Priscilla turned round, shocked and indignant.
“Well, Loveday, you can’t have everything!” she cried. “You’ve got a paint-box, and I haven’t; and you’ve got a parasol, and I——”
“But I can’t paint here,” protested Loveday. “I want to go home now to see if my paint-box is all safe,” she added suddenly.
Priscilla’s eyes twinkled wickedly.
“I shouldn’t be surprised if Geoffrey is home using all your paints.”
Loveday’s face fell, and her eyes filled with anxiety.
“Do you really think so? Do you really, Prissy?” she asked. Then her face brightened. “Oh no; he can’t be, ’cause I hid them where I know he wouldn’t think of looking!”
“Would you like to come and sit between us again?” asked her father.
“No, fank you; but I’d like Priscilla to sit here, and I’d have her place and drive. She may hold my parasol if she likes—if she doesn’t open it,” she added.
“Priscilla is too big to sit where you are. Would you like to sit down on the mat at our feet?”