"Oh, hum—mum-m-m-m-m-m!" said Madge, or something that sounded like it. The Merryweathers welcomed her courteously, and Mrs. Merryweather asked if she had come over from Pollock's Cove.
"Oh, yes! I am staying there for a day or two. Some friends of mine are there, charming people, and I heard that Hildegarde was here, and of course I flew to see her. She is my oldest and dearest friend, Mrs. Merryweather."
"Indeed!" said Mrs. Merryweather, with friendly interest.
"Yes, indeed. We were at school together, and like twins, except for the difference in colouring. Ah, les beaux jours d'enfance, Hilda, my love! And you are quite, quite unchanged since the happy days at Madame Haut Ton's. 'Queen Hildegarde' we used to call her then, Miss Merryweather. Yes, indeed! she was the proudest, the most exclusive girl on Murray Hill. The little aristocratic turn of her head when she saw anything vulgar or common was quite too killing. Turn your head, Hilda, my love!"
Hildegarde coloured hotly. "Please don't be absurd, Madge!" she said.
"Pray turn your head, Miss Grahame!" said Roger Merryweather, gravely. "I am sure it would interest us."
Hildegarde shot an imploring glance at him, and turned in desperation to her visitor.
"It is a long time since I have heard from you, Madge," she said.
"I am sure you must have a great deal to tell me. If Mrs.
Merryweather will excuse us, suppose we go for a little walk
together."
"Surely, my dear!" exclaimed Mrs. Merryweather, with perhaps unnecessary cordiality.
But Madge had made herself very comfortable on the verandah, and had no intention of stirring just yet. Go scrambling about over rocks, and tearing herself to pieces among bushes? Hardly. Besides, one glance had shown her that Professor Merryweather was uncommonly good-looking. She settled herself gracefully in her chair, and gave a pretty little sigh.