“Here’s Dick!”
Mr Richard Glaire swung the door open directly after, gave a scowl round the room, nodded shortly at his mother, threw himself into an easy-chair, picked up the book Eve had been reading, glanced at it, and with an impatient “pish!” jerked it to the other side of the room.
Eve laughed, made a pretty little grimace at him, and, removing the cosy, hastened to pour out the tea, one cup of which she held ready, evidently expecting that Richard would come and take it to his mother. Then, seeing that he did not pay any heed to her look, she carried the cup herself, round by the back of the young man’s chair, giving his hair a playful twitch as she went by.
“Don’t!” shouted Richard, angrily, and then in an undertone muttered something about “confounded childishness,” while Eve bent over her aunt and whispered softly—
“He’ll be better when he has had some tea, aunt dear. He’s upset with thinking about to-day.”
Mrs Glaire nodded, and watched the pretty, graceful form as Eve tripped back, to stand for a moment or two behind Richard’s chair, resting her hands upon his shoulders as she whispered tenderly—
“Does your face hurt you, Dick dear?”
“Bother!” growled Dick, pouring the cup of tea to which he had helped himself down his throat. “Here, fill this.”
Eve took the cup and saucer, only smiling back at him, and refilling it, said playfully—
“Dick’s cross, aunty. I’m going to give him double allowance of sugar to sweeten his temper.”