Then she smiled indulgently. The exquisite tenderness and the strength of the love pieces had softened and braced her at the same time.
“They’re very young,” she said, as she went out after them, “and—really it’s very hot.”
This was all in the morning. At night there was another breeze.
Bunty did not eat his pudding. That of itself was phenomenal, for it was brown with sultanas and had citron peel at wide intervals; generally he managed three servings, and, even then, said they might have made it in a bigger basin. But to-night he said “No pudding” in a sullen voice, and kicked the legs of his chair monotonously with his boot heels.
“You might have the common politeness to say thank you, I think,” said Nellie, who was officiating at nursery tea in Meg’s absence. “What a boor you are getting, John.”
[53]
]“Oh, go and hang yourself,” he returned. He pushed his chair back from the table, and went out of the room with lowering brows.
Poppet slipped down from her chair.
“Sit down instantly, Poppet; do you think I’m going to allow you to behave like this?” Nellie cried. “If John has no more manners than a larrikin, you are not to follow his example. Sit down, I tell you, Poppet; do you hear me?”
“Can’t you see how white he is?” said the little girl, her lips trembling. “Nellie, I can’t stay—no, I don’t want pudding.” She darted across the room and down the passage after him.
The boys’ bedrooms opened on to a long landing with a high staircase window at the end that looked straight out to the river and the great stretch of gum trees on the Crown lands.