The Convert. Elizabeth Robins
'You know very well she's been and done it once already.'
'She's coming again if father doesn't need her.'
'There's a whole big dinner-party needing her, so you needn't think she can come twice to say good-night to a Jumping-Jack like you.'
'You ought to say a Jumping-Jill,' amended Sara.
During this interchange Master Cecil was complaining to the visitor—
'I can't see you with that thing all round your head.'
'Yes, take it off!' his sister agreed; and when the lady had unwound her lace scarf—'Now the coat! And you have to sit on my bed this time. It's my turn.'
As the visitor divested herself of the long ermine-lined garment, 'Oh, you are pretty to-night!' observed the gallant young gentleman over the way, seeming not to have heard that these effects don't appeal to little boys.
Sara silently craned her neck. Even the high and mighty Mrs. Dampney, in the surreptitious way of the superior servant, without seeming to look, was covertly taking in the vision that the cloak had hitherto obscured. The little girl followed with critical eyes the movement of the tall figure, the graceful fall of the clinging black lace gown embroidered in yellow irises, the easy bend of the small waist in its jewelled belt of yellow. The growing approval in the little face culminated in an ecstatic 'Oh-h-h! let me see what's on your neck! That's new, isn't it?'
'No—very old.'
'I didn't know there were yellow diamonds,' said Sara.
'There are; but these are sapphires.'
'And the little stones round?'
'Yes, they're diamonds.'
'The hanging-down thing is such a pretty shape!'
'Yes, the fleur-de-lys is a pretty shape. It's the flower of France, you know—just as the thistle is the——'
'There, now!' A penetrating whisper came from the other bed. 'She's gone.'
'It's you who've been keeping her here, you know.' Miss Levering bent her neat, dark head over the little girl, and the gleaming jewels swung forward.
'Yes,' said Cecil, in a tone of grandfatherly disgust; 'yelling like a wild Indian.'
'Well, you cried,' said his sister—'just because a feather pillow hit you.' Her eye never once left the glittering gaud.
'You see, Cecil is younger than you,' Miss Levering reminded her.
'Yes,' said Sara, with conscious superiority—'a whole year and eight months. But even when I was young I had sense.'
Miss Levering laughed. 'You're a horrid little Pharisee—and as wild as a young colt.' Contrary to received canons, the visitor seemed to find something reassuring in the latter reflection, for she kissed the small, self-righteous face.
'You just ought to have seen Sara this morning!' Cecil chuckled, with a generous admiration in family achievements. 'We waked up early, and Sara said, "Let's go mountaineering." So we did. All over the rocks and presserpittses.' He waved his hand comprehensively at the rugged scenery of the night-nursery.
'Of course we had to pile up the chairs and things,' his sister explained.
'And the coal scuttle.'
'And we made snow mountains out of the pillows. When the chairs wobbled, the coal and the pillows kept falling about; it was quite a real avalanche,' Sara said conversationally.
'I should think so,' agreed the guest.
'Yes; and it was glorious when Sara excaped to the top of the wardrobe.'
'To the w——' Miss Levering gasped.
'Yes. We were having the most perfectly fascinating time——' Sara took up the tale.
But Cecil suddenly sat bolt upright, his little face quite pink with excitement at recollection of these Alpine exploits.
'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.
Miss Levering pulled up her long cloak from the bottom of the bed and wrapped the little boy in the warm lining. The comfort of the arrangement was so great, and it implied so little necessity for 'hanging on,' that Cecil loosed his arms and lay curled up against his friend.
She held him close,