He was wiping his forehead with one hand, while with the other he mechanically squeezed the little packet of tobacco, for which, as he now remembered, he had forgotten to pay.
Daisy pouted.

"Oh, father, I think you might let me have a treat on my birthday! I told him that Saturday wasn't a very good day-- at least, so I'd heard--for Madame Tussaud's.

Then he said we could go early, while the fine folk are still having their dinners." She turned to her stepmother, then giggled happily.

"He particularly said you was to come, too.

The lodger has a wonderful fancy for you, Ellen; if I was father, I'd feel quite jealous!" Her last words were cut across by a tap-tap on the door.
Bunting and his wife looked at each other apprehensively.