“Glue!” shrieked Pixie in even shriller echo.
The two pairs of eyes were fixed upon him in horrified incredulity. The pity, the commiseration of their expressions was touching to behold.
“Oh, poor fellow!” sighed Esmeralda softly. “You must be poor! How can anyone manage to make a living out of—glue?”
“But you know, Esmeralda darling, it is useful! We break such heaps of things ourselves. We often use it,” urged Pixie anxiously; and at this her sister brightened visibly.
“We do. That’s true for you, Pixie. Perhaps it’s your glue we use, Mr Hilliard. Dear me, it will be quite cheering when we break anything after this! We shall feel we are helping a friend by our misfortune.”
“That’s very kind of you. I’ll remember that you said that, and it will cheer me too,” replied Hilliard gallantly, and at that very moment a sound came to the ears of all. “The gong! It must be tea-time. They are sounding it to let us hear. I hope I have not kept you out too long.”
Ten minutes later they were all seated in the hall enjoying tea and scones, while Bridgie smiled sweetly on their flushed, animated faces.
“You look well after your walk,” she said. “And what did Mr Hilliard think of our tame ruins?”
Pixie looked at Esmeralda; Esmeralda looked at Mr Hilliard; Mr Hilliard looked at his boots. One and all they had forgotten all about the ruins!