“Dears!” she exclaimed, when she saw her uncle and aunt; “getting so heated talking about me—how do you like each other now you meet? Have I exaggerated the charm of either of you? You both think so? Well, darlings, sit down. No, Elsie, you must do the honours and I’ll do the laughing and the crying, if you like—but there must be no more fighting. Look at your faces.” And she handed to each one a spoon. Elsie passed hers on to Marcus. He laid them both down beside his plate.
“Is my face red too?” he asked, turning to Diana.
“Is that quite how you meant to put it?” she asked; and he was obliged to answer, “Not quite.”
Shan’t was out; she had gone to spend the day with some children in the neighbourhood and she wouldn’t be back till after tea. After tea seemed a long way off to Marcus. Could he make Aunt Elsie and her garden and her ridiculous farm last till then? Diana was too distressed; she was engaged to play golf with Mr. Pease.
“Don’t bother about me,” said Marcus stiffly.
Diana had no intention of bothering about him. He had come to see Elsie, not her. It was so important they should make friends. If she stayed with them, they would both try, each one, to talk to her more than the other.
“And when are you coming back to me, Diana?” asked Marcus.
Diana looked from Marcus to Elsie and from Elsie to Marcus.
“You are such unselfish darlings, both of you,” she answered. “You must decide between you.”
Here was Elsie’s opportunity. “I think, perhaps, Diana,” she said, “you ought to go to your uncle—your mother left you with him.” And Elsie knew that, in the eyes of Diana, she must stand on the heights above Marcus—that Marcus must look up to her.