looking little chap like you had any particular motive for asking: you might ask some of the men in the smoking-room, and pick up some clew or other."
"So I might," said Peter,—"good idea!"
"Or, I'll tell you what—you might pump the old lady for me, eh?"
"I don't think I quite care about pumping the old lady," said Peter, "but anything else I'll do with pleasure."
"Thanks," said the Manager; "that's a good fellow. I knew I could depend upon you!"
"You can," replied Peter, "though, I fancy," he added, soothingly,—"indeed, I am sure you will find that the old woman has made a good deal out of nothing at all." …
"What old woman, Peter?" asked Sophia with drowsy asperity. "Not Mrs. Linden, surely!"
Mrs. Linden! Was that the name of the old she-dragon of the music-room? Why, of course not; he was in his arm-chair by his own fire, reading Ibsen to his wife!
"I don't know, indeed, my love—it may be Mrs. Linden," he answered cautiously.
