“Nor should I,” said Ruby boastfully. “Mavis here is a dreadful coward. And—oh, Bertrand—I’ll tell you something to-morrow. I have such an idea. Don’t you love playing tricks on people—people who set themselves up, you know, and preach at you?” Her last words were almost whispered, and Miss Hortensia, who had gone on in front—they had closed the swing door by this time—did not hear them. But Mavis caught what Ruby said, and she waited uneasily for Bertrand’s answer.
“Prigs, you mean,” he said. “I hate prigs. Yes, indeed, I’ll join you in any game of that kind. You should have seen how we served a little wretch at school who tried to stop us teaching a puppy to swim—such a joke—the puppy could scarcely walk, much less swim. So we took Master Prig and made him swim instead. It was winter, and he caught a jolly cold, and had to leave school.”
“Did he get better?” said Mavis, in a strange voice.
“Don’t know, I’m sure. I should think not. His mother was too poor to pay for a doctor, they said. He’d no business to be at a school with gentlemen,” said Bertrand brutally.
Mavis gasped. Then suddenly, without saying good-night to any one, she rushed down the passage to the room she shared with her sister; and there Ruby found her a few minutes later on her knees and all in the dark.
“What’s the matter with you? Cousin Hortensia told me to say good-night to you for her. It wasn’t very civil to fly off like that the first night Bertrand was here. I’m sure cousin Hortensia thought so too,” said Ruby carelessly. “My goodness, are you crying?” as the light she carried fell on Mavis’s tear-stained face.
“Cousin Hortensia didn’t hear,” said Mavis. “Oh, Ruby, I can’t bear it.”
“What?”
“That wicked boy. Oh, Ruby, you can’t say you like him?”
“I think he’s lots of fun in him,” said Ruby wonderingly. “He’s only a boy; you are so queer, Mavis.” But catching sight again of her sister’s expression she suddenly changed. “Poor little Mavie,” she cried, throwing her arms round her, “you’re such a goose. You’re far too tender-hearted.”