“At home I have dinner, at least if I want it, I do. It’s only fit for girls to have tea in this babyish way.”
He helped himself to a large slice of cake as he spoke; and not content with this, he also put a big piece of butter on his plate. Miss Hortensia glanced at him, and was evidently just going to speak, but checked herself. It was Bertrand’s first evening, and she was a very hospitable person. But when Bertrand proceeded to butter his cake thickly, Ruby, never accustomed to control her tongue, burst out.
“That’s cake, Bertrand,” she said. “People don’t butter cake.”
“Don’t they just?” said the boy, speaking with his mouth full. “I do, I know, and at home mother never minds.”
“Does she let you do whatever you like?” asked Ruby.
“Yes,” said Bertrand; “and whether she did or not I’d do it all the same.”
Then he broke into a merry laugh. It was one of the few attractive things about him, beside his good looks, that laugh of his. It made him seem for the time a hearty, good-tempered child, and gave one the feeling that he did not really mean the things he said and did. And now that his hunger was appeased, and he was warm and comfortable, he became much more amiable. Ruby looked at him with admiration.
“I wish I lived with your mother,” she said, “how nice it must be to do always just what one likes!”
“Do you think so,” said Mavis. “I think it would be quite miserable.”
“Quite right, Mavis,” said Miss Hortensia. “When I was a child I remember reading a story of a little girl who for a great treat one birthday was allowed to do just what she wanted all day, and—oh dear!—how unhappy she was before evening came.”