"I didn't poggle him."
She did not turn, she did not smile, and the sombreness that was the dominant expression of her face was strange to see in a girl of her age.
"Well——" Kingsmead's small countenance, so different from hers in its look of palpitating interest and curiosity, suddenly flushed a deep and a beautiful red. "I say, old girl," he broke out, "are you going to?"
And she, silent and unresponsive as she was, could not avoid answering him.
"Well, Tommy dear—I don't know, but I suppose I shall."
"I don't like him, poor thing, and I wish you—mustn't."
"That's exactly the word. I fear I must." Her eyes nearly closed as she refused to frown. "This kind of thing can't go on for ever."
"You mean the mater. Well, look here, Bicky, she'll be better when Carron is here—she always is."
"Oh, Tommy——"
"But she is. She obeys him rather, don't you think? I suppose because he was a friend of father's. Is she really very bad to-day?"