Part 28 (1/2)

Lady Russell and Mr. Wilton walked slowly away together, and Lilias linked her hand affectionately through Ermengarde's arm.

”If there is a mystery, you will tell me about it presently,” she said, ”and I am not going to worry you now. I am so pleased to have you with me, Ermie, and there are a whole lot of things I am going to consult you about. But first of all, just come to my grotto. I want you to see in what a pretty pattern I have arranged the sh.e.l.ls. Here we are; enter, fair and welcome guest! Oh, you must stoop your tall head a little, Ermie. Pride must bend when it enters a humble grotto like mine. Now then, look around you.”

Ermengarde was feeling tired, hot, and thirsty. She had hoped to have been treated to nice grown-up tea in one of the drawing-rooms, and she felt just a little annoyed at being carried off at once to look at Lilias's stupid sh.e.l.ls, or to behold the most charming grotto that was ever built. Ermengarde had no love for natural history, and fond as she was of Lilias, she felt just a wee bit cross.

But the moment she entered the grotto, the clouds fled like magic from her face. There were sh.e.l.ls, of course, and sea-weeds, and a deep pool which contained sea-anemones; and into which a fountain continually dripped. But there was also tea on a charming little rustic table, and two rustic easy-chairs, and two egg-sh.e.l.l china cups and saucers, and a wee silver jug full of cream, and a dish of hot m.u.f.fins, and a little basket full of grapes and peaches.

Lilias watched her friend's face.

”She wants her tea, poor Ermie does,” she whispered to herself; ”I know Maggie would have rushed at the sh.e.l.ls first of all, and she'd have asked me a thousand questions about my sea-anemones and my fountain. Still, it's perfectly natural that Ermie should be thirsty and want her tea.”

So the two little friends sat down, and had a very cozy and merry time together.

CHAPTER XVI.

THE BEAUTIFUL DRESS.

That evening, as Ermengarde was standing in her room, surveying with critical eyes the heaps of finery she had brought with her, Lilias knocked at her door.

”Come in,” said Ermengarde.

Lilias had on a blue flannel dressing-jacket, and her long, bright, golden hair was streaming down her back.

”I've rushed in to tell you,” she exclaimed excitedly, ”we are both to come down to dinner to-night. Two guests have disappointed mother. She has just had a telegram; Colonel Vavasour is ill, and of course his wife can't leave him, so you and I are to fill the vacant places at table. I do hope you won't mind, Ermie.”

”I?” said Ermengarde, her eyes sparkling. ”Oh, no; I shan't mind; I like dining with grown people. I think it will be rather fun.”

”It's sweet of you to take it in that way,” said Lilias. ”I had planned a lovely walk by the lake, and we might have got into the boat, and brought in some water-lilies. Late dinner takes a long, long time, and it will be much too dark to go to the lake when it is over.”

”I don't mind, really,” repeated Ermengarde. She did not want to tell her friend that her worldly little soul infinitely preferred late dinner and a talk with some of the grown-up guests to a ramble with Lilias by the side of the lake.

”We can go to the lake another time, Lilias,” she said, ”and it seems only right to oblige your mother now.”

”Thank you for putting it in that way to me,” said Lilias. She went up to Ermengarde and kissed her. ”What have you got to wear?” she asked.

”I know mother would like such young girls as we are to be dressed very simply. I shall just put on a white muslin, a white silk sash round my waist.”

”Oh, I have a white dress, too,” said Ermengarde, in a careless tone.

”I am sure I shall manage very well.”

Her dark eyes grew brighter and brighter as she spoke.

”I must not stay to chat with you, Ermie,” said Lilias, looking at her friend with admiration. ”Mother is so afraid you will miss your maid, you shall have as much of Pet.i.te's time as ever I can possibly spare.”

”Who is Pet.i.te?” asked Ermengarde.

”Oh, she's my dear little maid. We brought her over from France last year. She was never out anywhere before, and I'm so fond of her. Her name is Lucile Marat, but I call her Pet.i.te, because she is on a small scale, and so neat in every way. It was she who unpacked your things.

I'll send her to you in a minute.”