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"You'll take your toast and cocoa while they're hot, dear, won't you?"
she said coaxingly.
"Yes, I will, Phyllis, thank you," Miss Bellingham answered. "I am only
just going to take off my hat," and she left the room, followed by the
astonishingly transfigured spinster.
She returned almost immediately as Mr. Bellingham was in the midst of a
profound yawn, and sat down to her frugal meal, when her father
mystified me considerably by remarking:
"You're late to-night, chick. Have the Shepherd Kings been giving
trouble?"
"No," she replied; "but I thought I might as well get them done. So I
dropped in at the Ormond Street library on my way home and finished
them."
"Then they are ready for stuffing now?"
"Yes." As she answered she caught my astonished eye (for a stuffed
Shepherd King is undoubtedly a somewhat surprising phenomenon) and
laughed softly.
"We mustn't talk in riddles like this," she said, "before Doctor
Berkeley, or he will turn us both into pillars of salt. My father is
referring to my work," she explained to me.


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