‘Dolly,’ said Uncle Reginald, in a low voice, since he was permitted to look over the cards with her, ‘I think I have found out part of your troubles.’
She looked at him in alarm.
He put his finger on a card bearing the words, ‘Goodwill to men.’
‘Umph,’ said she. ‘I don’t want everything of mine messed and spoilt.’
And as his eye fell on Fergus’s cards, he felt there was reason in what she said.
Aunt Lily had taken her for a quarter of an hour that morning, trying to infuse the real thought underlying the joy that makes it Christmas, not only yule-tide. But it all fell flat—it was all lessons to her—imposed on her on a day that she had not been used to see made what she called ‘goody.’ Last year her father had shut himself up after church, and she had spent the evening in noisy mirth with the Seftons.
CHAPTER XIII. — AN EGYPTIAN SPHYNX
Aunt Adeline was afraid of winter journeys as well as of the tumultuous festivities of Silverton; so at twelve o’clock. Colonel Mohun drove the pony-carriage to meet the little trim Brownie who stepped out of the station, the porter carrying behind her a huge thing, long, and swathed in brown paper. ‘It is quite light; it won’t hurt,’ she said, ‘It must go with us. Put your legs across it, Regie. That’s right.’
‘Then what becomes of yours?’