loudly—don't you think? I hope I have not upset you—I didn't mean to do that—and that you will have a sound sleep. Good night and good luck.'
Next morning he came again to waken me at seven o'clock, and was as cheery and charming as man could be. Later on in the drawing-room I prostrated myself before Mrs. Morris, pleading:
'Forgive him—I was really not the culprit, though it seems most unchivalrous on my part to say so.'
'Oh, I know it was not your fault, you don't need to tell me,' she said, and added half-reproachfully, looking at her husband: 'I knew when I heard him boasting last night of his good behaviour at the Conference that somebody would have to pay for it.' Morris looked a bit shamefaced, but affected not to acknowledge his delinquency, and appealed to me that we were merely having 'a little chat over art matters.' His daughter Jenny said 'Oh, you wicked, good father,' and put her arms round his neck.
And now observe the characteristic sequel. An excursion of the Hammersmith Branch was to take place that day to Box Hill. Morris had agreed to go; many of his personal friends were joining in the expedition, and he was set for one of the sides in a cricket match. On the previous evening he had explained about it to me, and had asked me to join the party; but as I had to be back in Scotland early on the Tuesday morning, and was bound to leave London by six in the evening at latest, I could not go. Whereupon he expressed his regret at having to leave me alone by myself, and invited me to make the freest use of his library and his writing material if I wished to do so, and alternatively offered me tickets for several Art Exhibitions in the town.
But he had decided to change his plans. On being reminded by his daughter May that it was time he was getting ready for the outing, he informed her that he was not going.
