“Are you great at the oar, Rhoda?” Isabel asked, going over to a seat by the girl, and taking her hand affectionately. It was an impulse of pity; Rhoda looked so sad, though she smiled.
“My function is steering,” was the reply.
“What a wise girl! And how did you all enjoy yourselves at Eastbourne? You can’t think how tempted I was to join you. If only it hadn’t been such a long way.”
“I hope you feel no permanent ill results of your accident?” Mr. Meres asked.
“None, I really think. But, oh dear! I’m growing old.”
Hilda broke into her cheery laugh; Rhoda and her father smiled; even Ada moved her lips incredulously.
“How dare you all make fun of me? Hilda, stop laughing at once.”
“Old, indeed, Mrs. Clarendon! That I don’t think you’ll ever be.”
It was Isabel’s delight to hear these words; she flushed with pleasure.
“I want you girls to come and lunch with me to-morrow—no, the day after; to-morrow I am engaged. But I forgot; can you come, Hilda?”