Sparrows | Page 6

you would make it out to be, Eva," remarked Mrs Devitt, who disliked the fact of her unmarried sister possessing sharper wits than her own.
"Oh! I say, is that your own?" guffawed Devitt from his place on the hearthrug.
"Why shouldn't it be?" asked Miss Spraggs demurely.
"Anyway," continued Mrs Devitt impatiently, "she wishes to know if I am in want of a companion, or anything of that sort, as she has a teacher she is unable to keep owing to her school having fallen on bad times."
"Then she's young!" cried Lowther, who was lolling near the window.
"'Her name is Mavis Keeves; she is the only daughter of the late Colonel Keeves, who, I believe, before he was overtaken by misfortune, occupied a position of some importance in the vicinity of Melkbridge,'" read Mrs Devitt from Miss Annie Mee's letter.
"Keeves! Keeves!" echoed her husband.
"Do you remember him?" asked his wife.
"Of course," he replied. "He was a M.F.H. and knew everyone" (everyone was here synonymous with the elect the Devitts were pining to meet on equal terms). "His was Sir Henry Ockendon's place."
The prospects of Mavis Keeves securing employment with the Devitts had, suddenly, increased.
"How was it he came 'down'?" asked the agreeable rattle, keenly interested in anything having to do with the local aristocracy, past or present.
"The old story: speculatin' solicitors," replied Montague, who made a point of dropping his "g's." "One week saw him reduced from money to nixes."
Mrs Devitt raised her eyebrows.
"I mean nothin'," corrected Devitt.
"How very distressing!" remarked Victoria in her exquisitely modulated voice. "We should try and do something for her."
"We will," said her father.
"We certainly owe a duty to those who were once our neighbours," assented Miss Spraggs.
"Do you remember her?" asked Mrs Devitt of her husband.
"Of course I do, now I come to think of it," he replied.
"What was she like?"
He paused for a moment or two before replying.
"She'd reddy sort of hair and queer eyes. She was a fine little girl, but a fearful tomboy," said Devitt.
"Pretty, then!" exclaimed Mrs Devitt, as she glanced apprehensively at her step-daughter.
"She was then. It was her hair that did it," answered her husband.
"H'm!" came from his wife.
"The pretty child of to-day is the plain girl of to-morrow" commented Miss Spraggs.
"What was her real disposition?" asked Mrs Devitt.
"I know nothin' about that; but she was always laughin' when I saw her."
"Frivolous!" commented Mrs Devitt.
"Perhaps there's more about her in the letter," suggested Lowther, who had been listening to all that had been said.
"There is," said his step-mother; "but Miss Mee's writing is very trying to the eyes."
Montague took the schoolmistress's letter from his wife's hand. He read the following in his big, blustering voice:
"'In all matters affectin' Miss Keeves's educational qualifications, I find her comme il faut, with the possible exception of freehand drawing, which is not all that a fastidious taste might desire. Her disposition is winnin' and unaffected, but I think it my duty to mention that, on what might appear to others as slight provocation, Miss Keeves is apt to give way to sudden fits of passion, which, however, are of short duration. Doubtless, this is a fault of youth which years and experience will correct.'"
"Rebellious!" commented Mrs Devitt.
"Spirit!" said Harold, who all this while had been reclining in his invalid chair, apparently reading a review.
Mrs Devitt looked up, as if surprised.
"After all, everything depends on the point of view," remarked Miss Spraggs.
"Is there any more?" asked Harold.
By way of reply, his father read from Miss Mee's letter:
"'In conclusion, I am proud to admit that Miss Keeves has derived much benefit from so many years' association with one who has endeavoured to influence her curriculum with the writin's of the late Mr Ruskin, whose acquaintance it was the writer's inestimable privilege to enjoy. With my best wishes for your welfare, I remain, dear Madam, your obedient servant, Annie Allpress Mee.' That's all," he added, as he tossed the letter on to the table at his wife's side.
"Did she know Ruskin?" asked Harold.
"When I was at her school--it was then at Fulham--she, or her sister, never let a day go by without making some reference to him," replied his step-mother.
"What are you going to do for Miss Keeves?" asked Harold.
"It's so difficult to decide off-hand," his step-mother replied.
"Can't you think of anything, father?" persisted Harold.
"It's scarcely in my line," answered Montague, glancing at his wife as he spoke.
Harold looked inquiringly at Mrs Devitt.
"It's so difficult to promise her anything till one has seen her," she remarked.
"Then why not have her down?" asked Harold.
"Yes, why not?" echoed his brother.
"She can get here and back again in a day," added Harold, as his eyes sought his review.
"Very well, then, I'll write and suggest Friday," said Mrs Devitt, not too willingly taking up a pen.
"You can always wire and put