Nesta, still smarting under a sense of disappointment, had made a sullen resolution not to appear to want to know anything at all. In spite of Herbert's assurances she was quite sure she did know a great deal about the house and grounds. Brenda and he should see later that she did.
Eustace held his tongue because he had literally nothing to say that was at all agreeable. They had begun the day by going into their mother's room to say good-morning.
"O children," she had exclaimed when she saw them, "isn't it all lovely?"
"It is, mummie," began Nesta in such a miserable voice that Eustace knew she was going on with a "but."
There were tears of joy in Mrs. Orban's eyes. To her at least everything was perfect. Eustace was standing close to Nesta, and he gave her a surreptitious pinch that just nipped the complaint right off before the "but" could come out.
"It is ripping, mother," he said. "I never thought it would be half so splendid."
"I knew you would love it," said Mrs. Orban confidently; "and it is so jolly for you having Brenda and Herbert. If only—"
She stopped, and her face had grown suddenly sad. There was always that "if only." The twins knew she was thinking of Aunt Dorothy.
"Look here, Nesta," said Eustace in a low voice when they left the room, "don't you go grumbling to mother and spoiling everything for her, or you will be a selfish little pig."
"But when things are horrid—" began Nesta.