“But that’s the difficulty,” said Mrs. Gowan, “their uncle has taken ‘Tenby’”—she waved her hand to the cottage opposite that had stood irksomely monotonous with closed shutters and chained gate ever since the Lomaxes had come to Burunda this year, “and of course they will often want to come down to him to listen to his stories. He is Hugh Kinross, you know.”
They did not know, and even now the name was a name to them and nothing more. Mrs. Gowan evidently took it for granted that even children must have heard of her brother, the famous author.
“So you will help me, won’t you, Pauline?” she said appealingly,—“you won’t let Max and Muffie run out and talk to them! And if they try to come here you will send them away, won’t you, dear?”
[p22]
Pauline promised her co-operation, though indeed her heart sank at the prospect of seeing her merry little friend Effie day after day as close as the opposite fence and never as much as exchanging chocolates with her.
“When is he coming?” she said heavily.
“To-morrow,” said Mrs. Gowan—then she laughed—“but I think he would be afraid to come, don’t you, if he knew he was going to have four little rackets like you for such near neighbours. He has come all this way to be perfectly quiet and write his new book.”
Lynn looked quite impressed.
“I think we’d better stop in the orchard,” she said soberly.
Mrs. Gowan kissed her hand to them and went off laughing to her wagonette.
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