“We are all going to make ourselves pretty,” announced Phillis. “A cousin does not turn up every day; and when he promises to be a good fellow, like Harry, we cannot do him too much honor.”
“Ah, I should like to come,” returned Mattie. “I have had such a nice day; and, if Archie will not mind––” And then she bustled into the vicarage, and into her brother’s study.
Archie roused himself a little wearily from his abstraction to listen to his sister’s story; but at the end of it he said good-naturedly, for he had taught himself to be tolerant of Mattie’s little gaucheries,—
“And the long and short of it is that you want to be gadding again. Well, run and get ready, or you will keep their tea waiting; and do put on your collar straight, Mattie.” But this slight thrust was lost on Mattie as she delightedly withdrew. Archie sighed as he tried to compose himself to his reading. He had not been asked to join Mattie. For the last few weeks he had become a stranger to the cottage. Did they notice his absence? he wondered. Did they miss the visits that had once been so frequent? By and by he would resume his old habits of intimacy, and go among them as he had done; but just now the effort was too painful. He dreaded the unspoken sympathy in Phillis’s eyes. He dreaded anything like an understanding between them. Nan’s perfect unconsciousness was helpful to him; but there was something in Phillis’s manner that stirred up an old pain. For the present he was safer and happier alone in his study, though Mattie did not think so, and told her friends that Archie looked terribly dull.
Mrs. Challoner proposed sending for him; but Phillis, greatly to her mother’s surprise, negatived the proposition:
“Oh, no, mother; pray do not! Mattie, you must excuse me. I do not mean to be rude, but we should all have to be so dreadfully well-behaved if Mr. Drummond came, and I just feel myself in a ‘nonsense mood,’ as Dulce used to say when she was a baby.” And then they all forgot Archie, and fell to discussing the new cousin.
“He is dreadfully ugly, mammie, is he not?” observed Dulce, who had a horror of red hair. But Mrs. Challoner demurred:
“Well, no, pet; I cannot agree with you. He is very plain, but so is Dick; but it struck me they were both rather alike.” An indignant “How can you, mother!” from Nan. “Well, my dear,” she continued, placidly, “I do not mean really alike, for they have not a feature in common; but they have both got the same honest, open look, only Dick’s face is more intelligent.” But this hardly appeased Nan, who was heard to 296 say under her breath “that she thought Dick had the nicest face in the world.”
“And Sir Harry has a nice face too: has he not, Mrs. Challoner?” exclaimed Mattie, who never could be silent in a discussion. “It takes time to get used to such very red hair; and, of course, he is dreadfully big,—almost too big, I should say. But when he talks he has such a good-natured way with him; now, hasn’t he?” appealing to Nan, who looked just a little glum,—that is, glum for Nan, for she could not do the sulks properly; she could only look dignified.
Mrs. Challoner grew a little alarmed at her daughter’s demure face: “Nan, darling, you know I am as fond of Dick as possible; but I cannot help being pleased with my new nephew, can I? And I must say I think Harry is very nice, in spite of his roughness.” But here Phillis, who had been unaccountably silent, suddenly struck in: