The brightest colour rose to Salome's face, and she said, "Yes, I am Salome Wilton. Reginald!"—for Reginald had walked on, resolutely determined not to believe they had any kinship with the boy and girl who had stared at them—"Reginald," Salome said, overtaking him, "do stop;" adding in a lower voice, "It's so uncivil."
Reginald, thus appealed to, was obliged to turn his head, and in the very gruffest voice said, "How do you do?" to Digby, who advanced towards him.
"I am so glad we met you," Kate said. "I have been watching you for ever so long. Something made me sure you were our cousin. I was not so sure about your brother. I daresay he has very much grown in two years, but you are so little altered, and"—Kate paused and laughed—"I knew your hair; it is such wonderful hair. Don't you remember how you used to let it down at Maplestone, and make me guess which was your face and which was the back of your head? It was not so long then."
Salome felt more and more uncomfortable about her hair, and said, "I am quite ashamed of my untidiness; but I have lost all my pins, and my hair is such a dreadful bother."
"It is beautiful," said Kate. "I am sure I should not call it a bother. I wish you could give me some; but we have all scraggy rats' tails. We should like to walk with you, if we may," Kate continued. "Which way are you going?"
"Oh, no way in particular. Reginald and I came out for a walk. We have had such dreadful weather since we have been here."
"Yes; and Digby and I, like you and your brother, were tired of staying at home. It is so dull for the boys when they have bad weather in the holidays. I hope it is going to clear up now."
Salome hoped so too, and then there was silence. But Kate soon broke it with some trivial remark, and the girls made more rapid advances towards friendship than the boys. Kate was pleasant and good-tempered, and was easy to get on with. But Salome listened in vain for much conversation between the boys. All the talk came from Digby, and she felt vexed with her brother for his ungraciousness. But boys are generally more reticent than girls, and have not so many small subjects to discuss with each other on first acquaintance, till they get upon school life and games.
"I hope you will come home with us," Kate said, after a pause, during which she had been calculating the time of her mother and Louise's departure to luncheon at a friend's house in the neighbourhood. A glance at the clock of a church they passed reassured her. "They were certain to have started," she thought. "Aunt Betha would not mind if I took home half-a-dozen people to luncheon."
"You are going out of your way, Salome," said Reginald. "We ought to turn up this way to Elm Fields."