One dark December morning Theo found a letter lying on her plate on the
breakfast-table; not the long, white envelope addressed in her own
writing, which her soul abhorred, but a business-looking epistle,
stamped on which was the magic name of _The Casket Magazine_. She
gulped, tore open the envelope, and read the golden news: "I have read
with much interest your original little story, and have pleasure in
accepting it for the magazine." "Your original little story--have
pleasure in accepting it." Theo gulped again, and laughed with the
tears in her eyes. Oh, how often she had dreamt of this moment! How
she had longed for it, and sickened with dread lest it should never
come! She turned a radiant face upon her sisters, and waved her letter
in the air.
"Hurrah! At last! From Mr Hammond! He has accepted my story, and
calls it very original. A story in the _Casket_! Girls, do you realise
it? Do you realise how you are honoured by sitting at the same table
with _me_!" She laughed again, in tremulous fashion, and Madge bowed
elaborately, coffee-cup in hand.
"Your health, my dear! I look towards you! You have done it this time.
To be a contributor to the _Casket_ is like being hung on the line in
the Academy. Sha'n't I brag about you at the Slade?"
"It is simply splendid, dear. I do hope they will put your name to it.
It will be so disappointing if they don't," said Philippa the tactless.
She was overflowing with sympathy with Theo in her success, and yet,
poor dear! she must needs call attention to the one existing drawback;
for the _Casket_ was as conservative as it was high-class--scorned to
invite popularity by illustrations or artistic cover, and more often
than not left a blank opposite the titles of stories and articles. It
was at such moments as these that Theo felt that she could endure with
resignation Philippa's speedy marriage and departure from the home
circle. Only five minutes since she had heard the wonderful news, and
already a little cloud came floating across the brightness of the sky;
for it was little use appearing in the best magazine of the day if no
one knew of it but yourself, and an admiring public remained in
ignorance of your name.
"How _horrid_ of you to suggest such a thing! You might let me enjoy
myself when I can," she cried irritably. "You are a perfect wet
blanket, Philippa--always sitting on us, and depreciating what we do.
It is too bad--spoiling my pleasure when I have waited so long."
"I! _I_ spoil your pleasure--_I_ depreciate you!" Philippa was fairly
gasping with surprise and wounded feeling. "When I slave for you all
day long! When I take everything off your hands, so that you may give
your time to your work! When it is through me you are here at all! You
cruel, ungrateful girl, how can you have the heart to speak to me in
such a way?"
"I'm sure I don't want you to slave for me. I am quite capable of doing
my own mending, if you refer to that. I should _like_ to take more
share in the housekeeping, but you are so jealous if any one
interferes."
"Jealous! Oh, oh! Jealous!" repeated Philippa dramatically. Her eyes
were beginning to grow tearful. Theo's dark brows met in an ominous
frown; there were all the signs of a row royal, when Hope came flying to
the rescue.
"Girls, girls, _be quiet_!" she cried, banging her fist on the table in
imperative fashion. "You shall _not_ quarrel when we ought to be so
happy! This is the best success we have had, and it would be
disgraceful to spoil it by quarrelling like babies. You are both to
blame, so no apologies are needed, but for goodness' sake smile and look
pleasant."
"I'm sure I am only too willing. I want to smile if I am allowed," said
Theo gloomily.
"I'm sure I don't want to quarrel. Perhaps I had better go away and
leave you to yourselves, since I am such a wet blanket," sniffed
Philippa into her pocket-handkerchief. Madge gave Hope a warning kick
under the table, and began to chatter as unconcernedly as if nothing had
occurred.
"You can always write `Contributor to the _Casket, etc_,' beneath your
name on the back of your MSS, Theo. No need to mention that the _et
cetera_ means the _Penny Penman_! And if you intimate to all whom it
may concern that you write anonymously for the _Casket_, you may get
credit for half-a-dozen stories instead of one. I wonder what they will
pay you for it, and how soon it will appear. Won't the Hermit be
impressed? He says it is the only magazine worth reading. Do knock at
the door and tell him, Phil, as you go out for your shopping."
Wily Madge wished to offer a sop to each of the combatants, and had the
satisfaction of seeing Philippa smile faintly, and the complacent
expression return to Theo's face.
"I knew it was a splendid story when I sent it off," said the author
modestly. "Ten pounds at least, I should think, as it is such a
first-class magazine. It took me less than four days, with all the
correction and rewriting. Ten pounds a week; how much is that a year?
If I earned five hundred a year it would make a difference in our
exchequer, wouldn't it, Phil?"
The olive branch was held out with a smile, and as Philippa checked
herself on the verge of remarking that it would be difficult to sell a
story a week, peace was restored once more. The housekeeper went about
her duties, and the author experienced that alternate elation and
depression which follows artistic success. She had created something of
real merit and power; that was a thrilling reflection, but quickly
following came the dreary certainty that virtue had gone out of her, and
she would never be able to do so well again. She hastened to her desk,
hoping to disprove the dread by writing something better still; but,
alas! her heroine sulked persistently, refused to be cajoled into
conversation, and after being dragged through half-a-dozen pages, was
promptly condemned to the flames. It appeared that even when one had
begun to ascend the ladder there was imminent danger of falling off!
Years later, when Theo had made a name for herself as an author of power
and originality, she used to look back on that morning and smile at her
own ignorance in having supposed for a moment that the battle was won.
It was only begun, and it was a battle which had to be waged to the end.
There could be no sitting down and congratulating one's self on
victory; no relaxation of care and study, for each fresh success brought
its onus of responsibility, and made it more imperative for her to
maintain her best. There were times when she thought wearily of Mr
Hammond's suggestion of "the bonnet-shop," and realised that millinery
would have been easier end more remunerative, but there was never an
hour when she regretted her choice of a career. It seemed to her that
no other work could be so absorbing--such a constant refuge from self.
Fortune had evidently made up her mind to smile upon the Charrington
sisters this Christmas-tide, for Minnie Caldecott approved
enthusiastically of the design for her concert programme, and the
nursery frieze found a purchaser the first time it was exhibited. Madge
had summoned courage to show the latter to "Pepper" on its completion,
when he found a dozen faults, and made huge pencil-markings to
illustrate his meaning, the while the artist writhed in agony; but
finally he turned up trumps in the most delightful manner by giving her
an introduction to the firm with whom she finally transacted her
bargain. Judging from the experiences of the past few months, she had a
future before her in this particular branch of her art, and might in
time make a comfortable income; but it was not in the least the work she
had coveted. She burned to create great subjects on great canvases--to
paint with strong, lurid brush--and lo! it appeared that it was her
mission to design pretty leaflets and comic pictures for the nursery.
It was a blow, but Madge had the good sense to realise that it is better
to excel in humble work than to struggle painfully after the
unattainable.
As for Hope, she sang and danced about the house with a sudden return to
her old light spirits, which puzzled two sisters, and furnished valuable
copy to a third. The short interview with Truda Bennett had made
everything rose-coloured again, though in truth it was a trifle
exasperating to remember Mrs Loftus's invitation. Oh, to think that
even now she might have been at The Shanty, with no secret promise to
hinder her enjoyment of Ralph's society; that they might have been
walking together along the country lanes; sitting side by side in the
evenings!
"That tonic has given you quite a colour. I shall try it myself," said
Philippa, looking up from her stocking-basket to admire the sweet
pink-and-white face at the opposite side of the table. "Mr Neil was
saying the other day that so few town girls have any colour. I have
lost mine with sitting so much in the house, but I might try what a
bottle would do. It only costs a shilling at that wholesale chemist's.
I do look such a faded old creature beside you, Hope; and, after all, I
am only two years older!"
Hope laughed--a delightfully scornful, reassuring laugh.
"Faded old creature, indeed! when we were only remarking this week that
you were looking handsomer than ever. And happier, too. That's because
Barney will be home so soon; isn't it, dear?"
"Of course. What else should it be?" said Philippa; and, to do her
justice, she spoke in all sincerity.
Theo's suggestion that she should consult the Hermit as to Barney's
future had been accepted with an unmoved face, and put into immediate
execution; and as a result of the conference a letter was even now on
its way to Mr Neil's younger brother in Canada, asking if it would be
possible to receive the boy as a pupil on his large farm and ranch, and
train him for future work on his own account. Philippa shed bitter
tears at the thought of parting from her boy, but the Hermit insisted
that it was the right thing to do, though he was much perturbed at the
sight of her distress.
"I seem fated to make you cry," he said miserably. "Do you remember
that first time! I shall never forget your face, all streaming with
tears, and with such a miserable, helpless expression!"
"I must have looked very--ugly," said Philippa, with a sob. She
reflected that by the same course of reasoning she must look ugly now,
and dried her eyes with remarkable promptness, while the Hermit sat in
admiration of her fortitude.
If Barney was to be at home for a short time only, his sisters were
determined to make that time as happy as possible, so that his
recollections should carry with them no sting of reproach. In conclave
together they agreed that the dear boy would be embarrassed and
depressed, and that all means must be taken to convince him of their
full and free forgiveness, and to put him at his ease once more.
"I shall go to meet him," Philippa said. "It will be less trying for
him than having to see us all at once. And I am going to put up new
curtains in his room--he hated those old moreen atrocities--and make it
look bright and cheerful, as if it had been kept ready for him all the
time. I'm going to be so busy this week, I don't know how I shall get
through all I want to do in the way of preparation."
Alas for Philippa! her work during the next few days was to lie in bed
and burn and shiver with an attack of the prevalent influenza. Hope
acted nurse, and Theo said blandly, "Don't worry, dear; I will look
after the house. I know exactly what to do"--a statement which the
invalid received with undisguised incredulity.
"Shell make an awful mess of it," she sighed; but Theo had no intention
of failing. She was a clever, capable girl, who could do most things
well if she chose to give them her attention; and, as we know, she had a
special reason for displaying her housekeeping powers. She put aside
her writing for the time being, studied the cookery-book and the shop
windows in the morning, and in the afternoon enveloped herself in a huge
white apron and put into practice what she had learned. All old
housekeepers are apt to get into a rut and supply the same dishes over
and over again, and Philippa was no exception to the rule, so it
happened that the very novelty of Theo's menus commanded success, and
the invalid was constantly assured that she need not hurry out of bed,
since all was going on swimmingly without her. If she shed tears at the
intelligence, it was put down to the depression which was a part of the
illness, and she was urged to take a cup of Theo's beef-tea--"Such
excellent beef-tea!"--or to take some of Theo's jelly--"Wonderfully good
jelly!"--by way of restorative.
There could be no going to meet Barney now. The most she could do was
to crawl out of bed an hour before he was expected and look on feebly at
the final preparations. She searched for a dozen deficiencies--hoping,
if the truth were told, to see tangible proofs of her absence--but all
was orderly, dainty, and appropriate: the best china on the table,
flowers in the vases, the fatted chickens roasting in the oven, and
Barney's favourite pudding all ready to be served, with its whipped
cream ornamented in professional style with candied cherries and
angelica.
"You must sit still in that easy-chair, poor darling! _I'll_ carve,"
said Theo kindly; but Philippa felt much more inclined to snap than to
be grateful for her consideration. She hated to be out of her usual
place on this evening of all others, and to be obliged to play the part
of spectator while Theo issued orders for the prodigal's reception.
"Madge, you must chatter as hard as you can. You are always bragging
about your powers of conversation; now let us see what you can do.
There must be no awkward pauses. It doesn't matter what you say, but
say _something_.--Hope, you had better run to the door and meet him
first--no one could be afraid of _you_--and sit next to Steve at table,
and stamp on his toes if he makes improving remarks. There will be
plenty of time for that later on. We mustn't spoil the first evening.
We won't let Barney linger over the greetings, but hurry him off to his
own room to prepare for dinner. It shall be served the moment he comes
back. It is so much less formidable to talk when one is eating!"
She had thought of everything--all the little niceties of consideration
which Phil herself had planned but had not yet put into words. She
could think of no objection which would have been reasonable to advance,
but made a feeble plea to be allowed to be first at the door, when Theo
cried loudly, "My dear, with that face! You would frighten the poor boy
into running away again!" and there was plainly no more to be said.
At six o'clock Barney's train was due at Waterloo. It was calculated
that he would reach home before the half-hour, and soon after the
quarter Theo set the front-door ajar, and the four sisters sat trembling
with excitement, straining their ears for the first footstep. Steve and
the Hermit were to bring the boy home from the station, and Philippa
thought pitifully of his embarrassment as he sat opposite the two solemn
faces. This home-coming must be an awful ordeal, despite the letters of
encouragement and forgiveness which had been sent to Madeira, and again
to Southampton, and for her own part she dreaded to see the bright face
clouded and ashamed.
The moments passed and no one spoke; it was half-past six--twenty-five
minutes to seven--and still Barney did not come. The invalid shivered
and drew her shawl more closely round her; Theo poked the fire and swept
the grate clear of ashes; Hope was in the act of leaving the room to
peer over the banisters, when a sound from below startled all four
sisters into instant attention. It was a sound with which they were all
familiar; perhaps the last sound in the world which they expected to
hear at that moment--a burst of merry, boyish laughter.
"Bar-ney!" gasped Phil in an incredulous whisper. The other girls stood
like so many statues, frozen into the position in which the sound had
reached them. The leaping footsteps drew nearer and nearer, a voice
called out, "Avast, there, my hearties!" and a big, bronzed fellow threw
open the door, and seizing each sister in turn, swung her off her feet
in the ardour of his greeting. Madge's embrace was every whit as loving
as that given to her sisters; for Barney had forgotten that he had left
her in anger, forgotten her bitter words, as, alas! he seemed to have
forgotten his own folly and wrong-doing.
There was no need for Theo's elaborate precautions; the truant was as
absolutely, transparently at his ease as if he had been out for
half-an-hour's stroll, instead of a voyage across the world. It was his
sisters who sat silent and embarrassed through the meal which followed,
while he ate three helpings of chicken and pudding, and discoursed in
picturesque fashion on a life on the ocean wave. Steve, always anxious
to improve an occasion, had many questions to ask concerning the distant
lands which had been visited; but though Barney could converse fluently
enough on the iniquities of the sailors or the idiosyncrasies of the
passengers on whom he had waited, he was but a poor hand at useful
information. What he approved was "ripping," what he disliked was
"tommy rot," but these descriptions were hardly satisfactory from a
geographic or climatic point of view.
By nine o'clock Philippa was wan and spent, and went off to bed, trying
in vain to reason away the ache at her heart. It was all so different--
so very different from what she had expected! She did not want to see
her boy broken in spirit, but this unabashed assurance frightened her,
as indicating a deeper carelessness and lack of moral fibre than she had
suspected. It seemed incredible that Barney should show no sign of
regret for the anxiety which he had caused; yet, on the other hand, what
was the sense of writing that bygones were bygones, and all offences
forgiven and forgotten, and then of lamenting because she was taken at
her word! Philippa tossed restlessly on her pillow, and being weak and
tired, cried steadily from the time she lay down until some one came
into the room with her next dose of medicine, and turned up the gas over
the mantelpiece.
"Don't, Hope," she cried weakly; but it was not Hope, but Barney
himself, who raised her head on his arm and held the glass to her lips.
"Now then, old lady! I'm no end of a good nurse nowadays, so I thought
I had better come and look after you myself. There was an old Johnny
coming home from the Cape, in one of the deck-cabins." He stopped
suddenly, and Philippa knew that he had noticed her tear-stained eyes.
"He was very bad, and I had to dose him every hour," he concluded
lamely, then bent over her with curious gaze. "What have you been
crying about? About _me_?"
"I'm--not well. It has upset me seeing you again, and thinking of all
that has happened."
"Was it that that made you ill to start with--my going off, I mean!"
It was a curious change of feeling to have taken place in a couple of
hours, but Philippa actually found herself wishing that she could answer
in the affirmative, and casting about in her mind for some honest reply
which would yet lay some burden of responsibility upon those careless
shoulders.
"I have been laid up only a week, but I think I was run down by all the
strain and suspense. We had a terrible fortnight--"
Barney frowned and drew his hand away from the coverlet.
"So had I. I was beastly sick. It is all right, though, Phil. I've
brought home enough money to pay you back. I got some rattling good
tips. That old Johnny I told you of--"
"Oh Barney, Barney, it was not the money! I never thought of the
money," cried Phil, with such a wail of despair as brought the boy's
eyes upon her with startled questioning. The two faces confronted each
other, so like, yet so unlike, and the boy flushed darkly through his
tan.
"Well, you needn't have worried about--_that_ either. I told you I
would remember. I gave my promise, and I--kept it, Phil. There were
lots of things I wanted to do. It was awfully dull not being able to go
about with the other fellows, but I kept my word. And I wanted to spend
the money, too. There was the 'cutest little monkey you ever saw,
trained to do all sorts of tricks. It was jolly hard lines not being
able to bring it home as a present to you girls, but I thought under the
circumstances it might be bad form."
"Oh Barney, Barney!" cried Philippa, laughing uncontrollably even as the
tears rolled down her cheeks. It was such balm in Gilead to know that
the promise had been kept; it was so ridiculously, inimitably like
Barney that he should mix up monkeys with the story of his repentance.
"I'm so very, very thankful for everything," she whispered; "for the
things you didn't do, and--the monkey that didn't come. Kiss me,
Barney. I shall get well quickly now that you are back."
Barney did as he was asked, not once, but many times over, and kept his
big fingers clasped closely round hers while he asked anxiously:
"You won't want to send me back to an office, will you, Phil? The
Hermit has been telling me about his brother in Canada. That's the sort
of thing I should like if it could be arranged. It will be beastly
leaving home again. I never knew it was such a thundering nice place
until I left this time. But it is my only chance; I should never do any
good in the City. You will let me go, won't you, Phil?"
"Yes, Barney," said Philippa sadly. "It is the hardest thing you could
ask me, but if it is for your good I must not think of myself. You
shall go, dear, as soon as an opening is found; and we will give you as
complete an outfit as can be bought, but after that we can do no more.
You will have to stand by yourself and fight your own battles. There
will be no home open if you run away from your work, and no stupid old
sister to spoil you and give you a fresh start."
The smile with which Barney regarded her was at once charming and
pathetic--so full of warm-hearted affection, so radiantly complacent and
assured.
"Canada is not far off; it would be as good as being in England, for it
is under the old flag, and the people are so jolly loyal and brave. I
could come back every two or three years, and when I get a home of my
own you will have to come out and visit me. Don't you worry, old girl;
I'll get on like a house on fire, and I promise you to keep out of
mischief. There will be no chance of getting into it, for one thing,
away out in the wilds."
"Oh Barney, Barney, don't be so sure! There will be difficulties and
temptations wherever you go, and you must be prepared to meet them.
Don't be content to promise _me_, dear. Promise yourself--the strong,
good man you were meant to be. Promise God, Barney, and ask Him to help
you to stand fast."
It was not Philippa's habit to preach, and the fact gave additional
weight to her solemn words. Barney looked awed and impressed, and
thoroughly uncomfortable into the bargain. "All right, Phil, I'll
remember," he said softly; but the next moment he discovered that she
looked tired, and hurried away. Philippa heard him go into his own
room, and presently the sound of his voice reached her ears, raised in
happy strains:
"Jack's the boy, when girls are sad,
To kiss their tears away."
He had been serious for five minutes on end, and the strain was
evidently too much for his constitution; but Philippa lay awake far into
the night, talking to God about her boy, asking His help where she had
failed. It was the truest of all comforts to feel that the far-off
country was still near to Him.
Fortunately for all concerned, the letter from the Hermit's brother
proved in every respect satisfactory, for the Loftus family washed their
hands of Barney, going out of their way to refuse help before it was
asked. The `mannikin' would, no doubt, have acted differently had he
been permitted, but his wife told him sternly that he could not allow
_all_ his friends to be victimised by that dreadful boy, when he said,
"Yes, my dear--yes! No, my dear--no!" and collapsed, as his custom was.
The Charringtons were hardly disappointed, for they had learned long
ago that--except where Hope was concerned--it was useless to expect
sympathy from Aunt Loftus. Avice's affection for Hope made her a
welcome guest, and she was frequently asked to fill a vacant place at a
dinner-table, or presented with a ticket for an afternoon concert which
she would not otherwise have been able to afford. It was at such a
concert that Hope's next meeting with Ralph Merrilies took place, and
through all her embarrassment she noticed the glance exchanged between
him and Avice as he seated himself in the vacant stall by her side.
There was no surprise in her cousin's languid eyes, but something very,
very like triumph at the completion of a well-laid scheme. Could it be
possible that the seat had been designedly reserved?
As we all know, well-bred people never dream of whispering or talking at
classical concerts, and Hope's devotion to her programme was so
continual and absorbing that her next-door neighbour could study her
profile at his ease, and wonder if there was another girl in the world
who had such long eyelashes and such a sweet, winsome mouth. The
interval seemed a long time in coming, but it came at last, and then
Avice gave Ralph another eloquent glance and carried off her mother to
speak to some friends at the other side of the hall. The occupants of
stalls to right and left were also moving about and chattering together,
and to the two who were left seated there was a sense of solitude in the
midst of a crowd.
"Wasn't it beautiful?" asked Hope, still studying her programme.
"Very!" replied Ralph; but they were not referring to the same subject.
He rested his arm on the back of the seat and said softly:
"Never mind that programme just now. Talk to me. I haven't seen you
for months. Mrs Loftus told me that you refused her invitation to The
Shanty. I had been hoping to meet you there."
"And I was sorry not to go, but we were in trouble at the time, and I
felt I ought to stay at home. Did you have a good time?"
"Fairly so. It suffered from contrast. It was amusing to meet Miss
Bennett in her new role."
"I met her a few weeks ago at the Carlton."
"So she told me." There was a meaning expression in his voice which
made the blood rush into Hope's face. He bent nearer to her, his eyes
fixed earnestly on hers. "What made you think that? What made you
imagine for a moment that she could be engaged to met."
"I can't tell you," replied Hope, truthfully enough. She stared down at
the programme, and became intently occupied in plaiting its cover
between her fingers. "I knew it was some one whom I had met at The
Shanty, and I took for granted that it was you."
"You can't truthfully tell me that you thought I was in love with her
last year?"
"N-no."
"Did it ever strike you that I was in love with some one else?" The
elbow moved its position and encroached on the corner of her own chair.
"Hope, I want you to answer a question. Did you refuse to let me call
upon you in town because you knew I loved you, and thought it was
impossible to care for me in return?"
The grey eyes were lifted at that with an air of startled disclaimer.
"Oh no, no! Quite the contrary!" cried Hope eagerly.
The next moment confusion seized her as she recognised the inference,
but the words were spoken beyond recall, and Ralph's glowing face showed
that he was not likely to forget them.
"You darling! Hope, do you mean it? Have we been misunderstanding each
other all this time?" He stretched his hand towards hen, then hurriedly
drew it back as an old lady put up her _pince-nez_ to regard him from
afar. "Hang these people! What a nuisance they are! I'll tell you a
secret, Hope. I fell in love with you that very first evening while you
were singing your little song, and I've been uncommonly miserable ever
since. Well?"
"Well--what?"
"One expects some response to a statement like that!"
Hope gave a soft, contented laugh.
"I--liked you too, and I have been _wretched_! What made you come here
to-day?"
"Truda told me about your interview, and volunteered the intelligence
that you seemed relieved to discover that I was not the happy man. She
spoke to Avice too, I imagine, for I was asked to join you this
afternoon in a very marked manner."
So Truda had repented her jealous exactions, and had tried to undo the
mischief which they had wrought. That was generous of her, but Hope
blushed with a discomfited air as she said:
"I thought I pretended so beautifully! I thought no one could guess.
There is something else I want to explain. That evening last winter
when you wanted to see me home--it was not my fault that I disappeared
before you came back. Mrs Welsby asked me to take charge of a little
girl, and sent me off in a cab."
"Humph!" exclaimed Mrs Welsby's brother dryly. "What a comfort it would
be if people attended to their own business in this world! And were you
sorry, Hope? Were you disappointed?"
"I cried," said Hope simply; and once again Ralph Merrilies looked round
at the other occupants of the stalls and breathed a wish that they were
at any other part of the world than just that inhabited by Hope and
himself.
At the conclusion of the interval Avice came back to her seat, and
looking shyly around, found the answer to her question in two flushed,
radiant faces.
"I'm so glad, Hope!" she whispered, pressing her cousin's hand beneath
the shelter of that useful programme. "It is just what I wanted. I
helped you a little, didn't I? I asked him on purpose."
"I shall love you for it all my life," said Hope shyly.
"So shall I," said Ralph; "but--why didn't you do it sooner?"
Two hours later Hope ascended the stairs leading to the little flat,
having dismissed an unwilling lover who had been anxious to introduce
himself to his future sisters-in-law and fix the date of his wedding
without a moment's delay. She tried hard to control her features as she
entered the dining-room, and to look less ridiculously happy, but it was
of no avail. The girls gaped at her in astonishment as she stood
blushing and smiling before them, and Madge cried severely:
"What is the matter! You look mightily pleased with yourself, my dear.
What mischief have _you_ been up to this afternoon?"
"Please," said Hope humbly, "I've been getting engaged!" and the scene
which followed approached delirium in its excitement.
"And to think that I did not even know his name!" Philippa exclaimed
when a hundred questions had been asked and answered, and Hope had been
kissed and hugged to her heart's content. "You _were_ quiet about it!
How did you manage to get along without some one to comfort you all
these long months?"
"Theo knew," said Hope; and at that a little frown showed itself on
Philippa's forehead. It was a blow to her vanity to find that another
had been chosen before herself, and though she made no comment, she was
filled with a yearning for a closer sympathy and appreciation than she
received in the home circle.
"Sometimes I feel as if I had come to the end of my work," she said
wistfully to the Hermit when he came upstairs during the evening to
congratulate the bride-elect. "When Barney goes abroad and Hope marries
we shall be a very small family, and Theo is growing so clever at
housekeeping. When I was ill they got on quite well without me. It
seems as if the time had come when I was no longer needed. It makes me
feel quite sad!"
"You must not feel that. Er--er--_fresh_ duties may arise," stammered
the Hermit in consolation.
Madge looked at them across the room, and dropped her sagacious chin.
"At this rate," she said to herself--"at this precipitate rate--they
will be finding out what they want in the course of the next three or
four years!"
The End.