Volume Two – Chapter Four.
Late in the Field
“Why, what’s the matter?”
“Matter!” panted Dick Millet, dancing excitedly into Marcus Glen’s room, where the latter was sitting back, cigar in mouth, reading the most interesting parts of a sporting paper. “Why, everything’s the matter. While you are sitting here at your ease, those two old patriarchs have been stealing a march upon us.”
“When you get a little less excited,” said Glen coolly, “perhaps you will explain.”
“Oh, it’s easily explained: those two – that Jew fellow, Elbraham, and that old yellow apricot, Lord Henry Moorpark – have been in at the private apartments this hour.”
“Visit of ceremony,” said Glen, sending up a little cloud of smoke.
“Yes, and then they’ve been walking up and down in the gardens, talking earnestly together.”
“While you have been in the Maze and got lost,” said Glen.
“I tell you they were walking together, and shaking hands in the most affectionate manner.”
“While you played the spy, Dick? I say, my lad, that’s not square.”
“But it’s a horrible sell. My mother was always asking those two to our place.”
“With matrimonial intentions?”
“I suppose so. Elbraham never came, but old Moorpark often did, and it was on the cards – ”
“Visiting-cards?”
“No. That he was to be my brother-in-law. I say, Glen, who is a fellow to trust?”
“But he was not engaged to your sister?”
“No, of course not. Our Gertrude thought a deal of another fellow; but the mater’s word is law, you see, and it might have come off. Good heavens! she will be mad.”
“Your sister?”
“Not she – the mother. Well, I’m not going to stand it. My dear fellow, we are being cut out.”
“Nonsense, my dear boy; those two are old enough to be their grandfathers.”
“But they are rich – at least, Elbraham is rolling in wealth.”
“Then Lord Henry was getting the Jew to do a bill.”
“You seem as if nothing would move you, Glen; I tell you I am sure they have been to propose to those girls.”
“And if they had, what then?”
“I should go mad.”
“Nonsense! you’d go and fall in love with someone else.”
“I? with another!” cried the little fellow tragically. “I tell you I never knew what it was to love till now I can’t bear it, Glen; pray get up, and come and see.”
“Nonsense, man, nonsense! We couldn’t call. Wait till to-morrow, and we shall meet them in the grounds.”
“You’ll drive me mad with your coolness. You can’t care for her. Oh, Glen, ’pon my soul, it’s too bad! I loved Clotilde almost to distraction, but seeing how you seemed to be taken with her, I gave her up to the man I looked upon more as brother than friend, and devoted myself to Marie. If I had known, though, I should have taken up very different ground.”
Glen had felt troubled at his little companion’s remarks, and he had begun to think seriously of the possibility of what he had announced being true; but the tragic manner in which he had spoken of the transfer of his affections in obedience to his friendship was more than Glen could bear, and he burst out into such a hearty fit of laughter that little Richard faced round, and marched pompously and indignantly out of the room.
No sooner had he gone than Glen began to think, and very seriously now. Somehow he seemed to have been stirred by Clotilde from the depths of his ordinary calm life; he did not know that he loved her, but the thought of her dark, passionate eyes had such an effect upon him that he got up and began to pace the room. Never had woman so moved him from his apathy before; and the more he thought of her simplicity and daring combined, the more he told himself that this woman was his fate.
It was plain enough to him, with his knowledge of the world, that he was the first who had ever intruded upon her maiden repose. He knew that she had led an almost conventual life, and that her young heart seemed, as it were, to leap to meet him, so that what would have appeared brazen effrontery in a girl of several seasons, was in her but the natural act of her newly-awakened love.
“I can’t help it,” he exclaimed at last; “she is not the sort of girl that I thought I should have chosen to call wife; but she is all that is innocent and passionate, and, well, I feel sure she loves me, and if she does – ”
He stopped short for a few moments, thinking:
“We shall be as poor as the proverbial church mouse; but what does that matter, so long as a man finds a wealth of love?”
He continued his two or three strides backwards and forwards, and then threw himself down in his seat.
“The girl’s a syren,” he exclaimed, “and she has bewitched me. Hang me if I ever thought I could feel such a fool!”
Glen’s folly, as he considered it, increased in intensity like a fever. For years past he had trifled with the complaint – rather laughed at it, in fact; but now he had it badly, and, with the customary unreason of men in his condition, he saw nothing but perfection in the lady who had made his pulses throb.
Certainly, as far as appearance went, he was right, for nature could have done no more to make her attractive. To what art had made her he was perfectly blind, and, intoxicated by his new delight, he began to think of how he should contrive to see her again.
Glen’s mind went faster than his body, which, in spite of energetic promptings, refused to do more than go on in a stolidly calm, well-disciplined way, and the utmost it would accord, when urged by passion to go and loiter about the Palace gardens or the private apartments in the hope of seeing Clotilde, was a stroll slowly towards Hampton.
“I’m not going to behave like a foolish boy,” he said to himself. “I’ve tumbled head over ears in love with her, and if I can read a woman’s face she is not indifferent to me. Till I have a chance to say so I must wait patiently in a sensible way. It would be pleasant, though, to walk as far as Lady Littletown’s and make a call. The old lady might, perhaps, talk about her, and I should hear a little more.”
He started with the idea of walking straight to Hampton, but he met Major Malpas, who detained him some little time. Then he encountered Maberley, the surgeon, and had to hear an account about one of the corporals who had been kicked by a vicious horse.
The consequence was that he did not get to Lady Littletown’s on that day, while the next was pretty well taken up with a march out and other military duties; but free at last, he hurriedly got rid of his uniform, and once more set off to walk to Hampton.
He had hardly seen Dick Millet since he left his quarters in dudgeon. They had met at the mess dinner, and also during the march out, but the little fellow had held himself aloof, and seemed hurt and annoyed.
“I must have a talk with Master Dick,” said Glen to himself, as he walked on. “He’s a good little fellow at heart, and I don’t like to hurt his feelings.”
He had hardly formed the thought when he heard rapid steps behind, and directly after his name was uttered.
Turning round, there was the boy coming on at as nearly a run as his dignity would allow.
“I say, old fellow, how fast you do walk! Either your legs are precious long or mine are precious short.”
“Little of both, perhaps. Take the happy medium, Dick.”
“Ah, that’s better,” exclaimed the boy, whose face was now bright and beaming. “I do hate to see you in one of those sulky, ill-humoured fits of yours.”
“Yes, they are objectionable; but where are you going?”
“Going? I was coming after you. I say, I’ve made it right.”
“Made what right?”
“Why, that. I hung about till I saw the Dymcoxes’ maid, a regular old griffin; and when I spoke to her she looked as if she would have snapped off my head. Couldn’t make anything of her, but I’ve secured the footman.”
“Under military arrest?”
“No, no, of course not. You know what I mean. I tipped him a sov., and the fellow seemed to think I had gone mad; then he thought I meant to have given him a shilling, and told me so. I don’t believe he hardly knew what a sov. was, and he’d do anything for me now. He’ll take letters, or messages, or anything; and he says that I was right.”
“What about?”
“What about? Why, those two ancient patriarchs; and that he is sure the old women are going to make up a match and regularly sell the girls. Glen, old fellow, this must be stopped.”
“How?”
“By proper advances first, and if diplomacy fails, by a dashing charge – an elopement.”
“Humph!” ejaculated Marcus. “Should you inform Lady Millet, your mamma, before you took such a step?”
“I should take the lady I had chosen for my wife straight home.”
“And a very good place, too,” said Glen, who remained very thoughtful, saying little till they reached Lady Littletown’s gates.
“Are you going to call here?”
“To be sure. Come with me?” replied Glen; and receiving an answer in the affirmative to the inquiry as to whether Lady Littletown was at home, they were shown in, to find to their great delight that her ladyship had been over to the Palace that afternoon, and had brought back Clotilde and Marie to dine with her and spend the evening.
“It will help to form their minds, my dears,” her ladyship had said to the Honourable Misses Dymcox; “and really, now that we have this project in hand, I feel towards them as if they were my own children.”
This was while the young ladies had gone up to dress and frighten Ruth by their exigencies and sharp ways, after which they had an airing in Lady Littletown’s carriage, and, when the young officers were announced, were sipping their five o’clock tea.
“Now, now, now,” cried Lady Littletown in tones of playful menace, as she gave her fingers to the officers in turn, “I shall not allow this sort of thing. You soldiers are such dreadful men. You knew my poor children here had come over to cheer my solitude, and you mount your chargers and gallop over at once.”
“I can assure your ladyship that my visit was frankly intended to yourself, and that I was in utter ignorance of your having company; but of course I am the more delighted.”
Glen had never delivered so courtly a speech before, and he felt uncomfortable when he had said it; but he recovered directly as he met Clotilde’s eyes, which were fixed earnestly upon his, and her hand spoke very plainly as they exchanged salutations; Marie, on the contrary, seeming as cold as her sister was warm.
“Then that dreadful little Don Juan knew of it,” cried her ladyship sharply. “I shall forbid him the house.”
“I assure your ladyship” – began Dick.
“Eh? What, Edward?” said Lady Littletown, as a servant made a communication to her in a low, respectful tone. “Dear me, how tiresome! My dears, pray excuse me a minute, I’m called away. You can give these dreadful men a cup of tea each if they will condescend to drink it;” and she rustled out of the room.
“I did not think to have seen you again so soon,” said Dick, crossing to where Marie sat, looking pale and troubled, while Clotilde rose from her seat, looking fixedly at Glen, and walked out into the great conservatory, where, of course, he followed.
Marie turned paler and her breath came faster as she made as if to rise and follow them; but Dick set down the emotion as being caused by his presence, and catching her hand in both of his, he repeated his words, “I did not expect to see you again so soon.”
“Let us go,” replied Marie hoarsely. “My sister; do you not see?”
“Yes,” whispered Dick, full of boyish ardour. “But don’t – pray don’t go.”
Lady Littletown was very proud of her conservatory, which was kept lavishly filled with the choicest flowers and foliage plants. Following on the example of Hampton Court, there were oranges of goodly size, with their bright-green leaves, yellow fruit, green fruit, and delicious blossoms all growing at the same time.
It was into this semi-tropical region, where the atmosphere was redolent of sweet and cloying perfume, that Clotilde had slowly walked, her eyes dreamy and downcast, and her fingers idling amongst the beautiful blossoms on either side.
As Glen followed, and noted her soft undulating form, her bent head with masses of dark hair clustering about her neck, he felt his heart go throb, throb, heavily and slowly, while his blood seemed to bound through his veins.
Clotilde went on down the central path of the great glass-house, and then, without glancing back, she turned off at the bottom, where she was completely hidden from the drawing-room windows, and it was here that Glen overtook her.
“Miss Riversley! Clotilde!” he said softly.
She did not speak, but he saw her shudder, as if a tremor had run through her frame.
“Have I offended you?” he whispered, holding out his hands.
“Oh no,” she cried, starting round with her face flushed; and placing her hands in his, she looked up full in his eyes for a moment, and then let them fall.
It was very shocking, very unusual, and it was all entirely opposed to the etiquette of such matters, but there was a something in Clotilde’s looks and ways that made Glen turn giddy; and he behaved giddily. Some people will say it was his fault, some others may blame the lady for her want of reserve, but the fact remains the same, that, forgetting everything in the moment but the look that had spoken so much to his eyes, the young officer pressed his lips to the hand that not only seemed to, but did invite the caress; but just then there was a sharp “Oh!” and in an instant Clotilde and Glen were admiring the beauty of the colours in some caladiums of which Lady Littletown was very proud.
The ejaculation was not uttered by that lady, however, but by Marie, who, closely followed by Dick Millet, had come down the conservatory tiles silent as a cat and seen all.
“Clotilde!” she exclaimed in a low, angry voice, and then she darted an imperious look at Glen.
“Well, Marie?” said Clotilde coolly, as the rich red slowly died out of her cheeks, “did you find the drawing-room too warm, love? Look, Captain Glen, this one is lovely.”
“Lovely indeed!” cried Marcus, giving a beseeching glance at Marie; but she turned from him scornfully, only to look back at him with a fierce, passionate gaze which startled and surprised him, for he did not then realise the truth.
There was nothing to be done then but to go on admiring the flowers, and as they went from group to group, Glen’s feelings were a strange contradiction. His pulse throbbed with pleasure, but this was marred by the bitterly reproachful look he had received from Marie; while upon catching Dick’s eyes fixed upon him, and receiving a half-droll, half-reproving shake of the head from that young gentleman, he felt so angry and annoyed at his having witnessed the scene, that he could have freely kicked him out of the conservatory.
A gorgeous display of blossoms cultivated to the highest pitch of perfection Lady Littletown had gathered together in her conservatory, but these nobles of Flora’s train might well have felt offence at the treatment they received, for, though the occupants of the glass-house babbled and talked flowers, any disinterested listener would have been astonished at the rubbish that was said.
“Ah, you are admiring my pets,” cried Lady Littletown, returning hastily; “I’m so sorry to have had to leave you, my dears. One of my old pensioners was ill, and had sent on for some wine I promised. Yes, those are my gloxinias, Captain Glen. Delightful, are they not? Did you have some tea? No! Ah, I see how it is. Next time I receive a call at this hour from you military gentlemen, I shall have a pot with two teaspoonfuls of soda in it, and then fill it up with brandy. You would be happy then.”
They stayed very little longer, and when at parting, after receiving a long, earnest pressure from Clotilde’s hand, Glen turned to Marie and took hers, most grudgingly held out, he found time to whisper:
“Don’t be angry with me; surely we ought to be the best of friends.”
Marie’s heart gave a great throb as she felt the warm pressure of his hand, and in spite of herself she could not help her eyes lifting to meet his in a gaze that was full of sadness and reproach.
“Oh, come, I say, Glen, old fellow,” cried Dick as soon as they were well outside the gates. “You do go it, you do! Only just known her.”
“Hold your tongue, do! Hang it, Millet, there are things a man ought not to see.”
“Oh, very well, then, I’m as blind as a beetle and as quiet as a fish. I didn’t see anything; but, I say, didn’t it make Marie cross!”
“Oh, of course. She was surprised.”
“I tried to keep her in the drawing-room, but she was nervous and frightened – poor little darling! – at being alone with me, and I was obliged to let her come at last, or there would have been a scene.”
There was something very suggestive of a dapper little bantam paying his addresses to a handsome young pullet in the boy’s remarks anent the “poor little darling”; but Glen was too much troubled just then to pay much heed, so his companion prattled on.
For Glen was not satisfied: he wished that Clotilde had not been so yielding.
Then he excused her. She was so sweet and innocent. She had been so restrained and kept down; all was so fresh to her, that her young love, he told himself, was like Haidee’s, and like some bird she had flown unhesitatingly to his breast.
It was very delicious, but, all the same, he wished that it was all to come, and that she had been more retiring and reserved.
Still, she loved him. There was no doubt of that, and perceiving that he was dreamy, and strange, and likely to excite notice from his companion, he roused himself from the reverie.
“Well, Dick,” he cried, laughing, “what have you to say now to your story of the patriarchs?”
“Well, I don’t know. I suppose it must be all a flam.”
“Yes, there’s no doubt about that, and you have wasted a sovereign that might have gone in buttonholes and gloves.”
“Oh, no – not wasted,” cried the little fellow. “Decidedly not. Oh, no, my dear boy, my experience teaches me that it is always as well in such matters to have a friend at court.”
“I say, young fellow,” cried Glen, who had cast off his reserve, and was now making an effort to be merry, “you say, ‘in these affairs’! In the name of commonsense, how many love affairs do you happen to have had?”
“Well, really,” said the boy importantly, “I don’t exactly know. Somehow or another, I did begin early.”
Glen laughed merrily, and went on chatting away; but somehow the thoughts of Marie’s reproachful eyes were mingled largely with those of Clotilde’s longing, loving gaze, and there were times when he did not know whether he was most happy or most vexed.
Volume Two – Chapter Five.
A Walk in the Gardens
The days glided on, with the younger sisters wondering at the change that had taken place, for everything now seemed to be done with an idea to their comfort.
Mr Montaigne called, according to his custom, pretty frequently, and he was quite affectionate in his ways. He and the Honourable Misses Dymcox had long conversations together, after which he used to go, seeming to bless Clotilde and Marie, he was so paternal and gentle – Ruth obtaining, too, her share of his benevolent smiles.
Then, after a good deal of waiting, came a time when Clotilde met Glen alone. The latter did not know that he had Dick to thank for the arrangement; but he it was who made the suggestion to Clotilde, by whom the idea was seized at once, and the very next morning she proposed that Marie and she should have a walk in the gardens directly after breakfast.
“My head aches a good deal, aunties, and a walk will do it good.”
Miss Philippa looked at her sister, and Miss Isabella returned the look.
“Well, my dears, as it is far too early for anyone to be down from London,” said Miss Philippa, “I think you might go, don’t you, sister?”
“Yes, decidedly,” said Miss Isabella; and the young ladies went up to dress, Markes entering the bedroom as they prepared for their walk.
“But you two ain’t going alone?” said the maid.
“Indeed but we are, Markes,” retorted Clotilde.
“But not without your aunts?”
“Yes, of course. How absurd you are!”
“Well, things is coming to a pretty pass! I couldn’t have believed it if I’d been told.”
She went out, and, according to her custom, slammed the door, but it was not heeded now; and soon after, with the affectionate kisses of their aunts moist upon their cheeks, the two girls strolled along one of the paths in the direction of the Lion Gate.
For a time they were very silent, but at last, after two or three sidelong glances at Marie, Clotilde opened the ball.
“Well, dear,” she said, “what do you think of it?”
Marie remained silent.
“For my part,” continued Clotilde, “I think it horrible. It’s like being sold into a seraglio. I won’t have him.”
“Then why did you accept that bracelet?” exclaimed Marie sharply.
“Because it was very beautiful, my dear sister; because I only had a wretchedly common porte bonheur; and, lastly, because it was of diamonds, and I liked it.”
“But it was like telling the man you would have him.”
“Then why did you accept that pearl ring Lord Henry sent you, sweet sissy?”
“For the same reason – because I liked it,” said Marie bitterly; “but I’ve hated myself ever since.”
“It’s a pity they are so old,” said Clotilde. “It would be very nice if they were not, for I like the idea of having plenty of good things, and being able to spend as much money as I like. Why, Rie,” she exclaimed, “let’s have a run through the Maze. We haven’t been since we were quite little children.”
“Nonsense! absurd!”
“Never mind; let’s be absurd for once. There will be no one there so soon as this. I shall go; you can stay away if you like.”
With a quiet, disdainful look, Marie followed her sister, and carelessly began with her threading the devious course through the quaint old labyrinth.
“How ridiculous of you, Clo!” she said at last. “There is not a breath of air, and it is growing terribly hot. Come back, there is someone here.”
“Very well; come back, then,” said Clotilde. “This way, Rie.”
“No; that is not the path.”
“Yes it is. I’m sure it is; and – oh, how strange! Here are those two.”
Marie’s cheeks crimsoned as she found that they had come suddenly upon the two officers. That it was a planned thing she was sure; but this was not the time to resent it, and she returned the salutations with which she was greeted, making up her mind that she would keep close to Clotilde the whole time, and prevent a tête-à-tête.
But such a determination would have been difficult to carry out in the gardens, when three people were arrayed dead against her. In a maze it was simply impossible; and the guide was not there.
She never knew how or when they were separated, but all at once she and Dick were on one side of a hedge, and Clotilde and Glen on the other, and when the boy laughingly tried to put matters right, he did it so cleverly that they were soon two hedges separate; then three, and likely to be four; by which time, forgetful of all his scrupulous feelings, and Clotilde’s want of perfection in his eyes, Glen had clasped her to his heart with a deep, low “My darling, at last!”
“Oh, no, no, no, Marcus,” she sobbed, as she gently thrust him away, and then clung to his arm, gazing piteously up at him the while. “You must not. I ought not to let you. I feel so wicked and despairing I hardly care to live.”
“But why, my darling – my beautiful darling?” he whispered passionately, contenting himself now with holding her hands.
“Because this is so wrong. My aunts would never forgive me if they knew.”
“That is what I want to speak about, dearest,” he said, in a low voice, as he drew her arm through his and they walked on. “May I speak to them? Let me call and ask their permission to come freely and openly to the apartments. I am only a poor suitor, Clotilde – only a captain of cavalry, with very little beside his pay; but you will not despise me for that?”
“For what?” she cried innocently, as she gazed up into his face.
“For my want of money,” he said, smiling down, and longing to clasp her once more in his arms.
“I hardly know what money is,” she said quietly. “We have never had any; so why should I care for that?”
“Then I may speak?” he whispered. “I may be better off by-and-by, and we can wait.”
“Oh yes, we could wait,” sighed Clotilde. “But no – no – no, it is madness! I ought not to talk like this. I’ve been very weak and foolish, and I don’t know what you must think of me.”
“Think of you!” he whispered; “that you are all that is beautiful and innocent and good, and that I love you with all my heart.”
“But I’m not good,” faltered Clotilde; “I’m very wicked indeed, and I don’t know what will become of me; I don’t, really.”
“Become the woman who will share my fate – the woman I shall make my idol. Clotilde, I never saw one I could sincerely say such things to till we met, and at one bound my heart seemed to go out to meet you. Tell me, my darling, that nothing shall separate us now.”
“Oh, don’t, pray don’t speak to me like that,” sighed Clotilde. “You don’t know – you can’t know. What shall I do?”
“My dear girl, tell me,” he whispered, as he gazed in her wild eyes.
“Oh, no, no!” she sobbed.
“Not give your confidence to one who loves you as I do?”
“I dare not tell you – yes, I will,” she cried piteously. “What shall I do? My aunts say that I must marry Mr Elbraham.”
“Then Millet was right,” cried Glen excitedly. “But no, no, my darling, it cannot – it shall not be. Only tell me you love me – that I may care for you – guard you – defend you, and no aunts or Elbrahams in the world shall separate us.”
“I – I think – I believe I do care for you,” she faltered, as she looked up at him in a piteous, pleading way.
“Heaven bless you, sweet!” he cried. “Then this very day I will see them. They are women, and will listen to reason. I will plead to them, and you shall help me.”
“Oh, no, no, no!” cried Clotilde in horrified tones. “That would be to separate us for ever, and – and – and,” she sobbed, “I could not bear that.”
“But surely” – he began.
“Oh, you do not know my aunts!” she said excitedly. “It would only be to force me into that dreadful man’s arms. We must not let them know. It would be too dreadful.”
“But, my darling, I think I could show them – ”
“No, no! Don’t show them – don’t try to show them, if you love me!”
“If I love you!” he said reproachfully.
“Then pray – pray keep it secret,” she said imploringly, “for the present.”
“But I must see you – I must talk to you.”
“Yes, yes; you shall sometimes. But if they thought you spoke to me as you have, I should never see you again.”
“But what am I to do?” he pleaded.
“You may write to me sometimes,” she said ingenuously; “and sometimes, perhaps, we may meet.”
“But – ”
“Hush! No more now. Oh, pray – pray – pray! Here is sister Marie.”
Glen did not notice it, but Clotilde recovered her calmness very rapidly, as, after a very awkward time spent in trying hard to keep her from joining the others, Marie found out the way for herself, and snubbed Dick so sharply that he came up with her looking exceedingly rueful, and telling himself that the sacrifice he had made to friendship was far too great, and that he ought to have kept to Clotilde.
“Why, Marie,” exclaimed the latter, “where have you been?”
Marie did not reply, only darted an angry glance at her sister, and then one full of scorn at Glen, who made a sign to Millet, one which the little fellow eagerly obeyed, going on with Clotilde, while Glen lingered behind with Marie.
“I am not so blind or so foolish as not to see that you are displeased with my attentions to your sister,” he said in a low voice, which made her thrill with pleasure, in spite of the jealous anger she felt. “Yes, you need not tell me,” he continued, meeting her eyes. “But come, let us be friends – more, let us be like brother and sister, for, believe me, my feelings towards you are warmer than you think. I know that I am no worthy match for your sister, but if love can make up for poverty – there, you will not be angry with me, for I want you to be my ally.”
Marie turned to him again to look scorn and anger, but as she met his eyes her resolution failed, and it was all she could do to keep from bursting into a passionate fit of sobbing.
“He loves her,” she sobbed to herself; “and he cannot see her, he cannot know her, as I do.”
The next moment she was upbraiding herself with her own unworthiness, while he was interpreting her silence into a more softened feeling towards him; and when they parted a few minutes later, and he pressed her hand, Marie felt that if he wished it she could become his slave, while somehow Glen did not feel quite satisfied with his idol.
The sisters did not speak on their way back, while when they re-entered the Palace their aunts were loud in praise of the animation their walk had imparted to their countenances.
“Such news, my dears!” cried Miss Philippa.
“Such good news, my dears!” echoed Miss Isabella.
“Mr Elbraham is coming down to-day,” said Miss Philippa.
“And he will drive Lord Henry Moorpark down in his phaeton.”
“Yes, my sweet darlings,” said Miss Philippa affectionately. “I think, dears, I would sit quietly in the drawing-room all the morning.”
“And go up just before lunch to dress.”
“Yes, dears. Your new morning dresses have come home.”
“Oh, have they, aunt dear?” cried Clotilde. “Come upstairs, then, at once, Rie, and we’ll try them on.”