“Your Cousin Honoria will not let you lose your train, my dear.”
“I wish you were going to stay too,” Blue Bonnet said. After all, the Boston cousins were little more than strangers to her, and very elderly.
“You are not afraid of being homesick?” But Miss Lucinda looked pleased.
“I believe I am.” And when, later, the cab drew up before the rather somber-looking old house on Beacon Street, Blue Bonnet was quite sure of it.
But in spite of those first misgivings, Blue Bonnet thoroughly enjoyed her visit to her elderly relatives; they were so anxious that she should be happy while she was with them that that in itself went far towards counteracting that first sense of strangeness.
“And what should you like to do this morning, Señorita?” Cousin Tracy asked, at breakfast on Saturday morning; the evening before had been devoted to what Cousin Honoria called “getting acquainted.”
“I should love,”—Blue Bonnet looked from one to another of the three with that quick smile of hers, which seemed taking for granted perfect agreement with her wishes,—“I should just love to go all about Boston in one of those big sight-seeing motors.”
There was a moment’s silence; it seemed to Miss Augusta that the very portraits on the wall looked horrified.
“Uncle Cliff meant to take me when he was on last winter,” Blue Bonnet explained in blissful unconsciousness, “but we didn’t get ’round to it.”