Now, in such security of happiness as Frances had never dreamed of, her own way so amply justified as to need no further explanation, Hazel could afford to listen with the smiling surface docility that had always been hers, to Bertha’s dictatorially-worded counsels for the welfare of Dickie and her tempered approval of his nursery arrangements.
But Frances did not think that Hazel meant to follow Cousin Bertie’s wise advice about not spoiling the little darling, and making him learn at once that he must go to sleep at the proper times without being coaxed. Hazel only shook her tawny curls, and said in a tone of comical resignation that she was sure Dickie was going to be dreadfully spoiled, and she only hoped he would have a little brother to help keep him in order, and not an adoring sister.
Sir Guy was very polite to Mrs. Tregaskis, and very kind to Frances. It was he, Hazel eagerly told her cousin, who had suggested that Frances should stay with them in the summer and be taken through her first season by Lady Marleswood.
Frances was impressed and almost overawed by such kindness. Sir Guy had hardly appeared to notice her existence at Porthlew, but he seemed quite different now, under his own roof, with no atmosphere of strain and disapproval to contend against.
“Does he know about me?” Frances asked Hazel rather timidly that evening.
Hazel had come into her cousin’s bedroom in a blue silk négligée and sat on the floor, just as she used to do in her blue cotton kimono at Porthlew.
“What about you, except that you’re a darling, and just like my very own sister?” demanded Lady Marleswood.
“Being a Catholic.”
“Oh yes, of course, and we both think it perfectly splendid,” declared Hazel lightly.
Frances felt relief at the very lightness of her tone.