"Yes, Flower, and you know you have such a way of making things look sweet," said David, taking his sister's hand and kissing it.
She put her arm carelessly round his neck, stooped down, and pressed her lips to his brow, then said in that light, arch tone, which she had used all day, "David is mistaken. I can't make things look sweet, and I'm not coming to the banqueting-hall at present."
There was a pointed satire in the two last words. Flower's big blue eyes rested carelessly on Maggie, then they traveled to where Polly stood, and a fine scorn curled her short, sensitive upper lip. The words she had used were nothing, but her expressive glance meant a good deal. Polly refused to see the world of entreaty on David's face--she threw down her challenge with equal scorn and a good deal of comic dignity.
"It's a very good thing, then, you're not coming to the banqueting-hall, Flower," she said. "For we don't want people there who have no taste. I suppose it's because you are an Australian, for in England even the cottagers know a little about how to make picnics look pretty. Maggie is a cottager at present, as she's out of a situation, so it's lucky we've brought her. Now, as every one else wants to come, let them, and don't let's waste any more time, or when father comes, we really will have nothing ready for him to eat."
"Very well," said Flower. "Then I shall take a walk by myself. I wish to be by myself. No, David you are not to come with me, I forbid it."
For a quarter of a second a queer steely light filled her blue eyes. David shrank from her glance, and followed the rest of the party down a flight of steps which led also into the old banqueting-hall.
"You've done it now," he whispered to Polly. "You'll be very, very sorry by-and-by, and you'll remember then that I warned you."
"I really think you're the most tiresome boy," said Polly. "You want to make mysteries out of nothing. I don't see that Flower is particularly passionate; she's a little bit sarcastic, and she likes to say nasty, scathing things, but you don't suppose I mind her! She'll soon come to her senses when she sees that we are none of us petting her, or bowing down to her. I expect that you and your father have spoiled that Flower of yours over in Ballarat."