“I suppose you never tear about in that way,” said Maude, with a faint smile.
“Oh, yes, I think I do sometimes,” Arthur answered; “but, of course, it is not so much fun doing it by one’s self.”
They were in Arthur’s room now, which was a small one not very far from Edgar’s; and a locked door, which opened into another room, showed that it was a dressing-room.
“You see, as the children and Edgar are at home, we have only this little room. Will you be able to sleep here, do you think?”
Edgar’s cousin smiled as she spoke, and Arthur thought how very nice it made her look.
“Oh, yes; I should think so,” he said.
“Well, presently you will hear the tea bell. Oh, no; but I forgot! We don’t ring the tea bell now that Edgar is ill. One of the children shall let you know, if you are not down first.”
But after a little while, when no one had come to call him, Arthur opened his door and came down stairs. It did not need any one to tell him which was the room where the young people were, as the sounds that came through the shut door would let any one know that. Arthur paused outside the school-room door, and then he opened it and went in. It was such a strange new scene that he saw, so different from anything he had been accustomed to, and he was almost bewildered by so many boys and girls, most of whom seemed to be laughing and talking together.
There was a long tea-table. The eldest sister was at the head, five younger ones were seated around, and a tall boy was lying on a sofa near the fire reading. Indeed, he did not call himself a boy at all; for he had just left school, and was preparing for some difficult examination.
All the faces round the table were turned towards Arthur as he opened the door; but none of them spoke until Maude, noticing the silence, saw Arthur standing. Then she said, “Gerald, why don’t you speak? or Harold, this is Arthur Vivyan, Edgar’s friend.”