“Well, I don't see how their mothers can allow it,” exclaimed Mrs. Briggs, glancing around on the group, “but I sha'n't let you, Kathleen. Dear me! you will ruin your skin. Now you must come under my parasol.” She moved up on the seat. “Here, come over here.”
“Oh, I'm not going to,” cried Kathleen with a grimace. “I can't see anything under that old thing. Besides, I'm going to stay with the girls.”
“Yes, you must come under my parasol.” A frown of real anxiety settled on her mother's face. “You'll thank me by and by for saving your complexion for you, Kathleen; so come over.”
“No,” said Kathleen, hanging back, and holding to Silvia's arm.
“There's your veil, you know.” Mr. Briggs hadn't spoken before, but now he edged up to his wife. “It's in my pocket.”
“So it is,” cried his wife joyfully, as Mr. Briggs pulled out a long green tissue veil. “I am so glad I had you bring it. Now, Kathleen, tie this all over your head; your father will bring it over to you. And next time, do obey me, and wear your hat as I've always told you.”
So Kathleen, not daring to hold back from this command, but grumbling at every bit of the process, tied on the veil, and then sat up very cross and stiff through the rest of the sail.
“I should rather never go around the world, if I'd got to be tied up like an old green mummy every step,” Alexia managed to whisper in Polly's ear as they hopped out of the launch. And she was very sweet to Kathleen after that, pitying her dreadfully.