“Oh, far, far more,” said Madeleine, yet in spite of the emphasis she spoke absently. “I must not forget,” she began again after a little pause, “that I have a message from mamma. If I don’t see Lady Emma, will some of you undertake to deliver it conscientiously? It is to ask you all to tea to-morrow, to meet Elise of course. I think that your father and mother are going to be asked more formally to dine next week, but of course I had no message about that.”
“I doubt if they will be able to go,” said Frances, “for papa is anticipating a touch of bronchitis, having already got a cold,” and she could not repress a tiny smile.
“I doubt,” said Eira, “very seriously indeed, my dear Madeleine, if the youngest Miss Morion will be able to join you to-morrow afternoon!”
“Why not?” exclaimed Frances; “oh, you must come, Eira,” for Eira’s comfortable absence of self-consciousness had often been a relief in the somewhat strained position brought about greatly by Mrs Littlewood’s undoubted prejudice against Frances, of late even more marked than heretofore.
“Oh,” replied Eira airily, “because I should be terrified out of my wits by your respected sister-in-law. And as I’ve two elder sisters, I don’t see that I need sacrifice myself.”
“Don’t talk nonsense,” said Madeleine. “You know you are never really shy or frightened. You are quite different from little Betty here.”
Eira reared her head.
“Perhaps that is true,” she said, “but I have feelings, all the same, Madeleine. If there is one thing in the world that I hate, it is being criticised.”
“You don’t suppose anyone likes it,” said Betty, “and I don’t quite see why you, the youngest of us all, should imagine that you will come in for much of it. It’s rather conceited of you!”
Eira’s colour rose.