hand toward Mary. “You’d better join ’em, she said. “They’ll be up to mischief.” Mary noticed the hand, long and supple. She saw the flash of rubies and diamonds on it.
With a little bow Mary withdrew. Scarcely was she in the hall when she heard Mrs. Whiteoak say:
“Somebody please shut that door.”
It was closed and the six people left in the drawing-room exchanged looks of untrammelled intimacy. Nicholas was the first to speak.
“A lovely creature,” he said. “A very lovely creature.” He turned to his brother Ernest. “Upon my word, Ernie, you’ve a very pretty taste in women.”
“She looked quite different in London,” replied Ernest hastily.
“Doubtless the climate here has rejuvenated her,” said Sir Edwin who was small and neat and mouse-coloured.
“Are we to take that remark seriously, Edwin?” asked his wife who was tall, with a massive curled fringe about her forehead and a plum-coloured dress. She spoke in a rich contralto voice.
“I offer it as the only possible explanation,” he replied. “Ernest himself says she looks different.”
“If she looked as she does now, Ernest must have been demented,” declared Lady Buckley.
“What’s the matter with her looks?” demanded Philip.
“Everything,” returned his sister. “She looks and dresses like an actress.”
It went against the grain of Adeline Whiteoak to agree with her daughter, so she ignored this remark and asked of Ernest:
“How was she different in London?”
“Well, Mamma, it’s hard to say. But there was an impalpable difference.”
“I do not engage governesses on impalpable grounds.”
“We never should have trusted Ernest,” said Lady Buckley. “He is too easily carried away by a little charm.”
Ernest replied tartly, “I am the only one of us who has not been carried away into matrimony.”
Sir Edwin giggled. “My charm was too much for Augusta, eh, Augusta?”
His wife looked at him as though she failed to discover a remnant of charm in him. She said:
“A girl like that is no companion for the children.”
“What do you want me to do?” exclaimed Philip hotly. “Turn her out because she’s pretty and wears pretty clothes? Well — I refuse. You sent her to me. She’s a damned sight nicer than the other two were.” He went on more calmly, “Wait till you’re acquainted with her before you condemn her. I’m sure you’ll like her.”
“Philip is right,” agreed Ernest. “Let us be patient and calm.”
This remark had no calming effect on his mother. She sprang up and swept through the length of the room. “By the Lord,” she exclaimed, “you have a way of bringing out the worst in people, Ernest.”
“Not in me,” said Augusta. “For I know that Ernest’s intentions are good.”
Mrs. Whiteoak came back up the room. She was smiling. “We certainly must give the young woman a chance, as Philip says. On my part I intend to be very civil to her,” she said.
“The thought of being uncivil to anyone,” came in Augusta’s contralto tones, “never enters my head.”
“We’ll all be nice to her,” said Sir Edwin gaily, “and see what happens.”
“She’ll be extremely grateful.” Philip smiled at him. He was about to add, “And so shall I,” but thought better of it.
Nicholas gave a yawn. “I’m off to my room to unpack,” he said. “Come along, Philip.” He put his arm affectionately through his brother’s. They moved toward the door.
The Buckleys rose and followed them. Augusta asked:
“Is there anything I can do to help you, Mamma?”
“No, thanks. Mrs. Nettleship will help me.”
Ernest had no mind to be left alone with his mother.
“Anything I can do?” he asked cheerily, when the others had gone.
She shook her head.
“It’s so nice to be home again,” he said.
“It may be, for you. It is well to be so irresponsible.”
“But — nothing has happened, Mamma.”
“Something will. Did you see the look on Philip’s face when
With a little bow Mary withdrew. Scarcely was she in the hall when she heard Mrs. Whiteoak say:
“Somebody please shut that door.”
It was closed and the six people left in the drawing-room exchanged looks of untrammelled intimacy. Nicholas was the first to speak.
“A lovely creature,” he said. “A very lovely creature.” He turned to his brother Ernest. “Upon my word, Ernie, you’ve a very pretty taste in women.”
“She looked quite different in London,” replied Ernest hastily.
“Doubtless the climate here has rejuvenated her,” said Sir Edwin who was small and neat and mouse-coloured.
“Are we to take that remark seriously, Edwin?” asked his wife who was tall, with a massive curled fringe about her forehead and a plum-coloured dress. She spoke in a rich contralto voice.
“I offer it as the only possible explanation,” he replied. “Ernest himself says she looks different.”
“If she looked as she does now, Ernest must have been demented,” declared Lady Buckley.
“What’s the matter with her looks?” demanded Philip.
“Everything,” returned his sister. “She looks and dresses like an actress.”
It went against the grain of Adeline Whiteoak to agree with her daughter, so she ignored this remark and asked of Ernest:
“How was she different in London?”
“Well, Mamma, it’s hard to say. But there was an impalpable difference.”
“I do not engage governesses on impalpable grounds.”
“We never should have trusted Ernest,” said Lady Buckley. “He is too easily carried away by a little charm.”
Ernest replied tartly, “I am the only one of us who has not been carried away into matrimony.”
Sir Edwin giggled. “My charm was too much for Augusta, eh, Augusta?”
His wife looked at him as though she failed to discover a remnant of charm in him. She said:
“A girl like that is no companion for the children.”
“What do you want me to do?” exclaimed Philip hotly. “Turn her out because she’s pretty and wears pretty clothes? Well — I refuse. You sent her to me. She’s a damned sight nicer than the other two were.” He went on more calmly, “Wait till you’re acquainted with her before you condemn her. I’m sure you’ll like her.”
“Philip is right,” agreed Ernest. “Let us be patient and calm.”
This remark had no calming effect on his mother. She sprang up and swept through the length of the room. “By the Lord,” she exclaimed, “you have a way of bringing out the worst in people, Ernest.”
“Not in me,” said Augusta. “For I know that Ernest’s intentions are good.”
Mrs. Whiteoak came back up the room. She was smiling. “We certainly must give the young woman a chance, as Philip says. On my part I intend to be very civil to her,” she said.
“The thought of being uncivil to anyone,” came in Augusta’s contralto tones, “never enters my head.”
“We’ll all be nice to her,” said Sir Edwin gaily, “and see what happens.”
“She’ll be extremely grateful.” Philip smiled at him. He was about to add, “And so shall I,” but thought better of it.
Nicholas gave a yawn. “I’m off to my room to unpack,” he said. “Come along, Philip.” He put his arm affectionately through his brother’s. They moved toward the door.
The Buckleys rose and followed them. Augusta asked:
“Is there anything I can do to help you, Mamma?”
“No, thanks. Mrs. Nettleship will help me.”
Ernest had no mind to be left alone with his mother.
“Anything I can do?” he asked cheerily, when the others had gone.
She shook her head.
“It’s so nice to be home again,” he said.
“It may be, for you. It is well to be so irresponsible.”
“But — nothing has happened, Mamma.”
“Something will. Did you see the look on Philip’s face when
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