Part 22 (1/2)
”There are good characters and there are bad characters,” Uncle James moralised.
”Arrah, thin, it isn't a bad character you'd be afther givin' your own niece,” Beth blarneyed; and then she turned up her naughty eyes to the ceiling and chanted softly: ”What will Jimmie-wimmie give his duckie-dearie to be good? A nice--sweet--kiss!”
Uncle James's big white face became suddenly empurpled.
”Gracious! he's swallowed wrong,” Lady Benyon exclaimed in alarm.
”Drink something. You really should be careful, a great fat man like you.”
Uncle James coughed hard behind his handkerchief, then began to recover himself. Beth's eyes were fixed on his face. Her chaunt had been a sudden inspiration, and its effect upon the huge man had somewhat startled her; but clearly Uncle James was afraid she was going to tell.
”How funny!” she e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed.
Uncle James gasped again.
”What _is_ the matter, Puck?” Lady Benyon asked.
”Oh, I was just thinking--thinking I would ask Uncle James to give Mildred some chicken.”
”Why, of course, my dear child!” Uncle James exclaimed, to everybody's astonishment. ”And have some yourself, Beth?”
”No, thank you,” Beth answered. ”I'm full.”
”Beth!” her mother was beginning, when she perceived that Uncle James was laughing.
”Now, that child is really amusing,” he said--”_really_ amusing.”
No one else thought this last enormity a happy specimen of her wit, and they looked at Uncle James, who continued to laugh, in amazement.
”Beth,” he said, ”when luncheon is over I shall give you a picture-book.”
Beth accordingly had to stay behind with him after the others had left the dining-room.
”Beth,” he began in a terrible voice, as soon as they were alone together, trying to frighten her; ”Beth, what were you doing last night?”
”I was meditating among the tombs,” she answered glibly; ”but I never heard them called by that name before.”
”You bad child, I shall tell your mamma.”
”Oh for shame!” said Beth. ”Tell-tale! And if you tell I shall. I saw you kissing Jenny-penny.”
Uncle James collapsed. He had been prepared to explain to Beth that he had met the poor girl with some rustic lover, and was lecturing her kindly for her good, and making her go in, which would have made a plausible story had it not been for that accursed kissing. Of course he could insist that Beth was lying; the child was known to be imaginative; but then against that was the emotion he had shown. Lady Benyon had no very high opinion of him, he knew, and once she obtained a clue she would soon unravel the truth. No, the only thing was to silence Beth.
”Beth,” he said, ”I quite agree with you, my dear child. I was only joking when I said I would tell your mamma. Nothing would induce me to tell tales out of school.”
Beth smiled up at him frankly: ”Nor me neither. I don't believe you're such a bad old boy after all.”
Uncle James winced. How he would have liked to throttle her! He controlled himself, however, and even managed to make a smile as he got up to leave the room.
”I say, though,” Beth exclaimed, seeing him about to depart, ”where's that picture-book?”