“Come, dear,” she said, “you mustn’t make your cold worse.”
The child pulled away from her.
“You’re very naughty, Maddie,” she said. “You only want me to go away that you and Ermie may play with Phil yourselves. Phil, say I’m not to go.”
“Not I,” said Philip. “You’re a spoilt, rude little girl, and I’m very sorry I gave you a ride.”
Ella turned upon him like a little fury, but Harvey interposed.
“Come, Miss Ella, my dear,” she said. “Sir Philip will think you’re growing into a baby instead of a big girl if you dance about like that.”
And by dint of coaxing and persuasion which Harvey knew how to employ skilfully enough when it suited her, the child was at last got away.
“Grandmother,” said Philip Cheynes, half-an-hour or so later, when the two were on their way home in the old lady’s pony-carriage, “don’t you think it is a great pity that Colonel St Quentin married again? It has brought them all nothing but trouble—Mrs St Quentin so delicate, and that spoilt little brat.”
“You mustn’t abuse my godchild, Phil,” Lady Cheynes replied. “She might be a charming child. And her poor mother—No, I think Madelene and Ermie owe a great deal to her.”
“Oh, well,” said Philip, boyishly, “I suppose they do. Maddie’s awfully cut up about Ella’s going away from them. For my part, I’m very glad she is going away. Still, she is a jolly little thing when she’s in a good temper.”