“Oh, look what I’ve done!” she cried, as she stooped down in haste to repair the mischief.
“Oh, you needn’t trouble about those things!” cried Chris, ungratefully, with a little look which girls’ freemasonry enabled Lilith to understand.
Miss Graham-Shute’s big brown eyes grew round with delight at the prospect of a little bit of interesting gossip, if they should get a chance to be alone together. She nodded discreetly, as she went down on her knees to rearrange the scattered daffodils and lilies of the valley.
“I’m such a clumsy creature!” cried she, in feigned distress. “Donald always says I’m like a bull in a china shop. Oh!” she cried, as she buried her little retroussé nose in a bunch of Parma violets, “I should like to be ill if I could get such attentions bestowed upon me! You are a lucky girl, Chris! And an ungrateful one too!” she added in a lower voice, with a glance at Mrs. Abercarne, whose back was for the moment turned.
“You can have the flowers, if you like,” said Chris quickly. “Yes, do take them,” she added, eagerly as Lilith made a gesture of refusal, “I shall be so glad if you will. They—they are too strongly scented,” she added, as an excuse, as she noticed a look of pain and annoyance on her mother’s face.
“Oh, well, they are not too strongly scented for me,” said Lilith, drily. “Thank you awfully, dear. I’ll be sure to remember to bring back the basket.”
“No, don’t; keep it, I don’t want to see any of it again.”
She spoke petulantly, for the handsome gift had been accompanied by a message from Mr. Bradfield, almost demanding permission to see her.
Then Mrs. Abercarne, moved to wrath, spoke:
“I think you are very ungrateful, Chris. Those flowers were sent from Covent Garden expressly for you, and at great expense.”