Just now she looked discouraged; she sighed.
"Finished!" said Joan, passing over her copy-book. Elizabeth examined it. "That's all right."
Milly toiled, the pen blotted, tears filled her eyes, one fell and made the blot run.
"Four and ten and fifteen and seven, that makes——"
"Thirty-six," said Elizabeth. "Now we'll go out."
They got up and put away the books. Outside, the March wind blew briskly, the sea glared so that it hurt your eyes, and around the coast the white cliffs curved low and distinct.
"Let's go up there," said Elizabeth, pointing to the cliffs.
"Joan, Joan!" called Mrs. Ogden from the drawing-room window, "where is your hat?"
"Oh, not to-day, Mother. I like the feel of the wind in my hair."
"Nonsense, come in and get your hat."