Rachel’s very dark eyes had brightened when Kitty spoke about the tableaux and the charades.
“It all depends on what kind of children the Marmadukes are,” she said; and then she took Phil’s hand and walked across the lawn with him.
She had a fellow-feeling for Phil just at present, for he and she shared a secret; and she noticed as he stood by Kitty’s side that his laugh was a little forced and that there were very dark lines under his eyes.
“You’re tired—aren’t you, Phil?” she said.
“I?” asked the little boy, looking up with almost alarm in his face. “Oh, please don’t say that, Rachel.”
“Why shouldn’t I say it? Any one to look at you could see you are tired, and I’m sure I don’t wonder, after being so ill last night. Go in and lie down if you like, Phil, and I’ll pretend to Aunt Grizel that you are half a mile away in the forest climbing trees and doing all kinds of impossible things.”
“I do want to go into the forest,” said Phil, “but I won’t go to-day, Rachel. You were very kind to me last night. I love you for being so kind.”
“Oh, it wasn’t exactly kindness,” said Rachel. “I came to you because I was curious, you know.”
“Yes; but you were kind, all the same. Do you think, Rachel, we shall often go into the forest and go a long, long way when the Marmadukes are here?”
“Yes, I suppose so. It depends upon the weather, of course, and what kind of children they are. They may be such puny little Londoners that they may not be able to walk a dozen steps. Why do you want to know, Phil? You look quite excited.”