“My father’s a very honorable man, too,” he announced, indignantly. “He says Mother will make a milksop of me. Do you know what a milksop is?”
“No, I don’t,” admitted Dulcie, “but I shouldn’t like to be one.”
“Well, I guess it’s just as bad as being an incumbrance. Anyway, you can’t help being that, and it isn’t your fault. Father said, ‘Poor little chicks, I’m sorry for them,’ and he wouldn’t have said that if it had been your fault. You’d like my father.”
“We do know him,” said Daisy. “He came with Aunt Julia once, and he brought us some candy. We liked him ever so much, he was so kind.”
“Come, let’s play lotto,” interrupted Maud, who did not find the conversation particularly interesting. “If we don’t begin, Aunt Julia will call Paul before we can finish a game.”
“What are you doing, Dulcie—why don’t you come to bed?” inquired Daisy from her pillow, an hour later.
“I’ll come in a minute,” her sister answered, absently. “I’m just looking for something in the dictionary.”
There was a short silence. Then Dulcie closed the dictionary with a bang, and in another moment the light was out, and she had crept into bed beside Daisy. The two younger children were already asleep.
“Was it that word Paul said, you were looking for in the dictionary?” Daisy whispered, as her sister nestled down beside her, and slipped an arm round her neck.
“Yes,” said Dulcie, shortly.