‘She is a girl, not a cub like me.’
‘A worse cub, for she has not your temper, sir, and, moreover, you had had the wholesome discipline of a large family. Besides, nobody teases but Wilfred. Gillian and Mysie behave like angels to the tiresome puss.’
‘Well, I’m bound to believe you, Jenny, but I don’t like the looks of it.’
Aunt Jane’s mysterious parcel was greeted rapturously, and conveyed into the dining-room, which had a semi-circular end, filled with glass, and capable of being shut off with heavy curtains when the season made snugness desirable. This bay had been set apart from the first for her operations, the tree, whose second season it was, having been taken up and already erected in the centre of the room, not much the worse for last year’s excursion, for, if rather stunted, that was all the better. No one was excluded from the decoration thereof, since that was the best part of the sport to those too old for the mystery—and yet young enough to fasten sconces where their candles would infallibly set fire to the twigs above them. The only defaulters were Jasper, who had preferred going down to the meadows with his gun; and Dolores, who had retired to the drawing-room with a book, on having a paper star removed from immediate risk of conflagration. ‘They were determined not to let her help,’ she said.
So she only emerged when the workers halted for a merry, hurried meal in the schoolroom, where Jasper appeared, very late, very cross at having had to make himself fit to be seen, and, likewise, at having brought home no spoil, the snipes having been so malicious as to escape him. Having sallied forth before the post came in, it was only now that it broke on him that visitors were expected, and he did not like it at all.
‘I thought we had got rid of all the enemy!’ he growled, at his end of the table.
‘That’s what he calls Constance.’ thought Dolores.
‘Polite,’ observed Gillian.
‘This will be worse still, being lord and ladies grumbled on Jasper, ‘I hate swells.’
‘Oh! but these aren’t like horrid, common, fine lords and ladies,’ cried Mysie; ‘why, you know all mamma’s old stories about the fun they had with cousin Rotherwood.