December
THE rain which began the day after the Greys' visit to Plashers Mead went on almost without a break for a whole week. December with what it could bring of deadness, gloom and moisture came drearily down on Wychford, and Pauline as she sat high in her window-seat lamented the interminable soak.
"I can't think why Guy hasn't been near the Rectory lately," she grumbled.
"I expect he's tired of us," said Margaret.
"You don't really think so," Pauline contradicted. "You're much much much too conceited to think so really."
Margaret laughed.
"You don't mind a bit when I call you conceited," Pauline went on, challenging her sister. "I believe you're so conceited that you're proud even of being conceited. Why doesn't Guy come and see us, I wonder."
"Why should he come?" Monica asked rather severely. "Perhaps he's doing some work for a change."