"As things are, perhaps it is as well that Ella does not know more.
But--had they remained as they were, I don't know but that Mrs
Robertson _had_ a right to be told of Uncle Marcus's losses. Indeed, it
might have influenced her plans, possibly have prevented her marrying
again, had she known the child had nothing to look to in the future."
Madelene reddened.
"She _has_ something to look to in the future," she said, "she has _us_.
And I'm quite sure nothing of the kind would have stopped her aunt's
marrying again."
"`No fool like an old fool,' and everybody knows there's nothing on
earth as obstinate _as_ a fool. You're forgetting what you just said,
Phil," said Ermine.
"No, I'm not. I didn't say it would have stopped it once she had got it
into her head. I meant it might have prevented her ever thinking of
it," Philip replied.
"I don't see that it would have made any difference. Mrs Robertson
could never have _left_ Ella anything except savings, which couldn't
have come to much. But do leave off talking about money, Philip--I
perfectly hate it. Ermie and I have been driven into hating it in the
last two or three years since we came of age."
"And leave off talking about Ella, too, for a bit, do," said Ermine. "I
mean to do my duty by her when she comes, but oh! I am so tired of the
subject! Don't you think we might have tea now, Maddie? I don't
believe papa will be back for ever so long."
"Certainly--it would be nonsense to wait for him--will you--oh, thank
you, Philip, yes, just ring the bell at the side-door, twice. They
understand. What a comfort it is to have some one who knows our little
ways!"
"A tame cat," said Philip meekly, "Well, thank you. You are not so
lavish of civil speeches to me, you and Ermine, as to make me inclined
to quarrel with even the ghost of one."
"Come now, that's not quite fair," said Ermine, as the kettle and hot
cakes duly made their appearance, "one doesn't make civil speeches to
one's best friends, one keeps them, like calling cards, for
acquaintances."
"Well, not civil speeches then--nice, gratifying speeches."
"I should have thought you must be tired of that sort of thing,"
Madelene replied.
Philip looked at her with an expression of inquiry, but of annoyance,
too.
"Do you mean, Maddie, that you think I am spoilt?" he said. "If you do,
I wish you would say so plainly."
Madelene felt a little conscience-stricken.
"No," she said, "I don't really. But I think it is a great wonder that
you are not. You are a fair prey to flattery--rich, handsome, clever--"
"Madelene, stop," exclaimed Philip. "I might retaliate--why are you and
Ermine not spoilt then?"
Miss St Quentin hesitated.
"I don't know," she said at last naively. "I don't think women--girls--
do spoil so easily. And then--there are heaps of girls, here in
England, as good-looking and far better-looking than we are--it is much
rarer to find a man as handsome as you, Phil. And then--we have had
more anxieties and responsibilities than you, and they keep one from
being spoilt."
"I have granny," said Philip. "I don't mean that she is an anxiety or a
responsibility, but she is--pretty sharp on one, you know. She wouldn't
let me be spoilt."
"No," said Madelene, "she is very sensible. And after all you needn't
look so cross, Philip. I didn't say you _were_ spoilt--I said on the
contrary it was great credit to you that you were not."
"You didn't," said Philip, "you allowed me no credit whatever in the
matter. I do think it's rather hard on me to have all this severe
handling just because I said I liked nice speeches from people I cared
for--mind you, people I care for. That's quite a different thing from
being open to flattery."
"Well, of course, it is," said Madelene. "We don't seem to be
understanding each other with our usual perfection of sympathy, somehow,
to-day."
"It's all because of that tiresome child's coming," said Ermine crossly.
"I'm afraid Philip is right in dreading it. `Coming events cast their
shadows before them.' I can't say I think Ella's advent is likely to
add to our sunshine."
Just then came the sound of wheels up the avenue. "What can that be?"
said Madelene.
"Callers," Philip suggested.
"No, it is getting too late. Besides--it sounds too slow and heavy for
a carriage or pony-carriage. It is more like--" and she hesitated.
"Maddie won't commit herself," said Ermine laughing. "She sets up for a
sort of `Fine Ear' in the fairy-story, don't you know, Philip?"
"No," said Madelene. "It isn't that. I only hesitated because what I
was going to say seemed so silly. I thought it sounded so like the old
Weevilscoombe fly--and what _could_ it be coming here for at this time?
The old Miss Lyndens hire it when they come out for their yearly visit,
but that is over and past a fortnight ago."
That it was an arrival of some kind, however, became clear. In another
minute the hall bell was heard to ring--it was a bell of ponderous
clang, impossible to mistake for any other.
Then the figure of Barnes, the butler--Barnes who never disturbed
himself except on occasions of peculiar importance--was seen hastening
along the terrace. The three cousins stared at each other.
"What can it be?" said Madelene, growing rather pale. "Can papa have
met with an accident?"
The same thought had struck Sir Philip: he did not reply, but looked
apprehensively towards Barnes.
"If you please, ma'am," said that functionary, puffing a little with
excitement and quick movement, "if you please, ma'am, it's--it's a lady.
A young lady, with luggage--from Weevilscoombe, I suppose--anyhow, it's
the Weevilscoombe fly as has brought her--" but though there was plenty
of time for Madelene to have here exclaimed "I knew it," she did not
avail herself of Barnes's pause, for this purpose.
"A young lady;" she repeated; "there must be some mistake. We are not
expecting any one. What is her name--she gave it, I suppose?"
"Yes, ma'am," said Barnes, hesitating still more--though he had all the
air and bearing of an old servant he had not been more than five or six
years in their service--"she did and she said as her name was `Miss St
Quentin'."
The three looked at each other again.
"Miss St Quentin," they at last repeated, simultaneously, though not
perfectly so--Madelene was a little behind the others and her "tin" came
out last.
"I thought," began Barnes again, "I took the liberty of thinking, it
must be a mistake. From what I have 'eard, ma'am, I should say it was,
so to say, a slip of the tongue, the young lady being accustomed to be
so addressed, living at a distance, if so be as I shrewbly suspect that
her rightful desergnation is Miss--Hella St Quentin, the third Miss St
Quentin, ma'am."
And again--too startled to feel any inclination to smile at the butler's
grandiloquence, which was often, almost more than any one's risible
nerves could stand unmoved--the three cousins looked at each other. And
again they made simultaneously the same exclamation; this time
consisting of but one word,--
"Ella!" they all three ejaculated.