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sheaf of bills--"
His eldest daughter's husband had recently failed in business, in
consequence of which he himself was at present supporting a second
establishment. He sighed, and reflected that it was a thankless task to
rear a family. The infantine troubles of teething, whooping-cough, and
scarlatina were trifles as compared with the later annoyance and
difficulties of dealing with striplings who had the audacity to imagine
themselves grown-up, and competent to have a say in their own lives!
If things turned out well, they took the credit to themselves! If ill, then
papa had to pay the bills! Mr Vane was convinced that he was an
ill-used and much-to-be-pitied martyr.
CHAPTER TWO.
THE SISTERS.
Mr Vane's house overlooked Regent's Park, and formed the corner
house of a white terrace boasting Grecian pillars and a railed-in stretch
of grass in front of the windows. The rooms were large and handsome,
and of that severe, box-like outline which are the despair of the modern
upholsterer. The drawing-room boasted half a dozen windows, four in
front, and two at the side, and as regards furnishings was a curious graft
of modern art upon an Early Victoria stock. Logically the combination
was an anachronism; in effect it was charming and harmonious, for the
changes had been made with the utmost caution, in consideration of the
feelings of the head of the household.
Mr Vane's argument was that he preferred solid old-fashioned furniture
to modern gimcracks, and had no wish to conform to artistic fads, and
his daughters dutifully agreed, and--disobeyed! Their mode of
procedure was to withdraw one article at a time, and to wait until the
parental eye had become accustomed to the gap before venturing on a
second confiscation. On the rare occasions when the abduction was
discovered, it was easy to fall back upon the well-worn domestic
justification, "Oh, that's been gone a long time!" when, in justice to
one's own power of observation, the matter must be allowed to drop.

The eldest daughter of the household had married five years before the
date at which this narrative opens, and during that period had enjoyed
the happiness of a true and enduring devotion, and the troubles
inseparable from a constant financial struggle, ending with bankruptcy,
and a retreat from a tastefully furnished villa at Surbiton to a dreary
lodging in Oxford Terrace. Poor Edith had lost much of her beauty and
light-hearted gaiety as a result of anxiety and the constant care of two
delicate children; but never in the blackest moment of her trouble had
she wished herself unwed, or been willing to change places with any
woman who had not the felicity of being John Martin's wife.
Trouble had drawn Jack and herself more closely together; she was in
arms in a passion of indignation against that world which judged a man
by the standpoint of success or failure, and lay in readiness to heave
another stone at the fallen. At nightfall she watched for his coming to
judge of the day's doings by the expression of his face, before it lit up
with the dear welcoming smile. At sight of the weary lines, strength
came to her, as though she could move mountains on his behalf. As
they sat together on the horsehair sofa, his tired head resting on her
shoulder, the strain and the burden fell from them both, and they knew
themselves millionaires of blessings.
The second daughter of the Vane household was a very different
character from her sensitive and highly-strung sister. The fairies who
had attended her christening, and bequeathed upon the infant the gifts
of industry, common sense, and propriety, forgot to bestow at the same
time that most valuable of all qualities,--the power to awaken love! Her
relatives loved Agnes--"Of course," they would have said; but when "of
course" is added in this connection, it is sadly eloquent! The poor
whom she visited were basely ungrateful for her doles, and when she
approached empty-handed, took the occasion to pay a visit to a
neighbour's back yard, leaving her to flay her knuckles on an
unresponsive door.
Agnes had many acquaintances, but no friends, and none of the young
men who frequented the house had exhibited even a passing inclination
to pay her attention.

Edith had been a belle in her day; while as for Margot, every masculine
creature gravitated towards her as needles to a magnet. Among various
proposals of marriage had been one from so solid and eligible a parti,
that even the doting father had laid aside his grudge, and turned into
special pleader. He had advanced one by one the different claims to
consideration possessed by the said suitor, and to every argument
Margot had meekly agreed, until the moment arrived at which she was
naturally expected to say "Yes"