“Not much.”
“Oh, Clifford! Why not?”
“Well, it’s rather a queer name.”
“Do you call him Eustace?”
“I call him Pickering, of course,” said Clifford. “At school we don’t know each other’s Christian names.”
“Oh! … Did you know mine before you came here, Clifford?”
“No. I only knew he had a kiddy sister, but he didn’t tell me your name.”
She looked rather crushed. Cissy was a lovely child with golden hair, parted on one side, and a dainty white and pink dress like a doll. Cissy was in love with Clifford, but Clifford was in love with her mother. This simple nursery tragedy may sound strange, but as a matter of fact it is a kind of thing that happens every day. Similar complications are to be found in almost every schoolroom.
“I hope you don’t mind my saying that,” said Clifford, who began to be sorry for her. “About your being a kid. It doesn’t matter a bit—for a girl.”
“Oh, Clifford! No, I don’t mind.” She smiled at him, consoled. “Eustace will soon be home. He’s gone to get something.”