“It’s that tiresome Fanny, I suppose,” she said to herself. Fanny was the nursery-maid. “She’s no business to come bothering till we’ve left the room.”
But the tap was repeated, and a voice, which was certainly not Fanny’s, a soft, coaxing little voice, made itself faintly heard.
“Chrissie, Chrissie, do let me come in.”
“Come in, then,” was the rather ungracious reply. “What do you want, child? I’m not dressed.”
The door opened and a small figure entered.
It was Jasper, the youngest of the family.
He was barely seven years old, and not tall or big for his age. Fair and slight and rather delicate-looking, and though his face was sweet and even pretty when you examined it closely, he was not the sort of child that is noticed or admired, as were his handsome brother and sisters.
“What do you want?” Christabel repeated. “Don’t you see I’m not half dressed?”
Jasper nodded.
“I know,” he said calmly. “I’se come to help you.”