I stroked Peter's head, and he slipped his hand into mine.
'It's wonderful,' exclaimed Mrs. Ipplethwaite.
'We must ask everyone at the club to-night. "Have you lost a black silk stocking?"' persisted Berengaria. 'It sounds so dreadful, and yet of course it's quite all right, being only Peter. We must make it a catchword, "Have you lost a black silk stocking?"'
I was surprised at Berengaria and quite pained.
'It's a very good one,' said Mrs. Ipplethwaite, 'quite as good as you could get.'
I admired Mrs. Ipplethwaite for her discrimination. One always likes to hear one's garments described as 'good,' even when adverse circumstances have deprived one of the use of them.
'What a pity you can't send Peter to find the pair to it,' said Berengaria.
'It really is,' laughed Mrs. Ipplethwaite as we rose to go. 'Because, after all, one black silk stocking is so very useless, isn't it?'
I laughed nervously.
'Peter, you must either take it back or find its pair,' I said, as he accompanied us down the veranda steps. He still looked up at me with that quaint monkey expression of his—half earnest, half comical, as if though you amused and interested him very much he could not wholly understand you.
'It's really marvellous,' were Mrs. Ipplethwaite's last words. 'I've never before seen Peter take to anyone so much as he has to you at first sight.'
