"What is your little girl's name?" Harebell asked, looking up at Mrs. Garland with earnest eyes.
"Not such a pretty name as yours. We call her Nan. Her real name is Anne, and my boy is Peter. There are a good many Peters in the world just now."
"Do you think they like me coming to lessons? I saw them out the other day, and they wouldn't speak to me. It was a dreadful disappointment; it almost broke my heart. You see, I was simply longing to talk to them."
"They told me about it; but they did not know who you were."
"But they could see I wasn't a native," said Harebell quickly.
Mrs. Garland laughed.
"You must tell us all about India. I suppose you love it, don't you?"
Harebell's eyes grew misty. She looked across at her aunt, who had moved to the other end of the room on purpose that Mrs. Garland and Harebell should talk together.
"I feel quite sick for India," she said, putting one small hand on her chest. "It's a frozen house here. Do you think Aunt Diana will ever melt? She's the snow queen, and isn't she beautiful?"
A light kindled in her eyes. She went on in an earnest whisper: