War!
A week at Chichester served to dispel any hope of finding Pepé there, and at her aunt's urgent insistence Mrs. Beltrán consented to making a visit of indefinite length at Primrose Cottage.
"That girl of yours is not having enough lively company, always with sober grown folks," said Aunt Manning. "You and I can be serious if we choose; it's the time of life for us to be, but Nancy needs chirking up. I can see a little pucker of anxiety on her face sometimes that will mean wrinkles after a while. She is entirely too young to have wrinkles. They come too soon as it is. She has had a deal of trouble, poor child, from all you tell me, and she is more English than Spanish in spite of her looks. Pity she couldn't have kept her yellow hair; then no one would have suspected." Aunt Manning always spoke of Anita's Spanish parentage as if it were a disgrace and a thing to be hushed up, if possible.
Primroses faded. The hedges became white with May; larks and nightingales, blackbirds and thrushes haunted the lanes and woodsy places; still Anita and her mother lingered at Primrose Cottage. An English Nancy was quite to Aunt Manning's liking, and she was kindness itself in spite of her rather caustic tongue. It was a case where actions spoke louder than words. In time she made less and less reference to Spanish traits, bull fights and the Inquisition. She read the papers diligently, looked grave and thoughtful during the whole of many days, had long arguments with Mr. Kirkby when he called, but the arguments concerned Germany and not Spain.
Meanwhile Anita was enjoying herself. There was still Pepé to think of, but all was being done that could be in that quarter, and Terrence Wirt, though unforgotten, was drifting into a memory whose poignancy lessened as present pleasures brightened the summer days. There were walks to neighboring villages, excursions to farther ones, picnics and garden parties, all seeming to Anita like pages from an English novel. Bertie Sargent was always in attendance and Harry Warren oftener than not, while in the company of "His Riverence," as Anita called Mr. Kirkby, she absorbed much knowledge of England's history, especially that which had to do with Sussex.
A week at Littlehampton gave them a nearer view of the sea, an excuse to visit Arundel Castle, and to make a short visit to Rye, where dwelt the cousins Oliver. These appeared to Anita more formal, reserved and conventional than the dwellers at Primrose Cottage, and she felt that she could never become as intimate with them.
Lillian gave her a loyal friendship. Her dainty American clothes, the way she wore her veil, her little Southern drawl, her use of certain expressions all fascinated this English cousin who offered Anita the quality of homage which she had been accustomed to receive at home. Frank, boyish, original, with much of her grandmother's fearlessness of speech, but with the same kindly spirit, Lillian was a companion not to be despised and the girls were inseparable, the two dogs generally trotting at their heels.
It was one day on the sands at Littlehampton that Lillian first hinted at there being a closer relation between herself and Bertie than she had been willing to admit. It was July and already there were disquieting rumors. Lillian was employing herself in digging holes in the sand with the tip of her parasol. The dogs were running joyously up and down the sands, scaring the more timid little children at play and animatedly inviting attention from boys who might desire to throw sticks for them to bring back. Anita was lying back languidly watching a group of children who were building a fort.
"And if there should be war," said Lillian suddenly, withdrawing her parasol's tip from a deep hole she had made.