“My dear lady, be serious for a moment.”
Edith rose.
“Oh, don’t make me laugh again,” she said. “Good-bye, Sir Thomas, you are the kindest man in the world. Please come and see me to-morrow, and tell me whom I shall be under, and all about it. I must have a house there. I hate hotels. Perhaps we had better go to a hotel first, until we can get something to suit us. And you and the children, Peggy, are coming out to stay with me, but I mustn’t kiss you. Sir Thomas, since I am to be idle by your orders, you will probably receive some time next year a small book with the compliments of the author, called ‘Our Life in High Altitudes.’”
They got into the brougham that was waiting and drove off. Then in spite of orders Peggy turned to her sister and kissed her.
“You blessed darling,” she said. “But, oh, Edith, don’t be so splendid about it, or you will break my heart.”
Edith still had that radiant look with which she had heard her sentence.
“Splendid?” she said. “I’m not splendid. I am behaving exactly as I feel inclined. Is it odd, do you think? I don’t. Besides, what would be the use of curling up and snivelling? I’m not made like that.”
“No, you dear,” said Peggy, half-sobbing, “that’s just it. That’s just the splendidness that makes me cry.”
Edith took her sister’s hand.
“Ah, don’t Peggy!” she said. “Don’t let us give way for a single second if we can help. Don’t let us ever think about giving way, or else that will become natural. I won’t. I won’t! I will not!” she said with great emphasis.