"Oh, I didn't mind," she answered mildly, thinking he was apologizing.
"I believe I have had a little nap, Jack, but I can't find my gloves:
will you look under the next seat, please?"
"My dear child," said John, shaking with suppressed laughter,
"your face has 'found your gloves' with a vengeance! It's as black
as--anything. Can't you put your veil down till we get out of this?"
Obediently hiding her countenance, Marjory, bewildered and still not
quite awake, followed John after a few minutes' further and fruitless
search for the missing gloves.
The brisk walk home through the frosty air restored her consciousness,
and when John led her up to the looking-glass, kindly removing her
veil at the same time, consciousness took the form of wrath.
"I _never_ could have done all that myself," she exclaimed
indignantly. "Why, I took those hateful gloves off, and put them on
the cushion; and it is just my belief that one of those dreadful boys
in front of us--"
"Boys!" interrupted John. "Those fellows were enough older than
you--or I either, for that matter."
"I don't care," said Marjory, with tears of vexation in her brown
eyes. "They behaved like boys, for when I woke--I mean just before
you came for me--I thought I heard somebody laugh, and then they were
gone, and my gloves were gone too; and I just believe they managed to
blacken my face somehow, and then stole my gloves.
Pages:
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243