‘How Aunt Charlotte did cry! What a funny little woman she is.’
‘Yes, I see now who you take after, puss. You’ll be just like her when you are her age.’
‘So I mean to be,—I mean to stay and take care of you all my life, as she does of grandmamma.’
‘You do, do you?’
‘Yes. I never mean to marry, it is so disagreeable. O dear! But how lovely dear Amy did look.’
‘Here’s the rain!’ exclaimed Charles, as some large drops began to fall in good time to prevent them from being either savage or sentimental, though at the expense of Charlotte’s pink and white; for they had no umbrella, and she would not accept a share of Charles’s carriage-cloak. She laughed, and drove on fast through the short cut, and arrived at the house-door, just as the pelting hail was over, having battered her thin sleeves, and made her white bonnet look very deplorable. The first thing they saw was Guy, with Bustle close to him, for Bustle had found out that something was going on that concerned his master, and followed him about more assiduously than ever, as if sensible of the decree, that he was to be left behind to Charlotte’s care.
‘Charlotte, how wet you are.’
‘Never mind, Charlie is not.’ She sprung out, holding his hand, and felt as if she could never forget that moment when her new brother first kissed her brow.
‘Where’s Amy?’
‘Here!’ and while Guy lifted Charles out, Charlotte was clasped in her sister’s arms.