it.”
Patricia stood with her hand o n the door handle of the car. She looked at him and smiled.
“My dear David,” she said, “ you didn’t live here then. And now you do. That, I think, is the answer.” And with that she left him, starting the car and waving gaily to him as she went away down 'the pot-holed drive. David stood on the drive and watched her go, her words clear in his mind. His dark eyes were thoughtful but inscrutable as he stood, tapping his riding crop against his other hand, until the car was out of sight . Then he turned and went into the house, still thoughtful.
CHAPTER SIX
CAROLINE was in the bedroom o f the two little girls, brushing Babs’ short hair, while Wendy conscientiously brushed her own. Both children were considerably improved since Caroline’s arrival. They had a well - cared-for look instead of the air of sligh t neglect they had previously worn; their hair was short and shining instead of straggling and rough; and they were beginning to take a pride in themselves. But the chief difference was in their ma nn er and outlook. They now had complete confidence in Caroline, talked freely to her, did not expect to be constantly punished, and even, such was their emancipation, made demands on her.
“Will you,” asked Babs, submitting with docility to the hairbrush, “tell me a story when I am in bed?”
“A short one, perhaps,” said Caroline.
“And me?” asked Wendy.
“That would make two stories.”
“But only one each,” pointed out Wendy.
Caroline laughed.
“You are an artful little monkey,” she said, and Wendy took this as a compliment and hugged Caroline from behind, nearly strangling her in the process.
“I want the story of the lit tl e girl who had a piebald pony,” said Babs.
“And I want the story of the little girl who went to stay with the wicked aunt and the naughty cousins, and had to do all the work,” said Wendy.
“The longest one you could think of,” said Caroline, knowing that she would not be permitted to omit one word.
The hair-brushing finished, the dressing-gowns hung on their hooks and the slippers put neatly by the beds, the two children wriggled their way between the sheets and waited expectantly for their stories. Caroline liked this time of the day, partly because when the children were in bed she had some breathing space, but chiefly because when these two little girls were in bed, clean, shining, hanging on her words with gleeful expectancy, they were adorable. They were forgetting Miss Church and her predecessors; they were beginning to take the present state of affairs for granted, an d this was what Caroline wanted. That they should feel secure. And secure they certainly were now, sitting up in their beds, quite absorbed in the little girl with the piebald pony. It was gratifying to Caroline to see them so.
Terence, however, was still a different matter. His memory was not only much longer; he not only continued to smart under many injustices of the past; but he seemed determined to let nobody get under his defences. He was a sullen, solitary little boy, determined to keep himself to himself, and all Caroline’s overtures had been firmly rejected. Perhaps he had learned never to make advances, never to accept advances made to him. He had got into the way of being sullen and it was difficult to change.
Caroline went along to his room when she had finished with Babs and Wendy. He had been told to get undressed, but she did not expect that he had done so, and she was right. He was on the floor, fully dressed, playing with a few models he had made. He was lately always concerned with little pieces of paper and cardboard, string and glue; but all his efforts were concealed, and his models immediately hidden when Caroline appeared: This evening, however, he had forgotten she was coming, and there were too many models for him to hide at once; and although he grabbed up a few and threw them roughly into his cupboard, one or
Patricia stood with her hand o n the door handle of the car. She looked at him and smiled.
“My dear David,” she said, “ you didn’t live here then. And now you do. That, I think, is the answer.” And with that she left him, starting the car and waving gaily to him as she went away down 'the pot-holed drive. David stood on the drive and watched her go, her words clear in his mind. His dark eyes were thoughtful but inscrutable as he stood, tapping his riding crop against his other hand, until the car was out of sight . Then he turned and went into the house, still thoughtful.
CHAPTER SIX
CAROLINE was in the bedroom o f the two little girls, brushing Babs’ short hair, while Wendy conscientiously brushed her own. Both children were considerably improved since Caroline’s arrival. They had a well - cared-for look instead of the air of sligh t neglect they had previously worn; their hair was short and shining instead of straggling and rough; and they were beginning to take a pride in themselves. But the chief difference was in their ma nn er and outlook. They now had complete confidence in Caroline, talked freely to her, did not expect to be constantly punished, and even, such was their emancipation, made demands on her.
“Will you,” asked Babs, submitting with docility to the hairbrush, “tell me a story when I am in bed?”
“A short one, perhaps,” said Caroline.
“And me?” asked Wendy.
“That would make two stories.”
“But only one each,” pointed out Wendy.
Caroline laughed.
“You are an artful little monkey,” she said, and Wendy took this as a compliment and hugged Caroline from behind, nearly strangling her in the process.
“I want the story of the lit tl e girl who had a piebald pony,” said Babs.
“And I want the story of the little girl who went to stay with the wicked aunt and the naughty cousins, and had to do all the work,” said Wendy.
“The longest one you could think of,” said Caroline, knowing that she would not be permitted to omit one word.
The hair-brushing finished, the dressing-gowns hung on their hooks and the slippers put neatly by the beds, the two children wriggled their way between the sheets and waited expectantly for their stories. Caroline liked this time of the day, partly because when the children were in bed she had some breathing space, but chiefly because when these two little girls were in bed, clean, shining, hanging on her words with gleeful expectancy, they were adorable. They were forgetting Miss Church and her predecessors; they were beginning to take the present state of affairs for granted, an d this was what Caroline wanted. That they should feel secure. And secure they certainly were now, sitting up in their beds, quite absorbed in the little girl with the piebald pony. It was gratifying to Caroline to see them so.
Terence, however, was still a different matter. His memory was not only much longer; he not only continued to smart under many injustices of the past; but he seemed determined to let nobody get under his defences. He was a sullen, solitary little boy, determined to keep himself to himself, and all Caroline’s overtures had been firmly rejected. Perhaps he had learned never to make advances, never to accept advances made to him. He had got into the way of being sullen and it was difficult to change.
Caroline went along to his room when she had finished with Babs and Wendy. He had been told to get undressed, but she did not expect that he had done so, and she was right. He was on the floor, fully dressed, playing with a few models he had made. He was lately always concerned with little pieces of paper and cardboard, string and glue; but all his efforts were concealed, and his models immediately hidden when Caroline appeared: This evening, however, he had forgotten she was coming, and there were too many models for him to hide at once; and although he grabbed up a few and threw them roughly into his cupboard, one or
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