The Imp Disposes
That evening the Imp annoyed his mother by replying calmly, when she chided him for tagging about after Miss Eleanor too much—his devotion was scandalous—"Oh, it didn't hurt her; she said she was all right. She told you herself. And anyway, it did her good."
"Did her good! What on earth do you mean?"
"The men like her better!"
"Good heavens! Do you suppose, Donald, we can get our cottage next week? If we have to stay here much longer I sha'n't dare let that child out of my sight!"
A rule was finally announced that threatened to darken his days for the rest of the summer, had he not been confident of Miss Eleanor's assistance in the matter. He was not to follow her about without an invitation. When the young gentleman in white flannels, and Mr. Florian with his everlasting camera, and Mr. Bishop, who said such foolish things that the best thing to do was to turn away with dignity and let the rest laugh if they wished, and Mr. Hunter, who played the guitar when she asked, but would never so much as imitate a drum on the bass strings for the Imp
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