"Miss Constance calls him the Cherub," said Diana. "I don't think he's a cherub when he screams and kicks for nothing."
"But he's getting better, isn't he? I don't hear so many rumpuses now."
"I think he's better since he saw Inez in one of her rages," said Diana gravely. "Oh, Mums, mayn't we have her to tea again?"
"The holidays will soon be here," her mother said, "then you can have her here every day if you like. We must get up some picnics. I should like that poor boy Ted to have a little fun."
"The week after next," sighed Diana; "it seems a long time. But let us talk about the picnics, Mums. I've never been to one, except when we had tea on the beach at Brighton."
Mrs. Inglefield began to describe a picnic in a shady wood where the dinner things could be washed up in a brook, and the tea boiled in a kettle over a real gipsy fire. Diana was enchanted at the sound of it; she had been feeling rather envious of Noel's treat, but now she forgot all about him, and only thought of the joys that were coming to them in the holidays.
Meanwhile Noel was being carried swiftly along through the country lanes, and it seemed that the end of his drive came almost too soon, for he was enjoying it so much. Ladywell Cottage stood in a garden of its own, well back from the road. It was a low thatched house with quaint gables and windows. The door had a deep porch to it in which there were seats; beehives lined a little path that led across the lawn to some apple trees. The hall door stood open, and as Noel came up a little shyly, wondering if he had better go in or ring the bell, he heard Miss Trent calling to him:
"Is that the Cherub? I heard the car. Come along in."
He took off his hat and stepped across the daintily furnished hall into a very pretty little sitting-room, where upon a chintz-covered couch by the open window lay his hostess.
She held out both hands to him.