"Of course I knew it was Bertie," responded Anita.
"It's always been Bertie, of course," continued Lillian. "Oh, for years and years. We're like that in England, you know. A man tells a girl he is fond of her, and if there is no prospect of marrying soon the girl just waits, waits, and doesn't mind how many years. I know it isn't so, at least I've been told it isn't in America, that a girl doesn't consider an engagement sacred at all, and that she doesn't mind encouraging a man whether she cares for him or not."
Anita thought of her light-hearted girl friends at home; of Virgie Buchanan engaged to two men at once, of Patty Blakelock with a new admirer every month. "I'm afraid there is some truth in that," she confessed, "although of course there are many, many girls who are not that way at all. I think I must be one of the constant kind myself, for it is once and forever with me."
Lillian turned to look at her. "Tell me," she said. And Anita told.
"Well, there is one thing to comfort you," said Lillian, with a sigh, "you will not have the agony of sending your lover to the war."
"No, but I sent him into a silence from which he will probably never come back," returned Anita, remorsefully.
The two girls sat in silent sympathy on the sands. The little nursery governess near by softly crooned an old German lullaby to the youngest of the little ones who, with sleepy eyes, rested in her lap. The waves lisped gently as they curled in along the shore. Everywhere peace. Who could dream of war?
The next day they returned to Primrose Cottage, and to the serene and happy life they had been living. That Tommy was Lillian's favorite of the dogs Anita had soon discovered, but Aunt Manning coddled Haddie, who took himself very seriously and in his lordly way claimed attentions and demanded rights which Tommy never looked for. The latter, however, was quite satisfied to receive tidbits at the hand of Lillian after meals, however much Haddie might be allowed the superior advantage of sitting by Mrs. Manning's side at table to partake of sly morsels from her plate. She denounced any such proceeding on the part of both Hotspur and Tommy, and strictly forbade them an entrance to the dining-room during meals, but Haddie could go anywhere. Anita found him one day curled up on her bed in the middle of a fresh white frock, and Tibbie, who secretly favored Tommy, next to Hotspur, told tales of Haddie's having made free use of the pillows on the couch in the sitting-room.
Tibbie, by the way, was a constant source of amusement to Anita. Her Cockney expressions, to which were added many Sussex peculiarities of speech, invited visits to her domain which, otherwise, Anita never would have thought of making.
"That 'Addie is so dentical," she told Anita, "that 'e'll not take less'n one o' mistus' purty pillows for a bed. 'E's unaccountable dentical, 'Addie is. But 'e doan't think nothin' baout other folkses denticalness. 'E'll go slubberin' an' spannelin' over my floors when 'e's been out in the wet, an' make gurt tracks as I've to clean up. Yes, miss, 'e's unaccountable 'igh an' mighty, is 'Addie." This same Tibbie had lived with Mrs. Manning for years. At eighteen she had been wooed, married and deserted within a year and from that time she vowed she would never live in a home where there was a man. That Mrs. Manning was a widow with only a granddaughter was sufficient recommendation, and she adored both the younger and older women, giving that faithful, if somewhat arbitrary service one so often finds in old servants. She backed Mrs. Manning's opinions against those of any man, and because her "mistus" disdained any idea of war as against Mr. Kirkby's apprehensions, Tibbie flouted the idea, and her arguments, founded upon Mrs. Manning's, were voiced with decision to the butcher, the baker, as well as her special antagonist, Timpkins, "the 'andy man."