Part 3 (1/2)

”Get a book out of the library.”

”I loathe reading.”

”Do some painting.”

”You know I can't paint.”

”Go and romp with the juniors.”

”I'd as soon spend an hour in a monkey-house.”

”Then I can't do anything for you, I'm afraid. You'll just have to mope.”

”Where's Sadie?” asked Peggy Collins. ”She promised to give me back my crochet-needle, and I can't get on without it.”

”She went off with Diana and Wendy half an hour ago. I saw them running upstairs together. Don't flatter yourself she'll remember about your crochet-needle.”

”I know she won't--the slacker! I shall just have to go and rout her up, and make her find it. Oh, kafoozalum! It's a weary world!”

Peggy rose languidly, stretched her arms, and strolled in the direction of the door, which at that identical moment opened to admit the missing Sadie.

”Here, you old blighter, where's that crochet-needle?” demanded Peggy impolitely.

”Bother your crochet-needle! I've no time to go and hunt for it now. I say, girls!” continued Sadie excitedly; ”anybody know what's become of Diana? She's wanted. Those American cousins of hers have turned up. I told them she was in here, and they're waiting outside the door. Oh!”

Sadie's exclamation was caused by the door, which she had carefully closed suddenly opening, and nearly knocking her over. Apparently the visitors did not approve of being left to wait in the pa.s.sage, and judged it expedient to make an entrance.

”Excuse me if we walk right in,” said a nasal-toned voice; ”but I was told we'd find Miss Diana Hewlitt in here.”

The five girls, scattered about the room, stared for a second in blank amazement at the intruders. They were certainly unlike any other visitors who had ever come to Pendlemere. The speaker was a little, short, wiry man, in a slack-fitting, brown tweed suit, with a rather obtrusive striped tie. His raggy, grey beard straggled under his chin and up to his ears; his eyes twinkled through a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles; in defiance of European etiquette, he wore his hat over a crop of rough, grey hair. Clinging to his arm was a very stout lady in a green coat and a velvet turban adorned with feathers. She also was grey-haired, and her features were somewhat obscured by a thick, black veil. The most prominent thing about her was a large and obtruding tooth, which gave her somewhat the appearance of a good-natured walrus; she held a morocco-leather satchel in her unoccupied hand, and wore a large feather-boa round her neck.

Magsie, to her eternal credit, was the first to remember her manners, and offer some sort of a greeting to the extraordinary strangers.

”Er--good afternoon!” she stammered. ”I'm afraid Diana isn't here.

Shall--shall I go and fetch her?”

”Well, now, I'd call that real elegant of you,” returned the stout lady heartily. ”We can't stay long, and we don't want to waste time.”

”Cora, I guess we'd best introduce ourselves,” observed the gentleman, gently disengaging her from his arm. ”We're Mr. and Mrs. Elihu Burritt of Petteridge Court. I reckon you're Diana's schoolfellows? Pleased to meet you, I'm sure.”

”Did you have a wet drive?” asked Jess Paget, making a desperate and most gallant attempt to pump up some item of conversation.

The stout lady shook her head eloquently.

”I _do_ say that in the matter of weather a British wet day just about takes the cake!” she replied.

Her voice was slightly tremulous and m.u.f.fled; perhaps the weather agitated her. Moreover, her large tooth seemed to cause her some inconvenience--it wobbled visibly as she spoke.

”If Diana don't turn up, I guess we'll have to be getting on,” ventured Mr. Elihu Burritt, pulling out a big watch and consulting it. ”We've got to call at the drug store at Glenbury, and time presses.”