‘If you persist in your present course,’ says he, ‘I shall commit suicide. There will be nothing else left for me to do.’
‘In the meantime,’ says Susan, with astonishing spirit, ‘you had better come into the garden. They are expecting you.’
Not so very much, after all. Betty, Carew, and Dom Fitzgerald are engaged in a lively discussion on Miss Barry’s wild attack on the unoffending Sarah in church this morning, and, in the delights of it, have almost forgotten Mr. Crosby. The children are playing about on the tennis-ground below, and Crosby’s eyes fall on Bonnie, as with great difficulty, and with the help of a stick, he tries to follow little Tom. Jacky, in the distance, is stretched on his stomach reading.
‘Those are your brothers?’ asks Crosby, looking more deliberately at Bonnie, whose charming little face, though pale and emaciated, attracts him.
‘Yes, I have four brothers and one sister.’
‘Five brothers, I thought.’
‘Oh no; Dominick Fitzgerald is our cousin. He lives with us nearly altogether, and father is coaching him for the Indian Civil.’
‘Oh, I see. That little brother’—gently indicating Bonnie—‘does not look very strong.’
‘No, he had rheumatic fever, and he has not been’—correcting herself hastily, as though it is impossible to her to say the more terrible word—‘very strong since.’
‘What a beautiful face!’ says Crosby involuntarily. And, indeed, the loveliest flower of all this handsome Barry family is the little suffering cripple child.