William considered thoughtfully.
"Dunno," he said. "I just eat it; I never thought about it."
"It's _hateful_, just _hateful_. Ugh! I've had it at dinner and I'll
have it at supper--bet you anything. I say, you are going to have a
party to-night, aren't you?"
William nodded carelessly.
"Are you going to be there?"
"Me!" ejaculated William in a tone of amused surprise. "I should think
so! You don't think they could have it without _me_, do you? Huh! Not
much!"
She gazed at him enviously.
"You _are_ lucky! I expect you'll have a lovely supper--not rice
mould," bitterly.
"Rather!" said William with an air of superiority.
"What are you going to have to eat at your party?"
"Oh--everything," said William vaguely.
"Cream blanc-mange?"
"Heaps of it--_buckets_ of it."
The little girl next door clasped her hands.
"Oh, just think of it! Your eating cream blanc-mange and me
eating--_rice-mould_!" (It is impossible to convey in print the
intense scorn and hatred which the little girl next door could
compress into the two syllables.)
Here an idea struck William.
"What time do you have supper?"
"Seven."
"Well, now," magnanimously, "if you'll be in your summer-house at
half-past, I'll bring you some cream blanc-mange. Truly I will!"
The little girl's face beamed with pleasure.
"Will you? Will you _really_? You won't forget?"
"Not me! I'll be there. I'll slip away from our show on the quiet with
it.
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