"Because of papa? He's been dead nearly two years. Are we never to show
our noses among other people again? You do carry things to extremes,
Deda!"
Deleah accepted the reproach meekly, having nothing to say--nothing, that
is, which Bessie would understand.
Then the boarder came in, for it was early closing afternoon, and took his
place by the side of Franky.
"Some more mysterious presents," Bessie said, smiling upon him. "Very
useful ones, this time, and just what I should have wished for."
"Tickets for the concert," Deleah explained, pushing them across to him.
"Ten-shilling ones. Poor Mr. Boult hates music. I heard him say once that
he believed every one hated it, and that when they pretended to like it it
was only affectation and humbug. What pleasure can he possibly get in
giving us these tickets for which we may not even thank him?"
"He'll have the pleasure of knowing that you are happy, and that he has
made you so, Miss Deleah. And you too, of course, Miss Bessie."
"But Mr. Boult no more sent those tickets, than he sent the bird in the
cage, or the--!"
"Oh, you're thinking of Reggie Forcus again," Deleah interrupted
impatiently. "Such nonsense, Bessie!"
"She thinks a lot more of him than he does of her," Franky announced,
munching his bread-and-butter.
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