“Marie ought to be here to mend these stockings,” remarked Billy, as she critically examined a tiny break in the black silk mesh² stretched across the darning-egg in her hand; “only she'd want a bigger hole. She does so love to make a beautiful black latticework bridge across a yawning white china sea—and you'd think the safety of an army depended on the way each plank³ was laid, too,” she concluded.

 

Aunt Hannah smiled tranquilly⁴, but she did not speak.

 

“I suppose you don't happen to know if Cyril does wear big holes in his socks,” resumed Billy, after a moment's silence. “If you'll believe it, that thought popped into my head last night when Cyril was playing that concerto⁵ so superbly. It did, actually—right in the middle of the adagio⁶ movement, too. And in spite of my joy and pride in the music I had all I could do to keep from nudging Marie right there and then and asking her whether or not the dear man was hard on his hose.”

 

“Billy!” gasped⁷ the shocked Aunt Hannah; but the gasp⁸ broke at once into what—in Aunt Hannah—passed for a chuckle⁹. “If I remember rightly, when I was there at the house with you at first, my dear, William told me that Cyril wouldn't wear any sock after it came to mending.”

 

“Horrors!” Billy waved her stocking in mock despair. “That will never do in the world. It would break Marie's heart. You know how she dotes on darning.”

分享到：