“Sholto,” said Marian, joining them: “have you spoken to little Lucy?”
“No.”
“Then you are unacquainted with the most absolute imp on the face of the earth,” said Elinor. “You neednt frown, Marmaduke: it is you who have made her so.”
“Leave her alone,” said Marmaduke to Marian, who was about to call the child. “Petting babies is not in Douglas’s line: she will only bore him.”
“Not at all,” said Douglas.
“It does not matter whether she bores him or not,” said Marian. “He must learn to take a proper interest in children. Lucy: come here.”
Lucy stopped playing, and said, “What for?”
“Because I ask you to, dear,” said Marian, gently.
The child considered for a while, and then resumed her play. Miss McQuinch laughed. Marmaduke muttered impatiently, and went down the garden. Lucy did not perceive him until he was within a few steps of her, when she gave a shrill cry of surprise, and ran to the other side of a flower-bed too wide for him to spring across. He gave chase; but she, with screams of laughter, avoided him by running to and fro so as to keep on the opposite side to him. Feeling that it was undignified to dodge his child thus, he stopped and bade her come to him; but she only laughed the more. He called her in tones of command, entreaty, expostulation, and impatience. At last he shouted to her menacingly. She placed her thumbnail against the tip of her nose; spread her fingers; and made him a curtsy. He uttered an imprecation, and returned angrily to the house, saying, between his teeth:
“Let her stay out, since she chooses to be obstinate.”