CHAPTER XXI.
AN APRIL GIRL.
"On Thursday next I shall have a birthday," said Primrose Henry. "And I shall be seventeen. Yet I never can catch up with Polly, who is nineteen."
"Well—some day thou wilt be nineteen. And what shall we do for thee? Wilt thou have a party?"
"I am tired of parties, and it is growing warm to dance. I believe in a fortnight or so the army is to leave. Andrew is going with the commander at first, but, if he is not needed, will come back. He makes such a handsome soldier."
"Thou art a vain little moppet, always thinking whether people look fine or not."
"But Andrew is handsome of himself. I wish Phil came up to six feet and past. I think the Nevitts could not have been overstocked with beauty."
"How thou dost flout the poor lad! I wonder that he loves thee at all!"