"I hate a family crowd!" he pronounced tersely. "If there were only one
or two, it wouldn't be so bad. Usual programme, I suppose--pick flowers
and eat biscuits? Not much in my line--thank you all the same. Hope
you'll have a good time!"
"We're going to have a _real_ lunch--chickens and all sorts of good
things, and walk to Oxholm across the fields. It will be much more
exciting than the old picnics have been."
"It might easily be that! No, thank you, I'm off. Some other day--"
"But we want you, Dan! _I_ want you to come."
"But _I_ don't, you see. There's the difference. Sorry to disoblige."
Darsie regarded him silently, considered the point whether wrath or
pathos would be the most powerful weapon, decided rapidly in favour of
pathos, and sank with a sigh on to an opposite chair.
"Very well. I _quite_ understand. We wanted you especially because
this may be the last, the very last time that one of us girls has any
fun this summer, so of course it feels important. But you are so much
older--it's natural that you shouldn't care. I think you've been very
nice to be as much with us as you have been... Dan!"
"Yes!"
"Hannah says it will be _me_! That Aunt Maria is sure to choose me when
she comes. Do you think she will?"
"Ten to one, I should say."
"Oh, but why? _Why_? How can you be so sure?"
Dan's dark eyes surveyed the alert little head, poised on the stem of
the graceful throat, his thin lips lengthened in the long, straight line
which showed that he was trying not to smile.
"Because--er, you appear to me the sort of girl that an erratic old
fossil would naturally prefer!"
"Ah-h!"--Darsie's dejection was deep--"Daniel, how cruel!" It was a
comforting retaliation to address her tormentor by the name he so
cordially disliked, but she remembered her role, and looked dejected
rather than irate. "I suppose that's true. I _need_ discipline, and
she would naturally choose the worst of the three. No one wants to be
disciplined instead of having a good time, but it may be good for me in
the end. All the time you are at sea, happy and free, I shall be being
disciplined for my good... Wednesday may be my last, my very last, glad
day..."
"Bah! Rubbish!" snapped Dan, but he looked at the curly head, and felt
a pang of distaste. The idea of Darsie Garnett sobered and disciplined
out of recognition was distinctly unpleasant. He wriggled in his chair,
and said tentatively: "It will take more than one old lady to tame
_you_, young woman! You'll have lots of fun yet--perhaps more than if
you'd stayed at home."
Darsie smiled with angelic resignation.
"Perhaps so, but it won't be the same _kind_ of fun. New friends can
never be like old. If she chooses me, I must go, because of my duty to
father and the rest, but it's going to _hurt_! I feel,"--she waved her
arms dramatically in the air--"like a flower that is being torn out by
the roots! I shall not live long in a strange soil... Well, goodbye,
Dan; I won't bother you any more! Thank you very much for all you've
done for me in the past."
Done! Dan searched his memory, found therein inscribed a number of
snubs, rebuffs, and teasings, but nothing worthy of the thanks so
sweetly offered.
He felt a stirring of reproach. Darsie was a decent kid--an amusing
kid; if she went away she would leave behind her a decided blank.
Looking back over the years, Darsie seemed to have played the leading
part in the historic exploits of the family. She was growing into quite
a big kid now. He glanced at her again quickly, furtively, and drummed
with his fingers on the desk--hardly a kid at all, almost grown up!
"Oh, that's all right; don't worry about that," he mumbled vaguely.
"What a grandiloquent kid you are! I hope you'll have a better time
than you think, if you do go to visit your aunt."
"Thanks so much; I hope I may; and if at any time--_any_ time--I can do
anything to help you, or give you the least--the _very_ least--pleasure,
please let me know, Dan! I can understand now how one feels when one
leaves home and faces the world!" said Darsie poignantly. "G-goodbye!"
"Bye," said Dan coolly. He leaned back in his chair, still thudding
with his fingers on the desk. Darsie had reached the door and held it
open in her hands before he spoke again. "What time did you say that
blessed old picnic is to start?"
"Wednesday. Ten o'clock," said Darsie, and, like a true daughter of
Eve, spoke not one more word, but shut the door and left him to his
thoughts.
"Dan's coming! You're not to say a word till the time, but he _is_!"
she announced to her sisters that evening; but when they questioned and
cross-questioned concerning the means whereby the miracle had been
wrought, she steadfastly refused to satisfy their curiosity. That was
not their concern. An inherent loyalty to Dan forbade that she should
make public the wiles by which he had been beguiled.