The face wanted to be very nice, but was
prevented by itself. It was pathetic. Its owner was dressed in black,
a small, neat bonnet fastened carefully on the head, an umbrella in
one hand, and big goloshes on both feet. There were gold glasses
balanced on the nose. She smiled at them, but with a smile that
prophesied rebuke. Before she spoke a word, her entire person said
distinctly NO.
"Bother!" Tim muttered beneath his breath, then added, "It's her!"
Already he felt guilty--of something he had not done, but might do
presently. The figure's mere presence invited him to break all rules.
"We thought," exclaimed Judy, trying to remember what rules she had
just disobeyed, and almost saying "hoped,"--"we thought you were at
Tunbridge Wells." Then with an effort she put in "Aunty."
Yet about the new arrival was a certain flustered and uneasy air, as
though she were caught in something that she wished to hide--at any
rate something she would not willingly confess to. One hand, it was
noticed, she kept stiffly behind her back.
"Children," she uttered in an emphatic voice, half-surprised
remonstrance, half-automatic rebuke; "I am astonished!" She looked it.
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