Sisters Three | Page 4

her dignified little fashion; mischievous
Norah smiled in the background. They were dearer to him than all his
heroines; but, alas, far less easy to manage, for the heroines did as they
were bid, while the three girls were developing strong wills of their
own.
"I believe you have been plotting mischief, and that is the beginning
and the end of your good resolutions!"
"Indeed, no, father; we were in earnest. But it was a reaction, for before
that we had been grumbling about-- Wait a moment, here comes tea.
We'll tell you later on. Miss Briggs says we should never talk about
disagreeable topics at a meal, and tea is the nicest meal of the day, so
we can't afford to spoil it. Well, and how is Mr Robert getting on this
afternoon?"
Mr Bertrand's face twitched in a comical manner. He lived so entirely
in the book which he was writing at the time that he found it impossible
to keep silent on the subject; but he could never rid himself of a
comical feeling of embarrassment in discussing his novels in the
presence of his daughters.
"Robert, eh? What do you know about Robert?"
"We know all about him, of course. He was in trouble on Wednesday,
and you came down to tea with your hair ruffled, and as miserable as
you could be. He must be happy again to-day, for your hair is quite
smooth. When is he going to marry Lady Mary?"
"He is not going to marry Lady Mary at all. What nonsense! Lady Mary,
indeed! You don't know anything about it! Give me another cup of tea,
and tell me what you have been grumbling about. It doesn't sound a
cheerful topic for New Year's Day, but I would rather have even that
than hear such ridiculous remarks! Grumbling! What can you have to
grumble about, I should like to know?"

"Oh, father!" The three young faces raised themselves to his in wide-
eyed protest. The exclamation was unanimous; but when it was over
there was a moment's silence before Hilary took up the strain.
"We are dull, father! We are tired of ourselves. You are all day long in
your study, the boys spend their time out of doors, and we have no
friends. In summer time we don't feel it, for we live in the garden, and
it is bright and sunny; but in winter it is dark and cold. No one comes to
see us, the days are so long, and every day is like the last."
"My dear, you have the housework, and the other two have their
lessons. You are only children as yet, and your school days are not over.
Most children are sent to boarding-schools, and have to work all day
long. You have liberty and time to yourselves. I don't see why you
should complain."
"Father, I should like to go to school--I long to go--I want to get on
with my music, and Miss Briggs can't teach me any more."
"Father, when girls are at boarding-schools they have parties and
theatricals, and go to concerts, and have all sorts of fun. We never have
anything like that."
"Father, I am not a child; I am nearly eighteen. Chrystabel Maynard
was only seventeen at the beginning of the book?"
Mr Bertrand stirred uneasily, and brushed the hair from his forehead.
Chrystabel Maynard was one of his own heroines, and the allusion
brought home the reality of his daughter's age as nothing else could
have done. His glance passed by Norah and Lettice and lingered
musingly on Hilary's face.
"Ha, what's this? The revolt of the daughters!" he cried. "Well, dears,
you are quite right to be honest. If you have any grievances on your
little minds, speak out for goodness' sake, and let me hear all about
them. I am not an ogre of a father, who does not care what happens to
his children so long as he gets his own way. I want to see you
happy.--So you are seventeen, Hilary! I never realised it before. You

are old enough to hear my reason for keeping you down here, and to
judge if I am right. When your mother died, three years ago, I was left
in London with seven children on my hands. You were fourteen then, a
miserable, anaemic creature, with a face like a tallow candle, and lips
as white as paper. The boys came home from school and ran wild about
the streets. I could not get on with my work for worrying about you all,
and a man must work to keep seven children. I saw an advertisement of
this house in the papers one day, and took it on the impulse of the
moment. It seemed to me that