She went through the long window on to the verandah, and caught him up.
Challis was taking off her hat, brushing her hair, removing the signs of travel with a dainty deftness born of so frequent journeys. Hermie's eyes followed her everywhere. They saw a girl not tall for her fourteen years, slender, not over strong-looking. Soft light hair fell away down her back, curlless, waveless. The greyish, hazel eyes were full of quiet shining, the face was thin, yet soft and childish, the mouth sensitive, a little sad.
'Oh,' she said, 'the smell of the soap, Hermie! I can see the other bedroom so well—the Wilgandra one, and your bed was near the fireplace, and mine had white tassels on, and there was a pink vase on the washstand for our tooth-brushes.'
Hermie looked in slight bewilderment at the pieces of common household soap that her sister held; she did not realise that the girl had seen and smelt nothing but scented since she went away, and that this plain yellow piece was pungent with the old days.
'Where am I going to sleep, Hermie?' said the little girl, and her heart throbbed with the hope that Hermie would cry, 'With me, of course.'
'Bart is going to sleep out in the tent with Roly,' Hermie said, hanging up the well-cut little travelling-coat with a sigh for its style. 'You'll have his room.'
'Where do you sleep?' Challis ventured.
'Dad and Bart built me a little room across there,' said Hermie.
'And Floss?'
'Her cot is in Miss Browne's room.'