“I don’t think I ever noticed,” said Miss Stone. She was still smiling as she touched the tumbled hair, putting it in place.
“But they must bob,” said Betty. “I think I should have noticed your cherries bobbing, Miss Stone.” She was looking intently at the quiet cheek close beside her own, with its little flush of pink, and the greyness of the hair that lay beside it. “I notice all your things, Nono,” she said softly.
Miss Stone smiled again and drew her to her. “I will look to-day, Betty, when we drive—”
The child nodded—“Yes, they will bob then. I can see them—even with my eyes not shut, I can see them bob—Please, Constance—” She turned to the stiff maid who had come in—“I want my grey coat and red-cherry hat. We’re going to drive—in the sun.”
The maid brought the garments and put them on with careful touch, tying the strings under the lifted chin.
The child nodded to her gaily. “Good-bye, Constance—we’re going for a drive—a long drive—we shall go and go and go—Come, Miss Stone.” She took the quiet hand, and danced a little, and held it close to her—down the long staircase and through the wide hall—and out to the sunshine and the street.
James, from his box, looked up, and the reins tightened in the big hands. The horses pranced and clicked their hoofs and stood still; and James, leaning a respectful ear, touched his hat-brim, and they were off, the harnesses glinting and the little red cherries bobbing in the sun.