'
'Yes, Mr. Murderer, you squashed my little finger and all but smothered
me,' cried Fergus, throwing himself on Dolores and dropping her down.
'Don't! don't! you know you mustn't,' screamed valiant Mysie, flying to
the rescue.
'Murderers! Murderers must be done for,' shouted Wilfred, falling upon
Mysie.
'You shan't hurt my Mysie,' bellowed Valetta, hurling herself upon
Wilfred.
And there they were all in a heap, when Gillian, summoned by the
shrieks, came down from helping her mother, pulled Valetta off Wilfred,
Wilfred off Mysie, Mysie off Fergus, and Fergus off Dolores, who was
discovered at the bottom with an angry, frightened face, and all her
hair standing on end.
'Are you hurt, Dolores? I am very sorry,' said Gillian. 'It was very
naughty. Go up to the nursery, Fergus and Val, and be made fit to be
seen.'
They obeyed, crestfallen. Dolores felt herself all over. It would
have been gratifying to have had some injury to complain of, but she
had fallen on the prince's cushions, and there really was none. So she
only said, 'No, I'm not hurt, though it is a wonder;' and off she
walked to bolt herself into her own room again, there to brood on
Valetta's speech.
It worked up into a very telling and pathetic history for Constance's
sympathizing ears on Sunday, especially as it turned out to be one of
the things not reported to mamma.
And on that day, Dolores, being reminded of it by her friend, sent a
letter to Mr. Flinders to the office of the paper for which he worked
in London, to tell him that if he wished to write to her as he had
promised he must address under cover to Miss Constance Hacket, Casement
Cottage, as otherwise Aunt Lilias would certainly read all his letters.
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