Then Miss Grant brought out the result of her study of his countenance.
“He’s got such a—modern face!” she said. “There’s something essentially mediæval and romantic about the idea of a page.”
Mrs. Brown (from whose house the wedding was to take place) looked worried.
“There’s nothing mediæval or romantic about William,” she said.
“Well,”—Miss Grant’s intellectual face lit up—“what about his cousin Dorita. They’re about the same age, aren’t they? Both eleven. Well, the two of them in white satin with bunches of holly. Don’t you think? Would you mind having her to stay for the ceremony?” (Miss Grant always referred to her wedding as “the ceremony.”) “If you don’t have his hair cut for a bit, he mightn’t look so bad?”
William had retired to the garden with his three bosom friends—Ginger, Henry, and Douglas—where he was playing his latest game of mountaineering. A plank had been placed against the garden wall, and up this scrambled the three, roped together and wearing feathers in their caps. William was wearing an old golf cap of his mother’s, and mentally pictured himself as an impressive and heroic figure. Before they reached the top they invariably lost their foothold, rolled down the plank and fell in a confused and bruised heap at the bottom. The bruises in no way detracted from the charm of the game. To William the fascination of any game consisted mainly in the danger to life and limb involved. The game had been suggested by an old alpenstock which had been thoughtlessly presented to William by a friend of Mr. Brown’s. The paint of the staircase and upstairs corridor had been completely ruined before the family knew of the gift, and the alpenstock had been confiscated for a week, then restored on the condition that it was not to be brought into the house. The result was the game of mountaineering up the plank. They carried the alpenstock in turns, but William had two turns running to mark the fact that he was its proud possessor.
Mrs. Brown approached William on the subject of his prospective rôle of page with a certain apprehension. The normal attitude of William’s family towards William was one of apprehension.
“Would you like to go to Cousin Sybil’s wedding?” she said.
“No, I wu’nt,” said William without hesitation.
“Wouldn’t you like to go dressed up?” she said.