Part 13 (1/2)
”That's the little chap for my money.”
”Isn't he a darling? That's one of Isabel Clare's children--so are the two girls in blue. I couldn't believe anything so tall was really hers.”
”Oh, yes--I noticed one of them--rather like her mother?”
Alex felt sure that she ought not to listen, and at the same time kept motionless lest they should notice her and lower their voices.
She felt eagerly anxious to overhear what the grey-haired gentleman might have to say after the very grown-up way in which she had made conversation with him at lunch, and having been a very pretty and much-admired drawing-room child in her nursery days, could not altogether divest herself of the expectation that she must still be found pretty and entertaining.
But the grey-haired gentleman said impartially:
”They are neither of them a patch on Lady Isabel, are they?”
”They are at the awkward age,” laughed the lady to whom he was talking.
”One of them sat next to you at lunch, didn't she?”
”Yes. Not quite so natural as the other children. That little, red-haired American girl, now--a regular child--”
Alex, with a face grown suddenly scarlet, left Barbara, shyly, and Cedric, briefly, to thank their hostess for the pleasant day they had spent.
A new, and far more painful self-consciousness than any she had yet known, hampered her tongue and her movements, until they were safely in the pony-carriage half-way down the drive.
”They are nice, aren't they?” said Barbara. ”I'm sure they are nicer than Queenie.”
”No, they aren't,” Alex contradicted mechanically.
”Well, Marie and Diana are, anyway.” She looked slyly at Cedric. ”Don't you think so, Cedric?”
”How can I tell whether they are any nicer, as you call it, than another kid whom I've never seen?” inquired Cedric reasonably.
”But didn't you like Marie?”
”She's all right.”
Barbara giggled in the way most disliked by her family, the authorities of whom stigmatized the habit as ”vulgar,” and Cedric said severely:
”I shouldn't think decent girls would want to play with you at all, if you don't leave off that idiotic trick of cackling.”
But Barbara, who was not at all easily crushed, continued to giggle silently at intervals.
”Why are you so silly?” Alex asked her crossly, as they were going to bed that night.
She and Barbara shared a room at Fiveapples Farm.
Barbara whined the inevitable contradiction, ”I'm not silly,” but added immediately, ”you wouldn't be so cross, if you knew what I know. I expect you'd laugh too.”
”Well, what is it?”
”I shan't tell you.”