“Spoilt little prig that he is—”
Chapter Seven.
Jasper’s Dream.
The rain went on; by two o’clock Mrs Fortescue had given up any hope of its clearing.
“I do wish it had been brighter for poor Aunt Margaret’s journey and arrival,” she said more than once, when they were all at table.
“Never mind, Mumsey,” said Jasper, “it’ll be nearly dark when she comes, won’t it? And then when it’s all lighted up in the house it’ll not matter outside.”
“I wish it was lighted up now,” said Christabel dolefully. “It’s a perfectly horrid day. It never seemed so dark and dull at home—there were always nice things to do,” and she sighed deeply.
“That’s something new,” said Leila. “You used to grumble like anything—even on fine days, because you had lessons to do, and when it rained, because you couldn’t go out. I don’t mind a bit. I can always read.”