She was always in such a fright, for fear of getting to know any one or anything in the village. It was rather stupid of her to show it so, for it only put all grandpapa's funny ways about it more into our heads, but we didn't like to tease her, so we said no more.
But on the way home we took another peep in at the Rectory gates. Nurse was a little way behind, loaded with parcels which she wouldn't let us help her to carry; and we ran on a little. It was easy to peep in without being seen, but what we saw added to our puzzle. A lady was walking up and down the avenue with a book in her hand which she was reading, and as she turned our way, we saw her face clearly.
"Tib," I whispered, "she's like you, and she's like Regina, too—only she's old. And, Tib, she's like grandpapa."
So she was. She had the same straight-up, rather proud way of holding herself as he has, dark hair, which was beginning to get grey, and those pretty blue eyes with the bright eager look which all the blue eyes among us have—yes, she was like them all—the portrait, too. And just as we were staring, there came a call from the house, and an old, quite old, lady came to a glass door which opened on to the terrace. I knew afterwards that this old lady was the clergyman's mother or his wife's mother, who lived with them, and they have all lived there a very long time.
"Regina, Queenie, my dear," the old lady called out, "tea is ready. Frances wants you to come in."
The lady turned quickly.
"I'm coming, Mrs. Leslie," she said, and then she walked quickly to the house.
"Regina, another Regina!" we exclaimed. "And Queenie: what a pretty name for a pet name! I wonder our Regina didn't tell us to call her 'Queenie.'"
For of course, as we had learned a little Latin, we knew that Regina meant "queen."
"We must ask her why she didn't," said Gerald.