“She must be as grown up as I am,” Eleanor said. “I used to have her room, you know, when I stayed with Uncle Peter. Does Uncle Peter like her?”
“Not as much as he likes you, Miss Green-eyes. He says she looks like a heathen Chinee but otherwise is passable. I didn’t know that you added jealousy to the list of your estimable vices.”
“I’m not jealous,” Eleanor protested; “or if I am it’s only because she’s blood relation,—and I’m not, you know.”
“It’s a good deal more prosaic to be a blood relation, if anybody should ask you,” David smiled. “A blood relation is a good deal like the famous primrose on the river’s brim.”
“‘A primrose by the river’s brim a yellow primrose was to him,—and nothing more,’” Eleanor quoted gaily. “Why, what more—” she broke off suddenly and colored slightly.
“What more would anybody want to be than a yellow primrose by the river’s brim?” David finished 211 for her. “I don’t know, I’m sure. I’m a mere man and such questions are too abstruse for me, as I told your Aunt Margaret the other day. Now I think of it, though, you don’t look unlike a yellow primrose yourself to-day, daughter.”
“That’s because I’ve got a yellow ribbon on my hat.”
“No, the resemblance goes much deeper. It has something to do with youth and fragrance and the flowers that bloom in the spring.”
“The flowers that bloom in the spring, tra la,” Eleanor returned saucily, “have nothing to do with the case.”
“She’s learning that she has eyes, good Lord,” David said to himself, but aloud he remarked paternally, “I saw all your aunts yesterday. Gertrude gave a tea party and invited a great many famous tea party types, and ourselves.”