprietor watched them suspiciously from inside his window. When the newswagon drove up Simeon Deaves snatched a Clarion from the top of the pile. The newsdealer held out his hand for the two cents, but it was ignored.
Evan got a copy for himself. Skimming over the headlines he failed to find the name of Deaves and breathed more freely. A more careful search column by column revealed not so much as a stick of type devoted to Simeon Deaves. Evan and his employer looked at each other and grinned.
The newsdealer demanded his two cents.
"Shan't need the paper now," said Simeon, calmly putting it down.
Evan averted an explosion by hastily paying for both copies.
On the way home the old man was in such an extraordinary good humour that he actually bought Evan a five-cent cigar. Evan keeps it to this day as a curiosity.
At home they found an ashy and shaken George Deaves waiting for them in the library.
"It's all right!" said Evan.
A look of beatific relief overspread the other's face. He immediately began to swell. "That is most gratifying! most gratifying!" he said pompously. "I am really under obligations to you, Weir. We both are, aren't we, Papa?"
"Sure, Evan's a good boy. I always said so. I bought him a cigar."
"Tcha! A cigar! I should really like to do something for you, Weir."
"You can raise my salary if you want," said Evan slyly.
A comical transformation took place in both faces. "What! Raise your salary! Again! Impossible!" both cried.
Evan laughed. "Well, you proposed doing something for me."
Someone else in that house had bought a copy of the Clarion. Mrs. George Deaves entered in what was for her a high good humour with a copy of the sheet under her arm.
"Well, I see you sent the money," she said.
George Deaves looked self-conscious. He greatly desired to lie, but lacked the effrontery to do so before the other men. His father saved him the trouble of doing so. Eager to get back at Maud he said:
"No, he didn't!"
Mrs. Deaves' face fell. The black eyes began to snap. Another storm portended. "You promised me – " she began.
"But you see we were right," interrupted her husband. "It was a bluff. There's nothing in the paper."
"You don't know it's a bluff!" she cried. "Perhaps they were too late for the paper. It will be in to-morrow. You have got to send the money at once as you promised!"
But George Deaves' momentary relief had put a little backbone into him. "I still think it a bluff!" he said doggedly. "I'm willing to take a chance."
The storm broke. "Oh, you're willing, are you? How about me? How about me? Here you sit all day. What do you know about how people talk? I have to go about. I have to see people smile when they think I'm not looking and whisper behind their hands. Do you think I don't know what they're saying? Oh, I know! 'That's Mrs. George Deaves, my dear. Wife of the son of the notorious miser. You've heard how he squabbles in the street with newsboys and fruit vendors over pennies!' Well, I've had enough of it! Enough, I say! I won't stand it!"
In the full course of her tirade she happened to look at Evan. Evan's suspicion had become almost a certainty. His eyes were bent steadily upon her. He was not smiling, but there was an ironical lift to the corners of his mouth.
She pulled herself up. "Well, if there's anything published to-morrow you know what to expect," she said, and swept out of the room.
Evan glanced at father and son. Nothing showed in their faces but simple relief at her going. Evan marvelled at their blindness. He had yet to learn that habitually suspicious people never see what goes on under their noses.
Evan had plenty of food for thought. An extraordinary situation was suggested; one in which it behooved him to move with exceeding caution. For the moment his best plan appeared to be to continue to keep the old man out of trouble, while he watched and waited and found proof of what he was already morally sure.
CHAPTER XI
THE STEAMBOAT ERNESTINA
On a shining morning when the Northeast wind had swept the sky as clean as a Dutch kitchen, Evan was on his way to work, trying to make out to himself with but poor success that all was right with him and with the world. As a matter of fact the loveliness of the morning only put a keener edge on his dissatisfaction. He could not but remember other lovely mornings when the heart had been light in his breast.
Every pretty woman that he met put him in a rage. "All alike! All alike!" he said to himself. "God help the man that takes them at face value! Well, they'll never get their hooks in me again! I know them now!" It did not occur to him that there was rather an inconsistency in raging at something so perfectly unimportant; nor did he enquire too closely into the motives that led him to search ceaselessly among the feminine passers-by and to turn his head to look down every side street. His search for a certain red-haired individual of the despised sex had become involuntary.
At Thirteenth street he suddenly perceived Anway coming towards him down the avenue, and his heart bounded. Never was a man gladder to stumble on his rival. Luckily Evan saw him first. Hastily turning his back, he stared in a shop window until he judged the other had passed behind him. Then he took up the trail, forgetting his job, and indeed everything else save that Anway must possess the clue to Corinna's whereabouts.
He was led to the corner of Broadway and Twenty-third street, where Anway stopped, evidently to wait for an eastbound car. This was a little awkward, for the cars bound in that direction were but sparsely filled at this hour. Evan bought a newspaper. Anyway boarded a cross-town car and sat down inside. Evan swung himself on as the car got in motion, and remained out on the back platform, using his paper as a screen.
As the car progressed to the far East side it gradually emptied until only Anway and Evan remained on board. Evan became rather nervous. "Well, if he spots me I'll follow him anyhow," he said. "What on earth is he doing on this ragged edge of the town?"
At the end of the line Anway got off the front end of the car without having discovered Evan, and headed down the water-front street to the South. A number of groups of people, having the gala look of those bound on an excursion, were going the same way; and Evan concealed himself among them.
On the river side the new city piers stretched out into the water. Not having been leased yet, all kinds of craft were tied there; canal-boats, lighters, schooners, launches. All the people, including Anway, were heading towards a pier where a queer little old-fashioned steamboat was lying. She had a tall, thin smoke-stack and immense paddle-boxes. She looked like one of those insects with a tiny body and a wholly disproportionate outfit of legs, antennas, etc., spreading around. Her name was painted in fancy letters on the paddle-boxes: Ernestina.
From the rear Evan saw Anway pass on board. He wondered what the elegant Anway had in common with all the poor and humble people who were bound on the excursion. Many of them obviously did not even possess any Sunday clothes to put on for the trip. There is, surely, no greater degree of poverty. Children were very largely in the majority, pale, great-eyed, little spindle-shanks. All had red tickets in their hands. If, as it seemed, this was a charitable excursion, Anway must be one of those in charge.
As he drew closer Evan saw that the tickets were being collected by a man at the shore end of the gangway. Here was a proper source of information. This man had the pale and earnest look of the professional philanthropist, a worthy soul, some half a dozen years older than Evan, with a wife and four children undoubtedly. Evan took up a place near him and watched the procession wending aboard with brightening faces.
"You couldn't have a better day for the trip," he hazarded.
The ticket-taker responded amiably: "Great, isn't it? We'll bring 'em back with rosy cheeks."
"Is this the outfit Anway told me about?" asked Evan, feeling his way.
"Yes, the Ozone Association trips. Are you a friend of Anway's? He's just gone aboard."
"He told me so much about it I thought I'd stroll down and take a look."
"Go aboard if you'd like to. We won't be leaving for ten minutes yet."
Evan desired a little further information before trusting himself aboard. "You must need quite a crowd of helpers to look after the kids."
"Miss Playfair takes care of that for me. She's a host in herself."
All the blood seemed to leave Evan's heart for a moment, and then came surging back until it seemed as if that much-tried organ would burst. He heard his informant saying:
"But if you know Anway, no doubt you're acquainted with Miss Playfair?"
"I've met her," said Evan, carefully schooling his voice.
"A wonderful little woman!"
"Quite so," said Evan dryly. "Look here," he went on, "I'd like to go with you to-day if I wouldn't be in the way. I mean, work my passage, of course; help take care of the kids, or amuse them, or feed them, or whatever may be necessary. My name's Evan Weir."
The other man looked Evan over and was pleased with what he saw.
"I'd be delighted to have you," he said. "We can always use more help. My name's Denton."
"Well, then, give me a job," said Evan.
"First of all, take my place for a moment," said Denton. "The ice-cream hasn't come. I must go and telephone."
"Sure thing!"
"You needn't be too strict about tickets," Denton added in an undertone. "I mean in respect to women and children. The main thing is to keep the bad and healthy little boys off."
"I get you," said Evan.
Denton hurried away. Evan took his place and the procession passed before him deprecatingly presenting its squares of red pasteboard. At first Evan scarcely took note of them, he was so busy with his private exultation. He had found her! And once they got away from the pier he would have her all day on the boat where she couldn't escape him. His luck had changed. For the present he kept his back turned to the Ernestina that he might not be unduly conspicuous to anyone happening to glance out of the cabin windows.
He was recalled to the business in hand by a plea: "Say, Mister! Let me and me brutter go, will yeh please? We had our tickets all right, but a big lad pasted us and took 'em offen us."
Evan looked down into a little angel face and clear shining eyes. The "brutter" waited warily in the background. Evan knew boys, and had no doubt but that this was a pair of incorrigibles, but he couldn't refuse anybody just then.
"What's your name, boy?"
"Ikey O'Toole."
"Well, you are out of the melting-pot for sure!"
"No, sir; I live in Hester street."
"That's all a stall about losing your tickets," Evan said, trying to look stern. "But I'll let you go. I'm going too, see? And if there's any rough-housing you'll have me to deal with."
The surprised and jubilant urchins hurried aboard.
This incident was witnessed with visible indignation by two pale and solemn little girls who stood apart. They knew the bad little boys told a story if the gentleman didn't. Lost their tickets, indeed! During a lull Evan beckoned them. They came sidling over, each twisting a corner of her pinafore.
"Are you waiting for somebody?" he asked.
A shake of the head.
"Haven't you got any tickets?"
Another shake.
"Do you want to go anyway?"
An energetic pair of nods.
"What will your mother say?"
"Ain't got no mutter. Sister, she don't care. She works all day."
"All right. Skip on board."
Denton and the ice-cream arrived simultaneously. Shortly afterwards a warning whistle was blown. A small pandemonium of singing and delighted squealing was heard from the upper deck. Evan stuck close to Denton. They remained on the lower deck while the gangplank was drawn in and the ropes cast off. Meanwhile Evan was gathering what further information he could.
"How often do you make these trips?"
"Twice a week – Tuesdays and Saturdays."
"What is the Ozone Association? I never heard of it."
"I can't tell you much, though I work for them. I've always understood it was some rich man who wished to keep his name out of the thing. I was hired by a law firm to manage the trips, and the money comes to me through them."
"How did you get hold of all your helpers?"
"Oh, one way and another. Miss Playfair gets her friends to help."
When the Ernestina finally moved out into the stream, Denton remained below, attending to the stowage of the ice-cream and to other matters, and Evan stayed with him. To tell the truth, he dreaded a little to put his fortunes to the touch by venturing up above. They were unpacking sandwiches when Denton suddenly said:
"Here's Anway. Anway, here's a friend of yours."
Evan looked up with a wary smile. As it chanced, the busy Denton was called from another direction at that moment, and he did not see the actual meeting between the two. Evan had his back to the light and Anway did not instantly recognise him. Anway's expression graduated from expectancy at the sound of the word friend to blankness as he failed to recognise Evan, and to something like consternation when he did.
"What are you doing here?" he blurted out.
"The same as yourself," replied Evan. "Only a volunteer."
Without another word Anway turned. Evan went with him. He had no intention of letting him warn Corinna. They mounted the main stairway side by side, Anway gazing stiffly ahead, Evan watching him with a grin.
As soon as they rounded into the saloon Evan saw Corinna, and his head swam a little. She was so very dear and desirable he forgot how badly she had used him. She was kneeling on the carpet, feeding a hungry baby with cup and spoon. The baby sat in the lap of a woman so spent and done, she could do no more than keep the infant from slipping off. It was an appealing sight. In such an attitude Corinna was all woman, her face as tender as a saint's. Evan laid a restraining hand on Anway's arm.
"Let the kid have his meal anyway," he whispered.
But some current of electricity warned Corinna. Looking up, she saw Evan at a dozen paces' distance. Evan trembled for the cup. It was not dropped. Corinna had herself better in hand than Anway. No muscle of her face changed; only the light of her eyes hardened.
"She thinks you brought me aboard," murmured Evan wickedly.
Anway flushed.
Corinna resumed her feeding of the baby.
Evan was divided between admiration and chagrin. Secretly he had counted on his appearance creating a more dramatic effect than this.
Anway hung around in a miserable state of indecision. If Evan had only given him an excuse to punch him he would have been glad no doubt. Finally he said:
"You see what she's doing. Come away and let her be."
Evan good-humouredly shook his head. "The sight gives me too much pleasure," he said. "But don't let me keep you."
But Anway lingered unhappily, walking away a little and coming back.
Corinna did not look at Evan again. Her self-control was too provoking. "By Heaven, I'll make her show some feeling before the day's out!" he vowed to himself. When the cup was empty she came straight toward him with her chin up.
"How do you do, Corinna?" said Evan.
She looked at him with the faint air of surprise she knew so well how to assume. Then, as if suddenly placing him: "Oh! You must excuse me now. I have a dozen hungry babies to feed."
Evan, with a smile, allowed her to pass downstairs. It required no small amount of self-control. "Patience, son!" he said to himself. "You have all day before you. If you lose your temper, she'll have you exactly where she wants you. However she bedevils you, you must be little Bright-eyes still!"