"Thanks awfully, Lily. The blue feather you gave me will go too beautifully with this, won't it? Seulement je pense que je sais un shop moins cher dans le High Street. Nous pouvons disons ici que nous le penserons-over."
The Hardinge superstition that none but themselves could understand schoolroom French was an old one, and had served them many an ill turn with Miss Clotilde Stellenthorpe.
When Dorothy's visit was over, and the time before her marriage and departure for India seemed to be lessening very rapidly, Lily realized that, although they had little in common save youth and a year or two's companionship, she would miss her very much.
After all, it had been amusing to discuss frocks and ornaments and purchases together, to rejoice candidly in the glory of Lily's new possessions, and to laugh together at old, foolish, trivial jokes and catchwords that had no merit at all except that of association.
Lily, rather surprised, and very much ashamed, one evening broke into involuntary tears. She did not want Nicholas to know that she had cried, but the tear-stains on her face would not be effaced, and after all, Lily thought that he would understand. There was already a sharply-marked line of division in her thoughts between the things that Nicholas would, and those that he would not, understand.
She told him why she had cried.
"Poor little dear!" Nicholas was very kind and petted her, saying that she was tired, and must take more care of herself. But the next day he was inexplicably depressed, with a tendency to monosyllables and a complete inability to smile.
Lily, only too familiar with such phenomena in her father, felt her heart sink.
"Are you worried, Nicholas?" she ventured.
"No."