"Then you are my cousin?"
"Yes," Irene said, "and I am very glad to come and see you all—and grannie."
"Do you remember her?" Willie asked.
"Just a very little, but she always writes me very kind letters, so I feel as if I remembered her."
"Come, Ella, don't be so silly," Willy said, pushing his sister forward; "go and speak to Irene."
Irene took Ella's hand, and then, at Ingleby's advice, they all sat down to their meal together.
Two thick-edged white cups were brought by Stefano, and Willy and Ella enjoyed the good things more than the two tired travellers did.
Irene could scarcely touch the omelette, and Dorothy, in spite of Ingleby's entreaties, only nibbled a quantity of her own biscuits, which were, as Ingleby said, "not fit to make a meal of." They were those little pink and white fluffy light balls, flavoured with vanilla and rose, a large tin of which had been bought in Paris, and were Dorothy's favourite food just then.
They found favour with Willy, and he took a handful from the box several times. Dorothy did not approve of this, and said to Ingleby,—
"Put the lid on the box, Jingle; there won't be any biscuits left."