"I made some slippers during the term for you," she said. "They're large, and I wadded them so that they are most comfortable. But—it isn't that—the slippers are in your room, I put them there—Ermie, won't you get out?"
"No," said Ermengarde. "I'm going to drive down to the house."
Marjorie frowned more than ever.
"They are all coming up from the shore; Miss Nelson, and all of them; and they'll see the horses and they'll run. Even Miss Nelson will run, she's so fond of Basil, and——"
Mr. Wilton, who still remained in the carriage by Ermengarde's side, now interposed.
"We won't wait for the small fry," he said. "We'll drive on to the house at once. Oh, yes, Eric, you can go to meet the party from the shore of course, if you like, and Basil too."
"I'll stay with Ermie," said Basil.
He jumped into the carriage again, and they drove down the long winding avenue to the house.
Great elm trees shaded the avenue, and Basil pushed back his cap and looked up into the green. He was a dark and handsome lad, and his expression was unusually thoughtful for his years.
"How grand those old trees are!" he said. "Whenever I think of home while I'm away, I remember the old elm trees in the avenue, and the rooks' nests—I remember, too——" Here he stopped suddenly, and a wave of red mantled his cheeks. Ermengarde's bright eyes were fixed on him; she guessed his thoughts. Basil had often walked under those elm trees with his mother.