“The next day,” said Christina Alberta. “I’m not quite sure about to-morrow. I’d sort of half promised to go somewhere else—. But it doesn’t matter very much really.”
“I’d like to go to Tumbridge Wells to-morrow,” said Mr. Preemby.
“Why not?” said Christina Alberta as if to herself, and hesitated.
Se walked to the door and came back. “Good night, little Daddy,” she said.
“Are we going then? To-morrow?”
“No.... Yes.... I don’t know. I had planned to do something to-morrow. Important in a kind of way.... We’ll go to-morrow, Daddy.”
She walked away from him with her arms akimbo and stared at those queer pictures.
She spun round on her feet. “I can’t go to-morrow,” she said.
“Yes, I will,” she contradicted.
“Oh, hell!” she cried, in a most unaccountable and unladylike way. “I don’t know what to do!”