"Yes. I am not strong enough to go about much, and Auntie Maud has that sort of thing on the brain. She is like the brook—she goes on for ever, nothing stops her. Ah! See now, for example, who are those coming across the lawn? Is one your brother?"
"No! It is only Dicky Browne and—"
"Your Roger?"
"Oh! yes; my Roger," repeats Dulce, with a distasteful shrug.
Then she leans over the balcony, and says:
"Roger, come up here directly; for once in your life you are wanted by somebody. And you are to come, too, Dicky, and please put on your Sunday manners, both you boys, because I am going to introduce you to Portia!"
CHAPTER III.
"Whether youth can be imputed to any man as a reproach, I will not, sir, assume the province of determining."—W. Pitt.
The boys, as Miss Blount—that is Dulce—irreverently terms them, are coming slowly across the grass, trampling the patient daisies. The sun has "dropped down" and the "day is dead," and twilight, coming up, is covering all the land. A sort of subtle sadness lies on everything, except "the boys," they are evidently full of the enjoyment of some joke, and are gay with smiles.