Their backs turned, the rail safely over, there was a different Miss Middleham to be found, the sparkling, audacious, merry Miss Middleham of Oranges and Lemons who, to Cecily Bingham’s “I say, I can run,” replied, “And so can I, you know,” and egged Cecily on to propose “Let’s race to that clump of grass.” Miss Middleham flew, and Cecily tumbled on to her at the winning post. They resumed their way close together.
Her arm within Mary Middleham’s, Cecily talked in jerks, between breaths. “I say—old Germain talked a lot about you.” The colour flew over Mary’s face, was reflected in her eyes.
“No! Did he really?”
“I swear he did. He called you Atalanta. He said—I say—wasn’t it rot of Mother, asking after your people? She hadn’t the faintest idea whether you had any, and didn’t—I suppose you have, though?”
“I have indeed—lots. I’ve got four sisters.”
“Oh, sisters! No brothers?” She shook her head.
“I’ve got one,” said Cecily, “and he’s at Eton all the summer. Jolly for him.”
“Very jolly, I should think. Now I am to tell Mr. Soames about the tea. Don’t run away.”
“Rather not. I’ll wait here for you. I hate curates. Father’s got two—one tame one and one wild one. We call them Romulus and Remus, after some puppies we had once.” They separated with eye-signals.
Mr. Soames—the Rev. Seymour Soames, B.A.—was explicitly a curate, flaming-haired, crimson, spectacled, and boyish. He was very enthusiastic, and when enthusiastic could not always rely upon his voice. Being now told his affair, he said “I see” very often, and concluded, “Very well, Miss Mary, I’ll do as I’m told—as you tell me, you know. You’re the queen of this beanfeast. I’m not above taking orders from the head of affairs, you see.” It was indeed to be seen that he was not. “Thank you, Mr. Soames,” said the Mary of laughing eyes, and as she went he sighed, collected himself and plunged into hectoring the urn-bearers. Miss Middleham and her young friend strolled off arm-in-arm, and the last thing to be heard spoken between them was, “What did Mr. Germain really say?” The rest was whispers.