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But, I say, Fee, there's Whiteheart been wishing her heart out all the time for a real good paint-box. 'Oh, never mind that, Ed; no one would care for one but you and me, and the little ones would spoil all the paints. 'Yes, resumed Wilmet, from her throne, 'it would be the worry of one's life to keep the little ones off them; and baby would be poisoned to a dead certainty. Now the respirator
'At any rate, I have found the old receipt for tea-cakes, responded Wilmet, whose mind was almost as much preoccupied with the entertainment of the body as her sister's with that of the mind.
'To weep them, said a voice above; and Angela's face was seen looking out of her bush of hair over the balusters of the top storey. 'They are just like black heraldic tears. 'You don't mean that they put them in? asked Wilmet. 'What else should I mean? 'And didn't she squall? shouted Bernard; and then came a duet
Poor Wilmet was much dismayed at leaving Geraldine to what they both regarded as the unprecedented invasion of a strange boy; indeed, the whole charge made Cherry's heart quail, though she said little of her fears, knowing the importance of Wilmet's having and enjoying her holiday; and Mr. Audley promised extra aid in keeping order among the boys.
Wilmet, I beg your pardon; but you do look so lovely, I can't help telling you so! or is it the pleasure of seeing you? 'My poor Cherry! I did not think half enough about you. 'That would have done no good. Most of this rose out of my own crossness and horridness. If I could only be anxious without being peevish!
'Something is come over Felix, said Lance. 'I never knew him give such a jaw as he has to me. To be sure, he was set on to it. 'Set on? 'Yes, by Wilmet for one! You should have seen the way she was in as if I hadn't a right to do what I please with my own money. 'What? 'My violin!
'I shall do no such thing, said Wilmet, with absolute crossness in her tone. Robina began to cry. 'Come here, Bobbie, said Cherry's voice in the dark end of the room; 'I'll tell you a story. 'I know all Cherry's stories, and they're rubbish, said Fulbert. 'This is quite a new one. There was once a little match-girl 'Bosh! I know that little brute, and I hate her, broke in Fulbert.
'It will not do, she whispered on the way to Wilmet, 'to treat her as a child now. 'He always made so much of her, sighed Wilmet. 'Yes; and now she is a Communicant. They left her to Mr. Audley, and presently, when the door opened again, it was he who was carrying her upstairs again; and when Sister Constance had taken possession of her, she whispered, 'Yes, thank you.
'Indeed, said Wilmet, 'no one has deserved a holiday more than you, Clement! You have done your best. This almost the first home praise or thanks that had fallen to his lot elicited that real grace of humility for which poor self- conscious Clement really strove. 'I have tried, Mettie, he said, with tears in his eyes; 'but it was not as if it had been one of the others.
She did not seem to see him, and at his ease he studied her face, one of those broad, bright English country faces with deep-set rogue eyes and red, thick, soft lips, smiling on little provocation. In spite of her disgrace, in spite of the fact that she was sitting on her mother's grave, she did not look depressed. And Derek thought: 'Wilmet Gaunt is the jolliest of them all!
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