“Oh dear me, Priscilla!” said Annie, pausing when she saw her friend, and looking at her with a great deal of exasperation.
“Yes,” said Priscie; “what is the matter?”
“I want to sit just where you are.”
“Well, I suppose you can; there is room for two.”
“But there isn’t room for three,” said Annie.
“Three?” said Priscilla. “Who is the third?”
“Oh, never mind,” said Annie; “I suppose we’ll find another seat. It is Mr Manchuri; he is going to England, you know, to-day. He is such a nice old man, and I did think I could send a little present by him as far as London, and then it could be posted to dear old Uncle Maurice. I wanted to give him a special message about it. But there, never mind.”
“I will go in if I am in the way,” said Priscie. She rose hastily and went towards the house. She felt that Annie was becoming almost unendurable to her. Such a queer, sore sensation was in her heart that she almost wondered if she could live through the next term at Mrs Lyttelton’s school in the presence of this girl—this girl so devoid of principle. But then, where were Priscilla’s own principles? What right had Priscilla to upbraid another when she herself was so unworthy? She crushed down the dreadful thought, and went back into the house feeling limp and miserable.
Meanwhile Mr Manchuri walked slowly down the garden in his meditative, cautious fashion, never hurrying in the very least, and gazing abstractedly at a view which he did not in the least admire, for he had no eyes for the really beautiful things of nature. Nevertheless he considered the strong, sweet air of the Swiss mountains good for him, and as such was the case, was satisfied with his surroundings. Presently he caught sight of Annie’s white frock. He liked Annie Brooke; she was a pretty little thing, very good-natured and amusing. He thought to himself how much nicer she was than any other girl in the hotel. She had no nonsensical airs about her, and could listen to an old man’s maunderings without showing the slightest sign of weariness. Her eyes were very blue, too, and her hair golden. He did not consider her pretty; no one ever thought Annie Brooke quite pretty; but then she was charming, and had a way of making a man feel at his very best while he talked to her; and she did not object to his smoking.
He accordingly made his way as straight as an arrow from the bow to the comfortable seat where Priscilla had been reposing, and which Annie had left vacant for him. Annie was seated on a far less comfortable chair herself. She was looking straight before her, her hands lying idle in her lap, her hat slightly pushed back. She did not appear to notice Mr Manchuri until he was close to her side. But when he said, “Hallo, Miss Brooke!” she looked up, and a happy smile parted her childish lips.