She was a quick and clever child when she chose to give her mind to anything, little more than the five minutes had passed when she opened the door of communication and called out.
“I’m ready for my hair. Do you hear, Nurse?”
Poor Nurse required no second summons. She had really been growing uneasy about Christabel, and almost afraid that she herself would be obliged to give in, in spite of her promise to Mrs Fortescue. So the sound of Chrissie’s voice came as a welcome surprise. She was a kind and good young woman, but not possessed of much tact, otherwise she would not have greeted the little girl as she did on entering the room.
“That’s right, Miss Chrissie,” she exclaimed with a smile; “I was sure you’d think better of it in a few minutes, and not force me to have to complain to your dear Mamma, when there’s trouble in the house, too.”
Instantly Christabel’s gentler feelings took flight, like a covey of startled birds. She turned upon Nurse.
“That’s not true,” she said rudely. “You know you weren’t sure of anything of the kind. You know me too well to think I’d go back from what I said, and, as it happens, I didn’t. I’ve not put on my stockings myself this morning, but I won’t tell you anything more. And I do wish you’d leave off talking rubbish about trouble in the house. There’s no trouble. We didn’t care for Dad’s old uncle, who was as deaf as a post and whom we scarcely ever saw, and we can’t be expected to.”
Nurse was silent. She went on tying the ribbons round Chrissie’s abundant locks, without seeming to pay attention to this long tirade.
“Can’t you speak?” said the little girl, irritated by her manner.
“Yes, Miss Chrissie,” was the reply, “I can, but I would rather not. I don’t think what you say is at all pretty or nice.”
Chrissie gave a little laugh.