‘So it seems,’ said Aunt Grace rather dryly. ‘Is it the accidents which have taken you so long?’
‘Partly,’ said Micky, turning still redder, and looking so very uncomfortable that kind Aunt Grace took pity on him.
‘Well, we won’t say any more about it this once,’ she promised good-naturedly; ‘luckily, the glasses are only the common sort. But I’m afraid the next that gets broken you’ll have to pay for out of your pocket-money unless there’s some extra good reason for the accident. Do you see, old man? And now make haste and go to bed, for it’s shockingly late.’
‘Aunt Grace,’ cried Micky, flinging himself upon her and giving her one of his bear’s hugs, ‘you’re a—a ripper!’—a compliment which gratified Aunt Grace as much as any she had ever received.
Emmeline watched them with her curious aloofness. ‘Pretty people like Aunt Grace can get round everybody,’ she was thinking bitterly. ‘Even the twins are beginning to love her more than me!’
‘Good-night, Emmeline,’ said Aunt Grace, looking at her niece rather wistfully. She would have given a great deal for Emmeline to have hugged her as Micky had just done.
‘Good-night,’ said Emmeline, in a voice which sounded sulky, but was really unhappy, for jealousy is the most miserable feeling that anyone can have, except perhaps sea-sickness.
When Emmeline went to her room she found Kitty already in bed. Her eyes were shining with excitement. ‘Has Micky got back safe, and did Diamond Jubilee like his supper?’ she asked eagerly.
‘I don’t know—I don’t think he said,’ answered Emmeline, absently.
‘Do you know,’ continued Kitty, ‘I feel as if I’d had ten birthdays all in a lump to-day, and was a big grown-up woman of eighteen; for adopting somebody is an awfully grown-up thing to do, isn’t it, Emmeline?’