And so she was, and so was Agnes. When tea was over, however, an anxious moment arrived. We could not play any noisy games, and the boys immediately declared that they were not going away.
“We are going to see the fun out now,” said Alex. “Never mind to-morrow’s work. I’ll do that in the small hours—burn the candle, you know.”
Here he winked at Agnes, and she winked back at him, thinking herself exceedingly witty.
Games were proposed, and games were begun; but, alas! how could seven young people keep absolutely quiet? I was trembling all over. If father were but to come down and see the absolute riot in the parlour, I didn’t know what would happen. I was certain of one thing: neither Rita nor Agnes would ever be allowed to have tea with me again.
After a time I did a very injudicious thing. I left the room. I ran upstairs. I listened outside father’s room and heard him moving about. I knocked, and immediately the door was flung open, and there was father in his dressing-gown, with his beautiful grey hair pushed back off his forehead.
“What’s all that murmuring and muttering and shuffling that is going on downstairs?” he said. “And how flushed your cheeks are! And there is a smear of jam on one of them. What have you been doing?”
“Having tea, father.”
“You never offered me a cup.”
“Oh father! when you first came in I offered to get you some.”
“Well, I’d like some now. Bring me up something to eat.”