“You look worried, dear,” said Eleanor.
“I am worried,” admitted Suzanne; “not worried exactly, but anxious. You see, my birthday happens next week—”
“You lucky person,” interrupted Eleanor; “my birthday doesn’t come till the end of March.”
“Well, old Bertram Kneyght is over in England just now from the Argentine. He’s a kind of distant cousin of my mother’s, and so enormously rich that we’ve never let the relationship drop out of sight. Even if we don’t see him or hear from him for years he is always Cousin Bertram when he does turn up. I can’t say he’s ever been of much solid use to us, but yesterday the subject of my birthday cropped up, and he asked me to let him know what I wanted for a present.”
“Now I understand the anxiety,” observed Eleanor.