Chapter Three“Now eat your breakfast, Miss Syringa, and no nonsense!” Nanny said in the severe tones of one who is used to recreant nursery charges.
“I am trying,” Syringa answered.
But as she spoke she knew that she could not force anything down her throat, which seemed to have swollen to twice its normal size.
She rose from the table and walked to the window to look out onto the small untended garden with its chestnut trees and its huge bushes of syringa.
They were just coming into bud and she thought miserably that by the time they were in flower she would have left the house and would never see them again.
She turned her head to see that Nanny had laid the breakfast tray for her father.
“I will take it up to him, Nana,” she said quietly.
“I don’t suppose Sir Hugh will eat anythi
