“Well, I did. She and Pen seemed to be having a sort of quarrel. You had best say nothing about it. Those sort of quarrels between girls soon melt into thin air when you take no notice of them. But I tell you what; this is good news. We’ll have a big function after we have spent our month at the seaside. I know for a fact that the St. Justs are going to be at Hurst Castle for the entire season, and when you return, Clay, we’ll just do the thing in topping style. I’ll induce Sir Edward and his daughter to come here and stay for the night I think I can manage the old gentleman.”
Here a peculiar knowing expression passed over Mr Carter’s face. Clara watched him.
“What a clever old dad it is,” she said.
“You’d like it, wouldn’t you, Clay?” he said, putting his hand under her chin and turning her face round until he looked at her. “Upon my word you have a look of your mother, child. I was very fond of her,” he continued, and then he stooped and printed an unlooked-for kiss on Clara’s young cheek.
She was unaccustomed to special attentions from her parent.
“I’d be ever so glad if they came,” she said. “And I’m sure if you wish it they will come.”
“Yes, it’s all right now that you’ve been introduced to Miss Angela. Now, look here; couldn’t we send them a present of fruit—fruit from the garden? They’d like some fruit from their own old garden, wouldn’t they now?”
Clara saw no impropriety in that.
“Fruit and vegetables; we’d send some vegetables, too,” said Mr Carter. “Those marrowfat peas are just in their prime. We might send them a couple of pecks, and—and some peaches; they are just getting perfectly ripe now in the hothouses—peaches, nectarines, apricots, peas, and a few melons wouldn’t be unacceptable, would they? What do you say, eh?”
“Just as you like, Dad, of course.”