“No, it isn’t,” said Matilda; “that’s the new colour for hair, you know. It’s done by stuff you put on; but Miss Perry said the worst was, it didn’t always come out the same all over. Lots of ladies use it.”
“How horrid!” said Eleanor. “But what makes her walk so slow?”
“Well, I don’t know,” said Matilda. “Why should she walk quick?”
Eleanor seemed struck by this reply, and after a few minutes’ pause, said very gently, with a slight blush on her cheeks, “I’m afraid I have been walking too fast for you. I’m used to walking with boys.”
We earnestly assured her that this was not the case, and that it was much better fun to walk with her than with Miss Perry, who used to dawdle so that we were often thoroughly chilled.
In the afternoon we took her to the Esplanade, when Matilda, from her knowledge of the people, took the lead in the conversation. I was proud to walk on the other side of our new friend, with my best doll in my arms. Aunt Theresa came with us, but she soon sat down to chat to a friend, and we three strolled up and down together. I remember a pretty bit of trimming on Eleanor’s hat being blown by the wind against her face, on which she quietly seized it, and stuffed it securely into the band.
“Oh, my dear!” said Matilda, in the emphatic tone in which Aunt Theresa’s lady visitors were wont to exclaim about nothing in particular—“don’t do that. It looks so pretty; and you’re crushing it dreadfully.”
“It got in my eyes,” said Eleanor briefly. “I hate tags.”
We went home before Aunt Theresa, but as we stood near the door, Eleanor lingered and looked wistfully up the road, which ran over a slight hill towards the open country.
“Would you like to stay out a little longer?” we politely asked.