"You just must," said the boy sturdily. "I guess there is nothing else to do."
The words were so hopeless that Nesta's tears began to fall thick and fast, and he drew her almost roughly down the passage out of earshot. They reached the picture gallery, and sat down in a deep window-seat overlooking the front drive and the beautiful park beyond. Here Nesta buried her face in her hands and fairly sobbed. Eustace bore it for some seconds, then,—
"Look here, old girl," he said, "don't be silly. You'll have a red nose for dessert."
"I don't care," Nesta blurted out.
"But you must care," Eustace said a little impatiently, "because then mother will see you have been crying and find out we're miserable."
"I don't care," sobbed Nesta again. "I can't hide it any more, and I don't want to. I shall ask father to let me go home with him. Nothing will make me stay here with these—these horrid people."
"Nesta!" Eustace exclaimed.
"Well, I can't help it; they are horrid, even if they are our people. I never thought of them being anything like this. And I can't—I won't stay with them."
"Rot," said Eustace angrily. "You know we can't help staying if every one says we are to."
"Then," said Nesta, drawing herself up with a sudden attempt at dignity, "I shall run away."