“Chrissie, Chrissie,” Leila called out, and this time she really meant well, and had forgotten for the moment all about being an innocent martyr, “Chrissie, you haven’t said your prayers, and your—”
But a whistle from the staircase—plainly heard, though it was not a very successful one, as Christabel had been true to her rule of not shutting the door—was the only reply, and Leila sighed.
“Miss Chrissie do be a high-spirited young lady,” quoth Harriet with a respectful little cough.
“What did you say?” asked Leila, as if awaking from a dream. “Oh yes—you wouldn’t think I was only a year and a half older than she is, would you?”
“No indeed, Miss,” was the reply in an awe-struck tone, and again Leila sighed and retreated to her self-chosen character of unappreciated heroine.
It was rather provoking, though entirely her own fault, that, in spite of her prompt getting up and irreproachable behaviour, she was not down early. For only when her little brother tapped at the door did she again glance at the clock, and started to see that it was already twenty-five minutes to nine.
“Lelly, Lelly, Mumsey’s sent me for you. We’re all down ’cept you.”
Leila opened the door.
“Oh dear, it’s too bad!” she exclaimed. “I’ve been ready ever so long. I got up ages before Chrissie.”
“Never mind, poor Lelly,” said Jasper consolingly. “You’se not really late. Nobody’s vexed wif you. And you do look so neat,” he went on admiringly, as hand-in-hand they hastened downstairs. “Chrissie seems all—all in a muddle,” he added anxiously. “I saw Daddy lookin’ at her rather funnily, though he didn’t say nothin’.”