“No, you mustn’t, Ralph,” said Harriet. “And now I will tell you why! I, your mother, don’t choose it. You have got to obey me, you know. I am a big girl, and you are a very little boy; you must stay here quietly, and wait for me. I will return for you before long. Now, be a good child, and don’t cry: it is very babyish to cry.”
Ralph stood quite still. The scarlet flush had faded from his face. After a minute, he said:
“Course it’s babyish, and I aren’t crying.”
“Then that is all right,” said Harriet. “Stay here till I fetch you. Come, Pattie.”
The two little girls left the room.
Book One—Chapter Ten.
The Gipsies.
How hot was that drawing-room to the tired little boy! His head quite ached, he did not know why; he could not understand his own sensations. There was a very ugly look-out, too, for the bay window opened into a tiny garden, which was full now of clothes hanging on lines and flapping in what little breeze there was. Ralph could not see anything beyond the white line of clothes.