Do you know oo 'e was? 'E was 'er little boy wot
she'd sent away to live wiv poor folks. 'E come back and done that."
SHOCK TATICS
On a late spring afternoon Ella McCarthy sat on a green-painted chair in
Kensington Gardens, staring listlessly at an uninteresting stretch of
park landscape, that blossomed suddenly into tropical radiance as an
expected figure appeared in the middle distance.
"Hullo, Bertie!" she exclaimed sedately, when the figure arrived at the
painted chair that was the nearest neighbour to her own, and dropped into
it eagerly, yet with a certain due regard for the set of its trousers;
"hasn't it been a perfect spring afternoon?"
The statement was a distinct untruth as far as Ella's own feelings were
concerned; until the arrival of Bertie the afternoon had been anything
but perfect.
Bertie made a suitable reply, in which a questioning note seemed to
hover.
"Thank you ever so much for those lovely handkerchiefs," said Ella,
answering the unspoken question; "they were just what I've been wanting.
There's only one thing spoilt my pleasure in your gift," she added, with
a pout.
"What was that?" asked Bertie anxiously, fearful that perhaps he had
chosen a size of handkerchief that was not within the correct feminine
limit.
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