“Nay,” Captain Whyte replied, “it is our place to apologise. I only ventured to intrude so early—”
But mamma interrupted him.
“Won’t you come into the dining-room?” she said; “it will be more comfortable.”
And so it certainly was, though it was the very thing of all others I would have hated. I had so often mocked at the Gales for never using their drawing-room except on great occasions, and always huddling together in the dining-room. But our dining-room did look nice that morning. It was as neat as could be, and the window was a tiny bit open, and a bright fire burning, and on a small table in the window stood a pretty glass with one or two late roses and a trail of ivy, which mamma had just gathered in the garden outside.
Captain Whyte walked towards the fireplace and stood on the hearthrug, talking to mamma. Miss Whyte drew nearer the window, where I followed her.
“How sweet these late roses are,” she said. “You and Mrs Percy must be very fond of flowers.”
“Yes,” I said, stupidly enough. I could see she thought me shy and awkward, and that made me still more so.
“And what a dear garden you have,” she went on, evidently anxious to set me at my ease, “just as if I had been Agnes Gale,” I thought. “Our garden at the Yew Trees will be very nice, but I do love those walled-in gardens at the back of a house in a street. I always think there’s a sort of surprise about them which makes them still nicer. Do you do much gardening yourself, Miss—no, won’t you tell me your first name?”
“Connie,” I blurted out. A smile lighted up her grave little face.
”‘Connie?’” she repeated. “Oh, yes, I remember. Is that the short for—” but then she stopped abruptly, murmuring something about “Lady Honor;” and for the first time she looked a little shy. It made me feel pleased.