‘Wait till she’s gone, that’s all!’ threatened Peter in a whisper, as he passed by after shaking hands with Jill. Christopher looked at him over his spectacles, and went calmly on.
‘I’m next on the list, and my name is Christopher, changed by the vulgar into Kit,’ he was proceeding, when Egbert made a spirited interruption.
‘He is our genius,’ he said, with a flourish of his hand towards the spokesman. ‘We are all very proud of him, for although only thirteen, he has the wisdom and intelligence of one twice his age. He is the only member of the family who can spell, and––’
‘Oh, dry up!’ muttered Kit, but his remonstrance was drowned in the approving jeers of the others. The genius had had it all his own way for about ten minutes, and it was satisfactory to see him ‘scored off’ in his turn. Kit tried to resume his dignified attitude in front of Jill, but the attempt was not particularly successful. It was always impossible in the Berkeley family to remain dignified for long.
‘Are you sure you have got them right so far, or shall I write them down?’ he asked, with so much gravity that Jill looked at him rather suspiciously. He met her glance through his spectacles without wincing, and the others tittered again. They were still a little doubtful about this new cousin of theirs, who was so unlike any one who had come their way before; and it was rather a relief to pretend to be amused.
‘The last of the boys is Robin, or Bobbin if you prefer it,’ continued Kit, glibly. ‘He is the youngest of us all, and the most ill-used. Indeed, when you came in just now, you may have seen the Babe trying to rescue him. That reminds me! I have left out our only girl. She comes between me and Bobbin, and here you may perceive her–the Babe!’
Barbara came slowly round from her hiding-place at the back of the sofa, and stood face to face with Jill. There was rather a wistful look on the small countenance just then; for in all her dreams of the wonderful cousin who was going to be her first girl-friend, Babs had never imagined anything like this grown-up, elegant creature, who did her hair like the ladies in the park and wore her watch dangling from her wrist. The child’s heart sank as she suddenly thought of her short gymnastic frock, and her rumpled hair, and her dirty hands. As for Jill, she stared down at the little person in front of her, and could not help smiling. Whenever she had particularly dreaded being plunged into this family of boys, she had always consoled herself by remembering that there would be one girl among them to take her part. Now, as she looked at the rough little tomboy before her, with her elf-like face and figure, and her bright eager eyes, she had to own again to herself that a large family was a difficult thing to understand.
‘So you are Babs,’ she began, not knowing what else to say. Then she remembered her errand, and added hastily, ‘Will you please go and see mother? She is in the library with Uncle Everard.’
Barbara escaped and sped along the hall, full of relief at having got away from the uncomfortable grown-up feeling that seemed to have come into the schoolroom with Jill. She even paused outside the library door, in her quaint, inconsequent way, to ask herself why Jill seemed so much more grown-up than the nice old gentlemen who came to see her father, with their pockets full of chocolates for her; and she supposed it was because they were really old, while Jill was only grown-up, which was far more alarming because it was so much more mysterious. But hardly had she settled this question in her mind than a fresh one presented itself to her. How was she to know that this other stranger, who was waiting in there to see her, was not also going to stare at her and smile, as Jill had done? Babs gave a troubled sigh, and opened the door with a heavy heart.
A little old lady sat on the sofa beside her father, with her hand in his. She was not beautiful by any means; her back was bent–like an old witch’s, Barbara thought–and she had a nose that might have been described as hooked, and a mouth that turned down at the corners and gave her almost a sour expression. But she had two small, keen black eyes, that took all the ugliness out of her face; sometimes they shone and sometimes they softened, but more often still they twinkled, as they did now, when her little niece stole timidly into the room. The moment the child looked up and met those eyes, she felt she was looking at her father’s sister. If she had but known it, the same eyes, too, were gleaming back at the old lady from the middle of a bush of tangled brown hair.