Cornelia gave a little jump upon her seat, and opened her golden eyes in a stare of amazement.
“Mussy, no! What in the land put such an idea in your head?”
“Your tone and manner, my dear, and the fact of his accompanying you all the way from town. It is not usual for young men to put themselves to so much trouble for a mere acquaintance.”
“He don’t think it a trouble. He loves flying around! He’s a sweet thing,” said Miss Cornelia, with smiling recollection, “but he’s not my Chubb! I’m sorry he couldn’t stay to tea, for he’s real amusing when he once gets started. He’d have made you screech with laughter.”
Miss Briskett looked down her nose, in her most dignified and rebuking fashion.
“I am not accustomed to ‘screech’ about anything, and in this country, my dear, it is not considered convenable for young girls to accept the escort of a gentleman to whom they are not engaged. No English girl would think of doing such a thing!”
“They must have a middling dull time of it,” retorted Cornelia, calmly, “I must teach them a thing or two while I’m over.” She rose to take the teacup from her aunt’s hand, and to help herself to a couple of sandwiches from a dainty heart-shaped dish. “Well—aren’t you pleased to have me, Aunt Soph? I’ve wanted years to come over and see you. It seemed too bad that I knew none of Poppar’s people. And now I’m here!” She wheeled round, teacup in hand, staring curiously around the handsome, over-furnished room; at the big ebony console table, ornamented with bunches of fruit manufactured out of coloured pebbles; at the grand piano in its walnut case; the piano which was never opened, but which served as a stand for innumerable photographs and ornaments; at the old-fashioned sofas and chairs in their glazey chintz covers; at the glass-shaded vases on the marble mantelshelf. “I’m here, and it’s too quaint for words! Everything’s—different! I suppose England is different, isn’t it, Aunt Soph?”
“Very different!” Miss Briskett’s tones fairly bubbled with innuendoes. She put down her rolled slice of bread and butter, and added frostily, “Before we go any further, Cornelia, I must really beg you to address me by my proper name. My name is Sophia. You have no intention of being disrespectful, I feel sure, but I am not accustomed to abbreviations. I have never had a nickname in my life, and I have no wish to begin at this late date.”
“My! you poor sufferer, how lonesome for you! Nicknames are so homely and cosy. I have about as many as I have toes. One of my friends calls me ‘Corney.’ He’s a bit of a wag—(‘He,’ indeed!)—Another one calls me ‘Nelia,’—‘Neel-ya!’” She threw a lingering sentiment into the repetition, and chuckled reminiscently. “To most of my chums I’m just ‘Neely.’ Life’s too short for three syllables every day of the week!”
“Over here in England we are not too hurried to address people in a proper manner. I shall call you by your full name, and expect you to do the same by me.”