"We always take some of these little bits of trees home with us," Molly told her, "and they live ever so long."
"I wonder could I take one to England," said Mary.
"Why, yes, I should think you could easily. We will get some the very last thing, and I am sure they'll live quite a while."
"It would be jolly nice to have one, wouldn't it?" said Mary as she watched Molly patting the ground smooth around the one she had just planted in the fairy garden. "I'd like to take some pebbles and some starfish, too. Reggie would be so pleased with them; he would be quite vexed if I brought him none after telling him about them."
"How often you say vexed, don't you?" remarked Molly. "We hardly ever say vexed."
"What do you say?"
"Oh, I don't know; we say mad and angry and provoked."
"But then I really mean vexed," returned Mary after a moment's thought. "I don't mean anything else," and Molly had nothing more to say.
It was after they had finished the lobster, the egg sandwiches, the buttered rolls and gingersnaps and were delicately eating some wild strawberries the children had gathered, that Molly made a sudden resolution to plunge Mary into a confession.
"If you lent some one a diamond pin and she were to lose it would you be very—very vexed, Aunt Ada?" she asked, after a hasty glance at Mary.