"Auntie darling, may I go out?" He systematically addressed her thus—to the delight of Sybella, but not at all to the delight of Evelyn. The iteration was apt to grow tiresome.
"Yes, my pet. But you must put on your overshoes, and your coat and necktie. The wind is east."
"Yes, auntie darling."
"And don't go on the grass, or sit down anywhere."
"No, auntie darling."
"You are pale, my sweet. Not a headache, I hope?"
Cyril had to consider. "Just a little wee one, auntie darling."
"Then you must not play in the sun. Walk in the shade; and mind you don't run fast so as to get too hot."
"No, auntie darling."
"If you see Evelyn, don't let her excite you. And if the headache doesn't go soon, you must come in and lie down. Something must have disagreed with you yesterday. Perhaps it was the baked apple. I think you had better have only broth to-day for dinner—and just a little dry toast."