"_What do_ you think, Lucy?"

"Oh, I don't know. How can I tell? Don't bother."

It was then that Bim felt what was, for him, a very rare sensation. He
was irritated.

"I don't bovver," he said, with a cross look in the direction of his
brother and sister Rochesters. "No, but, Lucy, s'pose some one--nurse,
s'pose--_did_ fall down into the street and broke all her legs and arms,
she wouldn't be dead, would she?"

"You silly little boy, of course not."

He looked at Lucy, saw the frown upon her forehead, and felt suddenly
that all his devotion to her was wasted, that she didn't want him, that
nobody wanted him--now when the sun was making the garden glitter like a
jewel and the fountain to shine like a sword.

He felt in his throat a hard, choking lump. He came closer to his
sister.

"You might pay 'tention, Lucy," he said plaintively.

Lucy broke a daffodil stalk viciously. "Go and talk to the others," she
said. "I haven't time for you."

The tears were hot in his eyes and anger was in his heart--anger bred of
the rain, of the noise, of the confusion.