What a
roundabout you are, Marjorie," he continued, pinching her cheek.
"Now, what's the matter? You are quite frowning."

Marjorie's round good-humored freckled face wore an expression of
consternation.

"I made some slippers during the term for you," she said. "They're
large, and I wadded them so that they are most comfortable. But--it
isn't that--the slippers are in your room, I put them there--Ermie,
won't you get out?"

"No," said Ermengarde. "I'm going to drive down to the house."

Marjorie frowned more than ever.

"They are all coming up from the shore; Miss Nelson, and all of them;
and they'll see the horses and they'll run. Even Miss Nelson will run,
she's so fond of Basil, and----"

Mr. Wilton, who still remained in the carriage by Ermengarde's side,
now interposed.

"We won't wait for the small fry," he said. "We'll drive on to the
house at once. Oh, yes, Eric, you can go to meet the party from the
shore of course, if you like, and Basil too."

"I'll stay with Ermie," said Basil.

He jumped into the carriage again, and they drove down the long
winding avenue to the house.

Great elm trees shaded the avenue, and Basil pushed back his cap and
looked up into the green. He was a dark and handsome lad, and his
expression was unusually thoughtful for his years.

"How grand those old trees are!" he said. "Whenever I think of home
while I'm away, I remember the old elm trees in the avenue, and the
rooks' nests--I remember, too----" Here he stopped suddenly, and a
wave of red mantled his cheeks. Ermengarde's bright eyes were fixed on
him; she guessed his thoughts. Basil had often walked under those elm
trees with his mother.

Mr. Wilton had opened the _Times_, and was not attending to the
chatter of the young folk.

"You don't look quite the thing, Ermie," said Basil in a low voice.

"I'm perfectly well," she replied.

"But you turned quite white that time at the lodge. I noticed it. That
time when Marjorie wanted you to get out. Have you been worrying
yourself lately? You know you are such a girl to mope, and make
mountains out of mole-hills. School would be the place for you."

Mr. Wilton dropped his paper.

"Are you recommending school for Ermengarde?" he said. "Sometimes I
have thought of it, but your mother had a prejudice against
school-life for girls, and Ermie does very well with Miss Nelson and
the masters who come here to instruct her. Now here we are, and here's
your Aunt Elizabeth."