'Mother told me where you'se all to sleep at Granny's house,' he announced, impatiently. 'I'm to sleep with nurse and baby.'
'Yes, of course, because you're such a baby yourself,' said Linda. 'Nettie and I are to have a room to ourselves like we have at home. I hope it'll be the turret room at the end of the gallery. I do so love the gallery—at night, you know, when the moon comes in through the coloured glass and makes all the faces of the pictures look so queer—red and purple, and blue and green. The red ones look quite jolly, but the green and blue ones look dreadful.'
'Like ghosts,' suggested Lambert.
'Yes, something like that, I suppose,' said Linda, as if she was in the habit of seeing ghosts, and knew quite what they were like.
'Or like us when we play snapdragon—at the end, you know, when they throw salt in among the brandy,' suggested Nettie.
'Don't talk about that, please, Nettie,' whispered Denis, tugging softly at his sister's arm.
Nettie looked surprised, but she understood Den better than did any of the others, so she said no more; but later in the evening, when they were alone, she asked him what he meant.
'I don't know,' said Denis; 'don't ask me; I want to forget about it,' and he gave a little shiver.
And question as Nettie would, he could not be got to explain further.