The girls went up on the piazza of the great house, trying to imagine how the interior would look when the windows and doors were open. “The hammocks always hung here,” explained Anne. “And we had afternoon tea in this corner when the screens were up. This is the glassed-in breakfast room. You can’t see it now because of the shutters. My rooms are above it, there. I have three all to myself, done in pale blue. Not much like camp, is it?” She smiled complacently. “Though I do like a tent, really,” she confessed. “I shall ask father to build me a sleeping-porch next season.”
“But don’t you like trees close by, as we have at Round Robin?” asked Nancy. “Mr. Poole must have cut off a lot of trees from this place. It seems bare to me.”
“Yes,” said Anne, “they cut off the trees to make a better view. I remember Father said so. I had forgotten it was quite so bare around the house.” She looked about with new eyes, used to the sifted sun and shade of the intimate woods. “But what a wonderful thing it was that Father could turn this scraggy old New England pasture into such a foreign-looking place! Our friends who visited here called Father a magician.”
“Plain American is good enough for me!” said Nancy. “I like it the way we have at Round Robin, cosy and simple.”
“Well!” said Anne abruptly. “Let’s not stay any longer. It makes me homesick to see the place so.” She did indeed look disappointed and sad. The place was not so imposing as she had remembered. The girls were not so greatly impressed as she had hoped they would be.
“I’ll tell you what!” suggested Nancy. “Let’s go and see Nelly’s home. It’s only a little way from here.”
“All right!” the Club was ready. But Anne objected. “Oh! I’m too tired,” she said. “I’d rather go right home.”
“Oh, come on! It’s such a little way,” urged Nancy. “Cap’n Sackett wants to see you, I know, Anne. He is always talking about you, and how you used to come down often when you were a tiny tot.”
“Why don’t you care to go there any more?” asked Norma bluntly. “I should, if anybody wanted to see me so much.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Anne hesitated. “When I was little there seemed plenty of time. But now it is different. There is always so much going on at Idlewild—riding and driving and tennis and golf and company and yachting parties. But I did go down once every summer. Father made me.”