“Perhaps he won’t like me.”
“He is quite likely to like you.”
“Oh, yes, at first, because I’ll make him,” she returned with engaging candour, but then her mouth drooped a little, “but when he knows what I’m really like, he won’t.”
Nevil examined another cigarette carefully to see it had not been nibbled. He was really very fond of his little sister-in-law though occasionally at a loss how to deal with her strange moods.
“Well, we are all very fond of you, anyway, child,” 52 he said easily; “as for the temper, you can’t really help it, you know, and you’ll grow out of it. I’m sure you try to, my dear.”
“But I don’t try,” cried poor Patricia wildly, “I haven’t time, I don’t know anything about it till it’s there and then it’s too late. I might just as well have flung that plate at Charlotte as at you to-day. I wonder Renata lets me go in the nursery.”
“No, no. You wouldn’t be angry with a baby.”
She turned to him with a sort of exasperated patience. “That’s just it. You don’t any of you understand. It does not make any difference, why, who or where. It just comes. I can’t help it.” She kicked her heel on the gravel fiercely.
“Poor little Patricia,” said Nevil gently. “I can only say we all love you just the same, and I believe you’ll grow out of it.” She changed suddenly and flung herself into his arms in a wild transport of tears and childish abandonment. He was in no wise taken aback and soothed her with adroitness born of practice. When she was calm again he sat with his arm round her talking of indifferent things till a clock somewhere near struck three.
“They should be here directly,” he said, but made no effort to rise.