Chapter Six.
New Ideas.
That luncheon and afternoon, or part of an afternoon, at Lady Honor’s were very nice, and yet rather strange to me. I had so seldom been among several young people that I scarcely felt at home; and the Whytes in themselves were unlike any children I had ever known. They were not the least shy, far less so, really, than I was. I remember getting very hot and red when I knocked over a glass of water, and Evey, who was sitting next me, made me feel still worse by her open and outspoken fears that I would spoil my frock. She thought it was that that I was so distressed about.
“I don’t care a bit about my frock,” I said to her quite crossly. “If it is spoilt, I can get another. It is only that I hate to look so awkward.”
“Everybody does awkward things sometimes. If you don’t mind about your frock, I don’t see that a little spilt water matters much,” said Evey, looking at me in her straightforward way. “Lady Honor isn’t vexed, are you, Lady Honor?” she said loud out, turning to the old lady.
“Of course not, there’s no harm done. Don’t look at me as if I were Red Riding Hood’s grandmother, my dear child,” she said in her funny way, meaning to be kind to me, of course; and Evey meant to be kind too, but I suppose it was that I didn’t know Lady Honor as well as they did; and still more, I daresay, it was from my habit of thinking about myself so much, and fancying other people were noticing me, when very likely they weren’t, that I felt so horrid.
I forgot about it, however, after luncheon, when we all went out into the garden. Yvonne was so kind. She felt a little, I think, as if I were her visitor, and she just did everything she possibly could to make me enjoy myself; and the boys were all very nice, too. I could not have believed that boys could be so nice, for I had always had rather a horror of them. I said so to Evey; she seemed pleased at my liking her brothers, but amused, too, at my ideas about boys.
“You must see us when we are all together,” she said. “Fancy, besides Mary, two more boys! Though Addie is scarcely like a boy, he’s the delicate one, you know. But he is so brave. I think it’s almost more brave of him to be brave than if he were strong and big, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I said. “It’s what is called moral courage, isn’t it?”
“It’s that, and the other too,” Evey replied. “Or perhaps he’s able to make himself brave the other way by having moral courage. I suppose it’s that; anyway I do love Addie. Oh, Connie, you wouldn’t think that way about boys if you had brothers.”