It happened that evening that there was no company, and the family were all gathered together in the little reception room; talking over the children's reports and discussing plans for the coming summer. Matilda's heart began to beat; for she saw that David was thoughtfully still, and that Norton, in a corner, only talked by jerks, as it were, and sat turning over and over one of his school-books, with an odd air of expectancy. Yes, certainly he knew that David was going to speak, and was waiting for it. Matilda could think of nothing else; her talk all came to an end.
"Norton hasn't much to say to-night," Mrs. Bartholomew remarked. "No more than if he were my boy."
"I haven't anything to talk about," said Norton, looking at nothing but his book.
"Matilda has lost her tongue too," said Judy.
"She never had such a one as yours," replied her grandmother; "you must remember that. It isn't such a loss in the house."
Judy seemed inclined to pout at this; but then her attention was turned to her brother, who began rather suddenly.
"May I speak, grandmamma?"
"I shall be very happy to hear," said Mrs. Lloyd smiling.
"I am not so sure of that," said David; "at least, not of you all; though I really have something to say."
All eyes turned to David. Norton looked up at him from under his brows, with a strange expression of curiosity and displeasure. Matilda only looked away. David hesitated, then went on very calmly and gently.