“Don’t tell,” said the little girl, cautiously. “I don’t like light because mamma’s is light, and that other fat girl’s; and I don’t like black because Aunty Woma’s is black, and nurse’s.”
Eugenia was a little taken aback. Could the child be “quite right,” she wondered.
“Let me see your face, little Floss,” she said, pushing back the fair hair from the broad white forehead and raising the child’s head a little towards her. “Right!”—of course she was right. There was no want of intellect, or humour either, in the well-shaped little features and green-grey, twinkling eyes.
“You have got a nice face, Floss. Will you give me a kiss?” asked Eugenia. “But, do you know, when I was a little girl I didn’t say I didn’t like anybody.”
“I didn’t say that,” returned Floss. “I was only speaking of people’s hairs. I like you. You’re not fat, like that girl! Are you my new aunt? Nurse said my new aunt was coming. Sometimes I like nurse; but, do you know, she does pull my hair so when it is vewy tuggy! Will you tell me about when you was a little girl?”
“Yes, dear,” said Eugenia. “You shall come to my room, or perhaps you and I will go out into the garden together. Now I must run down quick to breakfast.”
She left the child with a kiss, but when she got to the dining-room door, happening to glance back again, there was the shaggy head pressed against the bannisters, the funny eyes peering down after her.
“What a queer little girl!” thought Eugenia. “I wonder if her mother was like her at her age? How odd it sounds to hear a child talking about not liking her nearest friends. I wonder if Mrs Eyrecourt and Roma dislike children?”
On the whole Eugenia had felt agreeably disappointed in her sister-in-law. Gertrude looked so young and pretty compared to what she had expected; there was nothing formidable about her.
“I dare say we shall get on very well,” thought the bride, quite satisfied with this reasonable anticipation. With all her impulsiveness she had never been given to sudden or vehement friendships, Sydney had been to her all that she wished for in this direction; but she was sincerely anxious to please her husband by responding cordially to whatever friendly overtures this sister of his, of whom he evidently thought so highly, might seem disposed to make. So far only one thing had repelled Eugenia; Mrs Eyrecourt had seemed almost to forget the night before what a complete stranger Beauchamp’s wife still was to all their family interests and connections.