The younger, a girl of eighteen, was also above the middle height, and although not a beauty like her sister, her face just possessed the charm which was lacking in the other. It beamed with intelligence, and seemed to be the reflection of an active mind, a cheerful temper, and a warm, loving heart.
Even as they passed along, the unselfish character of the younger was made manifest. She insisted on carrying the larger share of the parcels, notably the largest of all, which was evidently a source of considerable annoyance to her beautiful companion, who plainly deemed these packages infra dig. Though surrounded by strangers, she glanced round from time to time, to see if, by any chance, some acquaintance were noticing her, and carried such parcels as she retained by their loops of string and on the tips of her fingers, as if under constant protest.
As they were nearing the station the elder girl said, "I am so glad we are getting near the end of our tramp. You, Lizzie, scarcely seem to care how many bundles you have about you, if you can only carry them; but I hate to go along laden just like a pack-horse, and on a warm day, too. This hot weather makes me look like a washerwoman."
"It would take a great deal to make you look like a washerwoman, Edith," replied Lizzie, with a merry laugh. "I never saw you look better than you do at this moment. I get as red as a peony all over my face, and you are only rose-coloured, and in the proper places. Do touch my face with your handkerchief; for mine is deep down in one of my many pockets, each of which is crammed with odds and ends of purchases."
Mollified by this tribute to her personal appearance, Edith did as she was requested, and the girls, finding they had a quarter of an hour to spare, seated themselves on a shady seat at one side of the platform, on which Lizzie also placed her larger parcels; seeming thankful for the rest.
They were not going home together after all. They were guests in the same house; but they had other friends in the neighbourhood besides those with whom they were staying. Edith, especially, had many acquaintances, amongst whom she had often visited when in London on former occasions, and she was going to spend the evening with an old schoolfellow recently married.
Lizzie, in London for the first time; was a stranger to this married friend of her sister. She had been invited to accompany Edith; but had declined, because had she gone she must have disappointed some quite little children, to whom she considered herself engaged.
"You might have gone with me, Lizzie," said Edith, in a tone of annoyance. "Just as though it mattered for you to romp with those little cousins to-night."
"I had promised the children before Mrs. Martin's invitation came, and these little people feel a disappointment far more than elder ones do. Besides, I know your friend does not really want me, and Sam and Nellie do. She only asked me out of civility to you, and you will enjoy your confab a great deal better by yourselves. Even if Mrs. Martin did want me, a promise is a promise, and I must keep my word."
A slight look of contempt crossed Edith's fair face as Lizzie announced her intention of keeping her appointment with the little people, but she felt that, after all, her frank young sister might be rather in the way than otherwise, on the principle that two are company, three none. She was rather reckoning on an hour's tête-à-tête with Mrs. Martin, who had been her chosen school friend, and as whose bridesmaid she had officiated a few months before. Mr. Martin and his brother would be in to dinner at six, and then there would be two couples for chatting, and perhaps a stroll together, before she should have to return to her temporary home, and rejoin Lizzie there.