That luncheon and afternoon, or part of an afternoon, at Lady Honor's
were very nice, and yet rather strange to me. I had so seldom been
among several young people that I scarcely felt at home; and the Whytes
in themselves were unlike any children I had ever known. They were not
the least shy, far less so, really, than I was. I remember getting very
hot and red when I knocked over a glass of water, and Evey, who was
sitting next me, made me feel still worse by her open and outspoken
fears that I would spoil my frock. She thought it was that that I was
so distressed about.
"I don't care a bit about my frock," I said to her quite crossly. "If
it is spoilt, I can get another. It is only that I hate to look so
awkward."
"Everybody does awkward things sometimes. If you don't mind about your
frock, I don't see that a little spilt water matters much," said Evey,
looking at me in her straightforward way. "Lady Honor isn't vexed, are
you, Lady Honor?" she said loud out, turning to the old lady.
"Of course not, there's no harm done. Don't look at me as if I were Red
Riding Hood's grandmother, my dear child," she said in her funny way,
meaning to be kind to me, of course; and Evey meant to be kind too, but
I suppose it was that I didn't know Lady Honor as well as they did; and
still more, I daresay, it was from my habit of thinking about myself so
much, and fancying other people were noticing me, when very likely they
weren't, that I felt so horrid.
I forgot about it, however, after luncheon, when we all went out into
the garden. Yvonne was so kind. She felt a little, I think, as if I
were her visitor, and she just did everything she possibly could to make
me enjoy myself; and the boys were all very nice, too. I could not have
believed that boys could be so nice, for I had always had rather a
horror of them. I said so to Evey; she seemed pleased at my liking her
brothers, but amused, too, at my ideas about boys.
"You must see us when we are all together," she said. "Fancy, besides
Mary, two more boys! Though Addie is scarcely like a boy, he's the
delicate one, you know. But he is _so_ brave. I think it's almost more
brave of _him_ to be brave than if he were strong and big, don't you?"
"Yes," I said. "It's what is called moral courage, isn't it?"
"It's that, and the other too," Evey replied. "Or perhaps he's able to
make himself brave the other way by having moral courage. I suppose
it's that; anyway I do _love_ Addie. Oh, Connie, you wouldn't think
that way about boys if you had brothers."
"Not if they were like yours," I said; "but I have seen some brothers
that weren't at all nice to their sisters."
"Then I'm sure it was the sisters' fault; anyway, a good deal their
fault," Evey returned promptly. "I'm just the opposite of you, for, do
you know, I have often longed to be a boy, and so has Mary. If we had
all been boys, it would have been easier for father and mother. I
almost think they'd have gone to the Colonies."
"How _horrible_," I said. "I am sure you should be glad you and Mary
aren't boys, just to have stopped that."
But Yvonne was not to be convinced.
"No," she said. "I think it would be delightful--all going together,
you know; and perhaps we may, some day, after all. It would be much
better than staying in England, and the boys by themselves all over the
world, and father and mother looking anxious; and you know," she added,
"even Mary and I _mightn't_ be able to stay at home. We, might have to
work somehow, too."
"Do you mean to be governesses?" I asked, in a very appalled tone of
voice. But Evey's reply appalled me still more.
"Perhaps, or, if not governesses, teachers of some kind, if we were good
at teaching. But there are lots of other things for girls now. Father
often talks about them. We might have some sort of business. Something
like a big upholsterer's, perhaps. That would be nice, for the boys
might be in it too. And Joss could design things, he _is_ so clever;
and Lancey could keep the books. Lancey's very good at figures. It
would be almost as nice as going to the Colonies."