“It’s her own fault. I shan’t be sorry for her if she gets scolded,” said Leila. “She only hurried down to be before me.”
And when she caught sight of her sister at table, she really felt surprised that her father’s annoyance had been only shown by “funny” looks. Christabel—except that, thanks to Harriet, her hair was fairly tidy—might have passed for a well-to-do scarecrow. Her collar was all on one side, her blouse buttoned crookedly, her face far from clean—her hands and nails—but perhaps it is better not to enter into particulars as to these! She seemed quite pleased with herself, however, and mixed in the conversation even more than was called for.
“It is going to be a very wet day, I fear. It is such a pity. I had so hoped it would be bright and clear,” said Mrs Fortescue.
“Why do you mind, Mumsey?” asked Christabel. “It’s hotter than if it had been yesterday and we’d had to paddle to church in the rain. I think it’s much the worst for us now when it’s wet—with nowhere proper to play in.”
“Your mother was not asking your opinion,” said Mr Fortescue drily, and Chrissie’s face darkened. She hated being “snubbed” more, I think, than anything else in the world, but no one took any notice of her annoyance, and her father went on speaking to her mother as if there had been no interruption.
“You must not think of coming to the station,” he said. “You would probably catch cold, for—” and for once, poor man, he sighed a little, “you would come in an omnibus, I am sure, and on a day like this you might have to wait some time to get a seat. Much better stay quietly at home, and have everything ready and comfortable for her when she arrives.” He hesitated a little. He was on the point of adding a word or two, almost of appeal, to the two girls, but Christabel’s cross expression and Leila’s air of dreamy self absorption were not encouraging.
“Very well, then,” Mrs Fortescue replied, though with evident regret. “Perhaps you are wiser about it. Then we may expect you about—when—four o’clock?”
“Yes, or a little later,” was the reply, as Mr Fortescue rose to go, Roland having already hurried off.
“And mayn’t I help you, Mumsey?” whispered Jasper, edging up to his mother. “If only there was some flowers in the garden to put in her room!”
“Perhaps she will bring—” Mrs Fortescue was beginning, when Chrissie interrupted.