"I believe there are sometimes, when they are in season."
"Well, I can tell you there are not. And the only season they are in is the Silly Season. Father says so."
"It's so lovely down here, and you're spoiling it all, Cyril, by arguing. I do think it would be nice," she added, glancing round, "to be an oyster and have a real pearl! I wished I possessed a real pearl!"
"Shut up," cried Cyril. But to his annoyance he found his sister already gone, and a stupid-looking, closed-up oyster in her place, out of which he could not get a glimmer of satisfaction.
"You have shut up and no mistake!" he said severely, "in the middle of a conversation too." However, she was soon at his side again, and looked very sorry.
"Well, what was it like?" was his laconic welcome, accompanied by a glance of disapproval.
"Not at all nice. I didn't want to remain—although I possessed a magnificent pearl. I felt so horribly ill—as though I had some dreadful disease. What a life pearl-oysters must have if they feel like that!"
"I've heard pearls is a disease."
"Then how horrid of you to let me have it. You ought to have told me."
"How could I? You were in such a hurry. I couldn't do anything. You were just the same over that wretched mole. I do wish you wouldn't go off like that again; you know you promised you wouldn't."