“And to whom did May say this?”
“To me and to Clara.
“And Clara,—did she make any answer?”
“Not a word. She got very pale, and seemed as though she would burst out a-crying. Heaven knows why! Indeed, I 'm not sure the tears were n't in her eyes, as she hurried away; and it was the only day I ever saw May Leslie cross.”
“I never saw her so,” said Layton, half rebukefully.
“Then you didn't see her on that day, that's certain! She snubbed Charley about his riding, and would n't suffer Mrs. Morris to show her something that had gone wrong in her embroidery; and when we went down to the large drawing-room to rehearse our tableau,—that scene you wrote for us,—she refused to take a part, and said, 'Get Clara; she 'll do it better!'”
“And it was thus our little theatricals fell to the ground,” said Layton, musingly; “and I never so much as suspected all this!”
“Well,” said the boy, with a hesitating manner, “I believe I ought not to have told you. I 'm sure she never intended I should; but somehow, after our tiff—”
“And did you quarrel with her?” asked Layton, eagerly.
“Not quarrel, exactly; but it was what our old commander used to call a false-alarm fire; for I thought her unjust and unfair towards you, and always glad when she could lay something or other to your charge, and I said so to her frankly.”