“It isn’t that, Bunty; I only want to talk to you for a little,” Meg’s voice was very even and patient.
But “Blow being talked to!” was Bunty’s grateful and polite reply. He was weary of sisterly “talkings.”
“I’m not going to lecture you or anything like [68] ]that, Bunty. I wish you’d open the door. What have you fastened yourself in for?” Meg beat a little tattoo on the wood and rattled the handle.
“What a nuisance you are, Meg; why on earth can’t you go away and let a fellow be quiet? I’m not going to open the door, so there.” His voice sounded from the bed across the room; he had not even attempted to come near the door.
“Oh, very well,” said Meg, seeing it was useless, to-night, at least, with that barrier of pine between them.
“Good-night, old fellow. I don’t see why you should be so grumpy with me.”
“I’ll talk to him to-morrow,” she said, as she went downstairs with a free heart to the drawing-room again.
But, alas! to-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow!
[69]
]CHAPTER VI.
TO-MORROW.
“What’s done we partly may compute,