Just as the tea was made there was a step on the stairs and, looking very sleepy and red-eyed, Percy came into the kitchen.
“Morning, Hazel,” he said rather sheepishly, as he looked at her in a half-penitent curious way; but he made no offer to kiss her, nor she him. “I say, what time does the post come in here?”
“The post Percy?” said Hazel quietly, as she went on preparing Mrs Thorne’s tea. “Do you expect a letter?”
“Yes,” he said. “I’ll go out and meet the postman, and see what the place is like. Letters’ll be here soon, I suppose?”
“Not till to-morrow morning,” said Hazel, watching his changing countenance.
“Not till to-morrow morning!” he cried wonderingly.
“No; there is only one delivery here a day. The postman has been.”
Percy was taken aback, and he stood staring, unable to find words and to meet his sister’s stern, angry look.
“Percy,” she said at last, “are you trying to be a man?”
“Of course I am,” he said quickly. “Every fellow at my time of life tries to be one.”