Feminist fiction; Suffragists -- Fiction; Women -- Fiction
'Yes, Sara had come down off the wardrobe--she'd been sitting on the
carved piece--she says that's the Schreckhorn!--but she'd come down off
it, and we was just jumping about all those mountains like two
shamrocks----'
'Like what?'
'--when _she_ came in.'
'Yes,' agreed Sara. 'Just when we're happiest _she_ always comes
interfiddling.'
'Oh, Sara mine, I rather like you!' said Miss Levering, laying her
laughing face against the tousled hair.
'Now! Now!' cried Cecil, suddenly beating with his two fists on the
counterpane as though he'd seen as much valuable time wasted as he felt
it incumbent upon him to tolerate. 'Go on where you left off.'
'No, it's _my_ visit this time.' Sara held fast to her friend. 'It's for
me to say what we're going to talk about.'
'It's got to be alligators!' said Cecil, waving his arms.
'It _shan't_ be alligators! I want to know more about Doris.'
'Doris!' Cecil's tone implied that the human intelligence could no lower
sink.
'Yes. I expect you like her better than you do us.'
'Don't you think I ought to like my niece best?'
'No'--from Cecil.
'You said we belonged to you, too,' observed Miss Sara.
'Of course.'
'And all aunts,' she pursued, 'don't like their nieces so _dreadfully_.'
'Don't they?' inquired Miss Levering, with an elaborate air of
innocence.
'You didn't say how-do-you-do to me,' said Cecil, with the air of one
who makes a useful discovery.
'_What?_'
'Why, she went to you the minute I threw the pillow.'
'That was just to save me from being dead. It isn't a proper
how-do-you-do when she doesn't hug you.'
'I'll hug you when I go.'
But a better plan than that occurred to Cecil. He flung down the covers
with the decision of one called to set about some urgent business.
'Cecil! I simply won't have you catching cold!'
Before the words were out of Miss Levering's mouth he had tumbled out of
bed and leapt into her lap. He clasped his arms round her neck with an
air of rapturous devotion, but what he said was--
'Go on 'bout the alligator.'
'No, no. Go 'way!' protested Sara, pushing him with hands and feet.
'Sh! You really will have nurse back!'
That horrid thought coerced the prudent Sara to endurance of the
interloping brother. And now of his own accord Cecil had taken his arms
from round his friend's neck.
'That's horrid!' he said. 'I don't like that hard thing. Take it off.'
'Let me.' Sara sat up with alacrity. 'Let me.'
But Miss Levering undid the sapphire necklace herself. 'If you'll be
very careful, Sara, I'll let you hold it.' It was as if she well knew
the deft little hands she had delivered the ornament to, and knew
equally well that in her present mood, absorption in the beauty of it
would keep the woman-child still.
'There, that's better!' Cecil replaced his arms firmly where the
necklace had been.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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