It was so very dreadful, that Grace couldn’t think of anything for the space of a minute; then she said, in a puzzled way, “But how could old Mr. King have done anything when he didn’t see Roslyn—I don’t see.”
“I don’t see either,” said Alexia irritably, “but it’s my private opinion publicly confessed that Grandpapa King is mixed up in it some way. It worries me to skin and bone. And Pickering won’t do anything when I beg him to, and everything is just as horrid as it can be. Well, now, tell me all about your cousin Roslyn May,” she added, brightening up, and eager for the news.
“Why, you see he is my very own cousin,” cried Grace in the greatest pride.
“How?” interrupted Alexia; “is General May your uncle?”
“Yes,” said Grace; “he is my mother’s brother. And Cousin Roslyn is awfully smart. Why, when he was a little boy he got hold of some clay, and he made dogs and pigs and horses just as natural. And Uncle May took him abroad—you know his mother died when he was a baby.”
“Oh, dear!” said Alexia.
“Yes, she did,” said Grace. “Well, and Uncle May took him abroad to see if it was really in him to be a sculptor, he said, and everybody was perfectly astonished. But Roslyn was determined to come home to be educated.”
“Good for him!” cried Alexia.
“Yes; and so he waited till after he’d got through college before he really did much sculpturing. Then he went abroad to stay; and I tell you he’s just worked! Why, haven’t you heard of the things he has done?”
She opened her blue eyes widely at Alexia now.