the friend of childhood’s hour,” she began again. “I see I must tell you in cold blood.”
“Why, it’s Rosamund!” he cried suddenly. “Do forgive me! I never, never dreamed My dear Rosamund, you aren’t really changed a bit it’s only—your hair being done up and”
“And the fine feathers,” said she, holding out a fold of her dress. “They are very pretty feathers, aren’t they?”
“Very,” said he. And then suddenly a silence of embarrassment fell between them.
The girl broke it with a laugh that was not quite spontaneous.
“How funny it all is!” she said. “I went to New York with my uncle when dear papa died—and then I went to Girton, and now poor uncle’s dead, and” Her eye fell on the tablecloth. “I’m going to clear away this horrid breakfast of yours,” she said.
“Oh, please!” he pleaded, taking the marmalade jar up in his helpless hands. She took the jar from him.
“Yes, I am,” she said firmly; “and you can just sit down and try to remember who I am.”
He obediently withdrew to the window-seat and watched her as she took away the ugly crockery and the uglier food to hide them in
