“Will you like that?” said the vicar to the child.
“I’ll not like leaving mamma; but school, yes. I feel I want to learn a lot. I suppose Elsie is, oh, so clever?”
She peeped at the other girl under her long eyelashes, and made pretense of being awe-stricken by such eminent scholastic attainments in one of her own age.
“Elsie has learnt a good deal from books, but you have seen much more of the world. If you work hard, you will soon make up the lost ground.”
“I’ll try. I have been trying—all day yesterday! Eh, mamma?”
Mrs. Saumarez sighed.
“I ought to have engaged a governess,” she said. “I cannot teach. I have no patience.”
Mr. Herbert did not know that Angèle’s educational efforts of the preceding day consisted in a smug decorum that irritated her mother exceedingly. This luncheon party had been devised as a relief from Angèle’s burlesque. She termed it “jouer le bon enfant.”
After the meal they strolled into the garden. The storm had played havoc with shrubs and flowers, but the graveled paths were dry, and the lawn was firm, if somewhat damp. Mrs. Saumarez had caused a fine swing to be erected beneath a spreading oak. It held two cushioned seats, and two propelling ropes were attached to a crossbar. It made swinging a luxury, not an exercise.