That night the Two D’s put off going to bed as long as possible, and when, at last, Mrs. Fayre sent them away, laughingly, they marched up-stairs like two deaf and dumb Drum Majors.
“What’s the matter with the kiddies?” asked Mr. Fayre, who couldn’t help noticing their demeanour.
“I don’t know, I’m sure,” returned his wife. But Trudy laughed outright, and said:
“I do. They’re mad.”
“Mad?”
“Yes. A school girl ‘mad,’ you know. Neither will speak first—it’s beneath her dignity. They’ll act like this a day or two longer, and then they’ll make up. I know ’em!”
“Better speak to them, Mother,” suggested Mr. Fayre, “and clear up matters. Seems silly to me.”
“Oh, I don’t believe I’d better interfere. They’ll fix it up themselves, if that’s what’s the matter. Some foolish quarrel, I suppose.”
“It isn’t like them. They rarely quarrel.” Trudy looked thoughtful. “But I’m sure it is that. They never spoke to each other at supper, though each was gay and chatty with the rest of us.”
“Silly babies!” said Mr. Fayre, smiling. “Let them work it out themselves, then.”