"Oh, Eileen! Eileen!" cried the children; "are you coming to luncheon
with us?"
As Selwyn rose, she nodded, amused.
"I am rather hurt," she said. "I went down to luncheon, but as soon as I
heard where you all were I marched straight up here to demand the reason
of my ostracism."
"We thought you had gone with mother," explained Drina, looking about
for a chair.
Selwyn brought it. "I was commissioned to say that Nina couldn't
wait--dowagers and cakes and all that, you know. Won't you sit down?
It's rather messy and the cat is the guest of honour."
"We have three guests of honour," said Drina; "you, Eileen, and Kit-Ki.
Uncle Philip, mother has forbidden me to speak of it, so I shall tell
her and be punished--but _wouldn't_ it be splendid if Aunt Alixe were
only here with us?"
Selwyn turned sharply, every atom of colour gone; and the child smiled
up at him. "_Wouldn't_ it?" she pleaded.
"Yes," he said, so quietly that something silenced the child. And
Eileen, giving ostentatious and undivided attention to the dogs, was now
enveloped by snooping, eager muzzles and frantically wagging tails.
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