"Made to be broken," added Nona.
Thyrza had said nothing thus far. She stood near Eustace, her slender upright figure shown well by a closely-fitting cloth jacket. Unlike the rest, she has her mother's figure, though not her mother's grace. There was something a little rigid in her attitude, and the two arms hung flat, with no suspicion of a curve. Neither has she Mrs. Romilly's face. The straight thin features, the heavy thick black hair, the dark serious eyes, are Thyrza's own. I could see no resemblance in them to any other member of the family. So, too, are the resolute and beautifully-moulded lips: for if in outline they are Mr. Romilly's, in character they belong exclusively to herself.
Those closed lips parted suddenly. "I did not promise, Nona. I said I would come if I could."
"Oh yes, we quite understand," retorted Nona, with a touch of good-humoured pertness.
"Thyrza, my dear, this is Miss Conway," Mr. Romilly said, in a fretted distressed tone, as if he were restraining serious displeasure. I could not see, for my part, what there was so very heinous in her non-appearance to welcome a father who had been absent only one night. Eustace was evidently left out of the question.
Thyrza stepped forward, and gave me her hand abruptly. I do not know whether she read in my face anything of what I thought. Our eyes met, and some look in mine must have touched her—how, I do not know. Her face did not relax, but a sudden softness came into the black eyes; and as she was in the very act of snatching her hand away, the fingers closed round mine in a sharp awkward fashion, as if from an afterthought.
"Now—er—I think we should decide—er," hesitated Mr. Romilly. He seems to me always at a loss what words to employ next. "So very chilly here. I really think—if anybody has no objection to the walk—er—"
He looked round helplessly, and Thyrza responded—
"Why can't Nona and Elfie and I walk with Eustace? Maggie likes driving best, and Miss Millington says she is tired. There's room enough for the children too, if nobody minds crowding."
She had hit the mark, though no precise explanation of the state of affairs had been tendered for her benefit. I noted a slight stress on the "says," and a slight toss of Miss Millington's head, which revealed to me a condition of something like chronic war in one direction. I thought, too, that I could detect more signs of real fatigue in the little thin face of Elfie than on the "pussy-cat" features of Miss Millington. The timely suggestions were followed, however. Neither Nona nor Elfie objected. The four pedestrians started off briskly, and the well-laden pony-carriage soon followed at a moderate pace, suited to the inclinations of the fat and drowsy pony.