“These are for you,” he continued, in the eager delight of giving, as he bundled out two gorgeous Indian shawls. “I thought you would like to wear them to church on Sundays”—he stopped, before the ripple on Ursula’s face. “You like them, don’t you?” he asked, dismayed. “You like them, don’t you, Miss Mopius?”
“They are exquisite,” replied the latter lady, affectedly, with a scowl at her niece. “My dear Mynheer van Helmont, you have inherited all your father’s charming taste.” Ursula murmured something about “a beautiful drapery.”
“All modern girls are alike,” thought Otto, “everything for ornament.” He was almost relieved to see Gerard’s trap come rattling up.
“You here!” cried the younger brother, looking down from his height. “Oh, I see! What a hurry you’re in to bestow your gifts!”
“I came here to conduct Juffrouw Rovers to the station,” answered Otto. “The message I sent appears not to have reached her.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Ursula stood distressful, by the little green gate, in her dust-ulster, the rainbow cloth over one arm. At her feet lay the white-fanged brute with gleaming eyes and distended maw. Otto climbed slowly back into his old-fashioned wagonette. By his side the smart dog-cart jingled and creaked. “Hurry, Ursula!” cried its driver. “We haven’t any time to spare!” Otto whipped up Hector almost savagely. “It’s of no account,” he said, “of no account at all.”
“Gerard, I’m afraid we shall miss the train,” said Ursula, as the trees went flying past them.
“Possibly,” answered Gerard. “You don’t mind my cigarette?”
“Gerard, my uncle will never forgive me.”