"I don't see how it's going to be managed—a holiday, I mean. But, oh, it would be grand! Oh, Cousin Becky, do tell me!"
"No, I can tell you no more," Cousin Becky interposed, laughing. "Remember to keep my secret, dear."
"Oh, I will," was the earnest assurance; "but it seems too good to be true—too altogether wonderful. I cannot think how you should know, but I am so glad you have told me. I don't in the least mind that Aunt Janie has forgotten to invite me to spend a day with her now—I suppose, after all, she must have forgotten, I don't really think she would mean to be unkind."
Cousin Becky did not think so either. In truth, Mrs. Marsh had allowed the promised invitation to slip her memory; and she would have been considerably surprised, and more than a little sorry, had she known the disappointment she had caused.
[CHAPTER XIII]
THE CALAIS NOBLE
"ROGER, come here, I want you a minute."
The scene was the playground at the back of the Beaworthy Grammar School, one fine June morning after school hours, where a few of the day scholars, including Roger Trent and his cousin, lingered talking to the boarders before going home to dinner. Roger had been on the point of leaving when Edgar, who had been holding a conversation with a big boy called Cole, the son of a lawyer in the town, called to him imperatively, and he turned back and inquired:
"Well, what is it?"
"I want you to tell Cole that I haven't been story-telling as he seems to think I have," Edgar said, with a somewhat resentful glance at his companion. His colour was heightened, and he appeared annoyed.