Leonora | Page 6

Christmas,' she said firmly. 'It's my weakest
subject.'
'Christmas or no Christmas,' he replied, 'I'm not going to let you kill
yourself. Look at your face! I wonder your mother----'
'Run into the garden for a while, my dear,' said Leonora softly, and the
girl moved to obey.
'Rose,' he called her back sharply as his exasperation became fidgetty.
'Don't be in such a hurry. Open the window--an inch.'

* * * * *
Ethel and Millicent disappeared after the manner of young fox-terriers;
they did not visibly depart; they were there, one looked away, they
were gone. In the bedroom which they shared, the door well locked,
they threw oft all restraints, conventions, pretences, and discussed the
world, and their own world, with terrible candour. This sacred and
untidy apartment, where many of the habits of childhood still lingered,
was a retreat, a sanctuary from the law, and the fastness had been
ingeniously secured against surprise by the peculiar position of the
bedstead in front of the doorway.
'Father is a donkey!' said Ethel.
'And ma never says a word!' said Milly.
'I could simply have smacked him when he brought in mother's
birthday,' Ethel continued, savagely.
'So could I.'
'Fancy him thinking it's you. What a lark!'
'Yes. I don't mind,' said Milly.
'You are a brick, Milly. And I didn't think you were, I didn't really.'
'What a horrid pig you are, Eth!' Milly protested, and Ethel laughed.
'Did you give Fred my note all right?' Ethel demanded.
'Yes,' answered Milly. 'I suppose he's coming up to-night?'
'I asked him to.'
'There'll be a frantic row one day. I'm sure there will,' Milly said
meditatively, after a pause.
'Oh! there's bound to be!' Ethel assented, and she added: 'Mother does

trust us. Have a choc?'
Milly said yes, and Ethel drew a box of bonbons from her pocket.
They seemed to contemplate with a fearful joy the probable exposure of
that life of flirtations and chocolate which ran its secret course side by
side with the other life of demure propriety acted out for the benefit of
the older generation. If these innocent and inexperienced souls had
been accused of leading a double life, they would have denied the
charge with genuine indignation. Nevertheless, driven by the universal
longing, and abetted by parental apathy and parental lack of
imagination, they did lead a double life. They chafed bitterly under the
code to which they were obliged ostensibly to submit. In their moods of
revolt, they honestly believed their parents to be dull and obstinate
creatures who had lost the appetite for romance and ecstasy and were
determined to mortify this appetite in others. They desired heaps of
money and the free, informal companionship of very young men. The
latter--at the cost of some intrigue and subterfuge--they contrived to get.
But money they could not get. Frequently they said to each other with
intense earnestness that they would do anything for money; and they
repeated passionately, 'anything.'
'Just look at that stuck-up thing!' said Milly laughing. They stood
together at the window, and Milly pointed her finger at Rose, who was
walking conscientiously to and fro across the garden in the gathering
dusk.
Ethel rapped on the pane, and the three sisters exchanged friendly
smiles.
'Rosie will never pass her exam, not if she lives to be a hundred,' said
Ethel. 'And can you imagine father making me go to the works? Can
you imagine the sense of it?'
'He won't let you walk up with Fred at nights,' said Milly, 'so you
needn't think.'
'And your housekeeping!' Ethel exclaimed. 'What a treat father will

have at meals!'
'Oh! I can easily get round mother,' said Milly with confidence. 'I
_can't_ housekeep, and ma knows that perfectly well.'
'Well, father will forget all about it in a week or two, that's one
comfort,' Ethel concluded the matter. 'Are you going down to
Burgesses to see Harry?' she inquired, observing Milly put on her hat.
'Yes,' said Milly. 'Cissie said she'd come for me if I was late. You'd
better stay in and be dutiful.'
'I shall offer to play duets with mother. Don't you be long. Let's try that
chorus for the Operatic before supper.'
* * * * *
That night, after the girls had kissed them and gone to bed, John and
Leonora remained alone together in the drawing-room. The first fire of
autumn was burning in the grate, and at the other end of the long room
dark curtains were drawn across the French window. Shaded candles
lighted the grand piano, at which Leonora was seated, and a single gas
jet illuminated the region of the hearth, where John, lounging almost at
full length in a vast chair, read the newspaper; otherwise the room was
in shadow. John