“You needn’t be,” said Evey, composedly. “If you had ever stayed in the house with her for weeks together as we do at my uncle’s at Christmas, you would see that she’s just quite good.”
I could not say anything more after that, and Evey evidently wanted to change the subject.
“Shall I tell you us, now?” she began again, laughingly. “That big Lancey is the eldest of us—he’s sixteen, and, of course, his name’s Lancelot. Then comes Joss—he’s Jocelyn—those two names and mine are very—what’s the word—not ‘fanciful,’ but something like that.”
“Fantastic,” I suggested.
“Yes, that’s it. How clever of you to know!” she said, admiringly. “At least they sound so, though really the boys’ names are both family ones.”
“But yours,” I interrupted, “isn’t a very fanciful one—‘Eva’ or ‘Evelyn’—oh, no; you said it wasn’t one of these. I forgot.”
“It’s Yvonne,” said Evey. “It’s a French name—a very old French name. A cousin of mother’s was called Yvonne first, and I’m named after her. Then, after these three names, we get quite sensible. Next to me is Mary, ‘plain Mary’ we call her in fun, because she’s the prettiest of us! And then come Addie and Charley and Douglas and Tot. Addie’s the delicate one, and Charley and the two little ones you’ve seen.”
“What a lot of boys!” I said, my breath nearly taken away.
“Yes,” said Evey, laughing; “and fancy, now they’ll all be living at home. Won’t it be nice? Till now, you know, Lancey and Joss have been at school away, but now they’ll all be at home; at least till Lancey goes to India,” and for the first time Evey sighed a little at this doleful prospect.
“Dear me,” I thought to myself, “surely they’ll be glad to get rid of a few of them. I should think their mother would, any way.”