Reginald troubled Phyllis much by declaring that nothing should induce him to kiss his nephew, and she was terribly shocked by the indifference with which Eleanor treated his neglect, even when it branched out into abuse of babies in general, and in particular of Henry’s bald head and turned-up nose.
In the evening of Wednesday Phyllis was sitting with Ada in the nursery, when Reginald came up with the news that the party downstairs were going to practise country dances. Eleanor was to play, Claude was to dance with Lily, and Frank with Jane, and he himself wanted Phyllis for a partner.
‘Oh!’ sighed Ada, ‘I wish I was there to dance with you, Redgie! What are the others doing?’
‘Maurice is reading, and William went out as soon as dinner was over; make haste, Phyl.’
‘Don’t go,’ said Ada, ‘I shall be alone all to-morrow, and I want you.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Reginald, ‘do you think she is to sit poking here all day, playing with those foolish London things of yours?’
‘But I am ill, Redgie. I wish you would not be cross. Everybody is cross to me now, I think.’
‘I will stay, Ada,’ said Phyllis. ‘You know, Redgie, I dance like a cow.’
‘You dance better than nothing,’ said Reginald, ‘I must have you.’
‘But you are not ill, Redgie,’ said Phyllis.