Mrs Fortescue glanced at Christabel questioningly.
Chrissie did not like to see her little brother crying: Jasper so seldom cried.
“Well, yes,” she said, in reply to her mother’s unspoken inquiry, “I don’t say he hasn’t tried, and I don’t say I’ve been extra patient. But I never pretend to be very patient or good-tempered. I can’t help the way I’m made,” and she tossed her head as if this settled the question. “I’m certainly not meant to be a governess.”
Mrs Fortescue sighed, and the sigh went to Jasper’s tender heart. He flung his arms round her.
“Mumsey, darling,” he whispered, “Chrissie hasn’t been cross to me—scarcely not—and I did try, but some of the words were so hard. But I don’t want you to be sorry, and I’ll try more to-morrow.”
In her own mind Mrs Fortescue felt very doubtful as to whether it would be wise to repeat the experiment, but just now it was better not to say so. So she soothed the little fellow, and reminded him that Chrissie did know that he had tried; and Chrissie, though not over amiably, condescended to kiss him, though she added—
“You are a baby, Jap. I hope you won’t have red eyes when Aunt Margaret comes.”
Mrs Fortescue started at the words.
“By-the-bye,” she said, “we have not too much time to spare,” and she glanced at the clock. “Put away the books, children, for Harriet must get tea ready early. Your aunt will like to have it with all of us together, when she arrives. I wonder what Leila is about.”
“There isn’t much need to wonder about her,” said Chrissie, as she hastily collected the books and slates and bundled them into their little owner’s arms with an “I don’t know where you keep them, Jap.”