Book Two—Chapter Seven.

Book Two—Chapter Seven.Mr Durrant’s New Plan.Harriet took Ralph to her own room. There she changed all his things and made him get into her bed until she could fetch some fresh ones for him. He was cold, and shivering a great deal, but Harriet, quite unacquainted with the illnesses of young children, was not in the least alarmed. She ransacked Ralph’s wardrobe for another little drill suit, and he was dressed in new, dry clothes, and all trace of his ducking in the pond was removed before the party returned from their picnic.Harriet herself had remained much longer than Ralph in her wet things, but she also was in fresh garments when they stood holding each other’s hands ready to welcome the others on their return.Somehow, that ducking in the pond had quite managed to restore Harriet’s good humour. She and Ralph now held a secret between them, and she was firmly convinced that his friendship for Robina must be seriously weakened thereby.“Why, Ralph, my little man,” said his father, “you do look well.”He was pleased to see how bright his little son’s eyes were and what a high colour he had in his cheeks, and never guessed that the brightness of the eyes was caused by slight fever, and that the pretty cheeks were flushed for the same reason. At dinner time. Ralph, of his own accord elected to sit near Harriet, and at intervals during the meal he whispered in her ear:“None of them knew ’cept you and me I risked my life for you, and you risked your life for me.”“Yes, yes,” whispered Harriet back; “but none of the others must know. Don’t say those words so loud, Ralph, or they will hear us.”Ralph snuggled close to Harriet, now in an ecstasy at the thought which the great secret they held between them caused. The rest of the day’s programme was carried out in all its entirety. But towards evening, Ralph’s feverish symptoms had increased. During the picnic tea he was unable to eat anything, and Harriet when questioned had to confess that her throat was sore.The next day both Harriet and Ralph were ill, but Harriet was much worse than Ralph. To be in bed, to be unable to get up and enjoy the fresh air and the sunshine was a trial very hard for so small a boy as Ralph to bear; but when he was told that Harriet was worse than he, and that the doctor had to be sent for, he submitted to his own illness with a good grace. It was Robina who brought him the tidings.“Harriet is really ill,” she said; “but Dr Fergusson says that you will very soon be all right again; you have only caught a little cold: I wonder how you managed it.”“Oh, I know quite well all about it,” said Ralph.“Do you, dear? then you ought to tell us,” said Robina.Ralph’s soft brown eyes flashed with anger.“Does you think I’d be so mean?” he said.Robina looked at him in surprise. After a long time he made the following remark:“Harriet is quite the most noble girl in the world. If it was not for Harriet, there’d be no me at all.”Robina burst into a merry laugh.“Oh, Ralph; you funny little boy!” she said; “what are you talking about?”“You don’t understand Harriet,” was Ralph’s next speech, and he looked at Robina without the favour he used to bestow upon her. She was his school-mother and, of course, the one he loved best; but still she had never saved his life.“I wish I could see my darling Harriet,” he said, after a pause. “I wish I could see her all by my lone self. I want to talk to her. We has a great secret atween us.”The doctor, however, had forbidden Ralph to leave his bed that day, and certainly Harriet could not leave hers. In consequence, the children did not meet for a few days, and then it was rather a pale little boy who rushed into the arms of a thin, pale girl who, weak from the somewhat severe attack she had gone through, was seated in an easy chair not far from an open window.“Now go ’way, all of you,” said Ralph, “I want to talk to my ownest school-mother. I has a great secret to talk over with her.”The others obeyed without any protest. Robina, when she left the room, turned to Jane.“I am sure of one thing,” she said: “something must have happened that day when Ralph and Harriet were left alone together. They were both quite well even although Harriet was cross when we started on our expedition to the beach; but they both got ill that very night, and since then, Ralph has altered: he is devoted to Harriet.”“Perhaps he has learned to love Harriet best,” said Jane.In spite of herself, there was a tone of triumph in her voice, for was not Harriet her friend, and did not every one else adore Robina?“Would you mind?” she asked, fixing her round black eyes now on Robina’s face.“Mind?” replied Robina. “Yes,” she said, after a little pause, “I don’t like to own to such a horrid feeling, but I am proud of Ralph’s love.”She turned away as she spoke. She was going to her own room. In order to reach it, she had to pass the tiny chamber where Ralph slept. She found one of the maid-servants coming out. The woman had in her hand a little white drill suit all soaked through and much stained with the green weed which grows on ponds.“I have just found this, miss,” she said, “in the cupboard in Master Ralph’s room. I wonder how it came there. Surely, little Master Ralph has not had a ducking in the pond.”Robina felt the colour rushing into her face. For a minute, a sense of triumph filled her. Then she said, gently:“Send that suit to the wash, please, Maria; and,” she added, “do not say anything about it.”“There are stockings too, miss, all sopping, and shoes.”“You can have the shoes dried, can’t you?” said Robina.“Oh, yes, miss, certainly.”“Well, send all the other things to the wash.”“Yes, miss,” said the girl. “Perhaps,” she added, after a pause, “these things account for little Master Ralph not being well for the last few days.”“They may or may not, Maria: anyhow, we won’t talk about that,” said Robina.She went downstairs. Her heart was beating fast. The fierce desire to drag the truth from Harriet at any cost, which had overpowered her for a minute, had passed away. Her face was pale. She sat down on the nearest chair.“Are you tired, my dear?” said Mr Durrant, approaching her at this minute, and sitting down by her side.“No; not really tired,” she answered.“I am glad to find you all by yourself, Robina; there are many things I want to say to you.” Robina waited expectantly. “You and Ralph are capital friends, aren’t you?”“I hope so, indeed—indeed I love him dearly,” said Robina.“And so does he love you. I cannot tell you, Robina, how thankful I am that he has made a girl of your sort one of his greatest friends; he might so very easily have chosen otherwise. There is Harriet Lane, for instance. Poor Harriet, I don’t want to speak against her, but she is not your sort, my dear. Now I like an open mind, generous—if you will have it, a manly sort of girl, one with no nonsense in her: one, in short, who will help Ralph to be the sort of man I desire him to be by and by. You, my dear, as far as I can tell, are that sort of girl. You have no fear in you. You have, I think, an open mind and a generous disposition. Compared to Ralph, you are old, although of course in yourself you are very young. I shall have to leave my little boy immediately after the summer holidays. My wish was to send him to school—to Mrs Burton’s school—where he could have had a little discipline, school life, and the companionship of many young people. But I have received a letter from Mrs Burton which obliges me to alter my plans.”“Oh,” said Robina, speaking quickly, “I am very, very sorry—”“So am I, dear, more sorry than I can express. I am terribly upset about this letter, and I do not think it wrong to confide my trouble to you.” Here Mr Durrant drew his chair close to Robina’s side.“You see, my dear child, I treat you as though you were grown-up.”“Please do, Mr Durrant,” said Robina, “for there is nothing I would not do for you.”“Well, this is the position,” said Mr Durrant. “Mrs Burton won’t be able to conduct her own school for the next term. She has induced a lady, a great friend of hers, to take the school over, and her hope is that she may be able to return to it herself after Christmas. Even this, however, is doubtful. Mrs Burton’s friend, Miss Stackpole, has had much experience of schools, but she is a maiden lady; and, in short, will not admit dear little Ralph as one of her pupils. Mrs Burton is obliged to spend the next term with her only sister, who is dangerously ill, and must undergo a serious operation. My plans, therefore, for Ralph are completely knocked on the head. I cannot possibly take him with me to South Africa. I have undertaken an expedition to that country which is full of adventure and danger. No young child could accompany me. I cannot bear to send Ralph to the ordinary boys’ school; and, in fact, my dear Robina, it has occurred to me that if I could possibly get a lady, trustworthy, kind, sensible, to keep on this house, I might induce you to stay with her as Ralph’s companion. Were this the case, I would myself undertake all your future education. You should have the best masters, the best mistresses that money could secure, and eventually, if you wish it, you should go to Newnham or Girton. I would see your father, my dear Robina, on the subject, and arrange the matter with him. You would have a right good time, for the lady I have in my mind’s eye is a certain Miss Temple, a cousin of my own, a very gentle and sweet woman, who would do all she could for your comfort and happiness, and would not unduly coerce you. Being Ralph’s school-mother, and the girl he has chosen above all others as his special friend, I doubt not that he would love the arrangement. As to your fees at Mrs Burton’s school, those can, of course, be managed. What do you say, Robina? Are you willing to continue at Sunshine Lodge as my dear little boy’s greatest friend—in fact, as his little school-mother?”“Oh, I should like it!” said Robina. “But does it not depend on Ralph?” she continued.Mr Durrant moved rather impatiently. “I have never coerced Ralph in the least,” he answered. “My endeavour has been from his birth to allow my dear little boy to choose for himself. I believe in the young, clear judgment of extreme youth. I think that little children can penetrate far. Of all your school-fellows he chose you, Robina; and who, my dear child, could have been more worthy?”“But I am full of faults,” said Robina, tears springing to her eyes; “you don’t really know me. At home I am often blamed. My Aunt Felicia doesn’t think highly of me. You ought to go to my home and ask my own people what they really think with regard to me.”“It is my intention to do so. I must talk to your father and mother about this plan; but somehow, I do not think they will disappoint me, and as a matter of fact I do not believe any little girl could better help my little son than you can.”“Only suppose—suppose,” said Robina, “that he prefers Harriet.”“Harriet?” cried Mr Durrant; “but there is surely no chance of that?”“I don’t know, I am not sure. He likes Harriet certainly next best after me; he may even like her better.”“I think not: you are without doubt the favoured one. Robina, we are all alone now. Harriet Lane is your schoolfellow. Tell me honestly what you think about her.”Robina sprang to her feet.“As her schoolfellow,” she said, hastily, “I cannot tell you anything about her; please don’t ask me. This, Mr Durrant, is a very serious matter, and I—I would rather not say.”“You have answered me, my child,” said Mr Durrant, “and as I thought you would. Now, we will talk no more on the matter.”Robina left him, and went into the grounds. The happy summer days were slipping by. Why is it that summer days will rush past one so quickly on such swift wings, that almost before we know it, they have all gone—never, never to return?The eight little school-mothers at Sunshine Lodge wanted no one good thing that could add to the joys of life. From morning till night, their cup of bliss seemed to overflow. In addition to all the pleasures provided for them, they had perfect weather, for that summer was long to be remembered in England—that summer when day by day the sun shone in the midst of a cloudless sky, and the warm, mellow air was a delight even to breathe.While on this occasion Mr Durrant was having a long talk with Robina and giving her to understand what he really wished with regard to the future of his little son, that same little son was pouring out his heart to Harriet.“You is better, isn’t you?” he said.“Yes,” replied Harriet, who had resolved to make the very most of things. “But I was ill, very ill indeed: I don’t think the doctor expected me to live.”“And you’d have died—you’d have become deaded for me?” said Ralph.“Yes,” answered Harriet, patting the little brown hand. “But I am all right now,” she added; “I am only weak.”“I love you like anything,” said Ralph.“Of course you do, Ralph,” answered Harriet.“There is nothing at all I wouldn’t do for you.”Harriet longed to say: “Love me better than Robina, and I will have obtained my heart’s desire.” But she did not think the time for this speech had come yet; and as, in reality, notwithstanding her affection for Ralph, she found herself from time to time rather worried by his presence, she now requested him to leave her, and the little boy ran downstairs and out into the open air.There the first person he saw was his father.“Oh, dad!” said the boy, dancing up to his parent, and putting his little hand in his.“Well Ralph, old man,” said the great traveller, lifting the boy to his shoulder, “and how are you this afternoon?”“Werry well,” said Ralph, “nearly quite well,” he added.“And how is our other invalid, Harriet Lane?”“She is better, father. Dear Harriet has beenawfu’bad. Did you guess, father, how bad she was?”“No, my son: and I don’t think she was as bad as all that, for the doctor did not tell me so.”“But she telled me her own self. She wouldn’t tell a lie, would Harriet.”“Only, Ralph, when people are ill, they imagine they are much worse than they really are. That was the case with Harriet. She will be all right now in a day or two, and you can enjoy yourself as soon as possible.”“Oh yes; oh yes!” said Ralph. He clasped one arm round his father’s neck. “Why has you got such a big brown neck?”“Because, I suppose, I am a big brown man.”“I love brown men ever so,” said Ralph.“That is right.”“And I love you best of all; and—and Harriet, and Robina. I has got three very great special friends—you, and Harriet, and Robina.”“Why do you put them like that, Ralph?” answered his father, a certain uneasiness in his tone. “You mean it this way: you love father first—that is quite right—then comes Robina, then Harriet.”“It used to be like that,” said Ralph, in a very low tone.“And it is still, my son; it is still.”Ralph fidgetted, and was silent. After a time he said:“Put me down please, father.”Mr Durrant obeyed.“Take my hand, father,” said Ralph, “I want to lead you somewhere.”Mr Durrant took the little hand. Ralph conducted his father to the edge of the round pond.“Does you see the water over there?” said Ralph, “just over there where the lilies grow?”“Of course, my dear boy.”“And does you see the branch of the willow tree?”“Well, yes, Ralph; having eyes, I see both the lilies and the willow tree.”“Could you make a great, great guess, father, about how deep the water is there?”“Roughly speaking,” said Mr Durrant, “I should say the water in that part was from seven to eight feet deep.”Ralph straightened himself and looked full up at his father.“I isn’t eight feet high, is I?”Mr Durrant laughed.“You little man,” he said, “you are not four feet yet.”“Then if I was to stand bolt upright in that water where the lilies grow, I’d be drownded dead as dead could be?”“Were such a thing to happen, you would be.”“But if somebody swimmed out, somebody very, very brave, and clutched me, and brought me back to shore, I wouldn’t be a drownded boy; I’d be a saved boy,” said Ralph.“That is true.”“I’d most likely,” continued Ralph, “love that person very much.”“It would be a brave thing to do, certainly,” said Mr Durrant. “But then it has not happened, Ralph, so don’t let your imagination run away with you.”“No father,” said Ralph; “I won’t let my ’magination run ’way with me. I don’t quite know what it means, father; but—I won’t let it,—’cause then I shouldn’t be close to you, father; and I love you best, and then Harriet, and then Robina.”“Robina is a very fine girl,” said his parent. “I like her very much; I am glad she is your friend.”“So does I like her: she was my school-mother. I like Harriet too, father: I like herawfu’much. I mustn’t tell you nothing at all, but I like Harriet best of all my school-mothers.”Mr Durrant thought for a short time over Ralph’s little speech to him. It puzzled the good man not a little. He did not, however, lay it deeply to heart. The boy was under the influence of Harriet, and, truth to tell, Mr Durrant did not take to that young lady. He was, however, sufficiently interested in her to pay her a visit that same evening in her own room.She was a good deal startled and somewhat nonplussed when he first knocked at the door, then bent his tall head and entered the room.“Well, Harriet,” he said, “I thought I would find out for myself how you are. I hope you are progressing well, and will soon be able to join the rest of us. It was strange how you and Ralph both caught cold the same day: it was very unlucky. How are you to-night, my dear girl?”“Better,” said Harriet, changing colour as she spoke, for she was rather weak from her illness and was much excited by Mr Durrant’s visit. “I am better,” she continued; “I hope to be quite well by next week.”“So do I hope you will be quite well, for time is speeding very fast, Harriet: the summer holidays go almost before we know they are with us. Now I have many expeditions in my mind’s eye—expeditions in which I want you and Ralph to join. This is Saturday night. To-morrow is Sunday. To-morrow, I am going to leave home for a day or two, but on Monday I shall be back again. I hope by then to find you quite well and enjoying yourself with the rest of your school-fellows. Everything that man can do will be done for your pleasure, and I trust I shall find my little party without any invalids amongst them waiting to welcome me back on Monday evening at the latest.”“And what is going to happen on Tuesday?” asked Harriet, whose eyes began to sparkle now, for she had suddenly lost her fear of Mr Durrant.“The weather is so fine at present,” was his reply, “that I have chartered a yacht and am going to take you all for a cruise. What do you say to that? You are not likely to be sea-sick, are you?”“Never was sea-sick in the whole course of my life,” said Harriet, dimpling all over her face now with anticipation.“I thought I’d discovered something to please you. The sea breezes will put colour into those pale cheeks. Ponies, donkeys, governess carts will all be left behind, and for one long perfect week we shall coast round the Isle of Wight, and other parts of this perfect country. What do you say? I have already mentioned the matter to the others, and I find that they are, without a single exception, good sailors.”“I will be well enough, whoever else isn’t,” said Harriet, stoutly. “It’ll be lovely, lovely. You know I have spent all my early days at the seaside.”“Have you? Then of course you are accustomed to yachting.”“I am accustomed to going out in the fishing boats: I often did so at Yarmouth: I used to make great friends with the sailors.”“Then that will be capital, my dear. Now I am leaving early to-morrow. You won’t guess where I am going, will you?”“How can I guess, Mr Durrant?”“To no less a place than Robina’s home.”“Robina’s home,” said Harriet. She felt herself turning red, and one of her hands which had been lying idle on her lap, clenched itself tightly. “Why to Robina’s home?” she asked.“That is just it. I have a little scheme in my head; why should not I tell you? I have told her—why should not you also be in the secret?”“Oh, please, please tell me?” said Harriet. “I love secrets,” she added.“Most girls do. Well, this is the state of things. You know that my first intention was to send Ralph back to Mrs Burton’s school with you and the other school-mothers. He was to be primarily under Robina’s care, and the rest of you were of course to be good to him. Dear, kind Mrs Burton had consented to the arrangement, and everything was going well, when, lo and behold! I was obliged to change my plans.”“Oh!” said Harriet: “to change your plans—how? why?”“I will tell you why, dear Harriet, and I am sure you will sympathise with me. I know you have a great regard for my little boy, and I believe he returns your regard; therefore anything connected with his future will be of interest to you. Mrs Burton cannot receive Ralph at her school as she at first promised to do. She will herself give you her reasons for this, but I need not trouble you about them at the present moment. Suffice it to say that Ralph cannot go back to Abbeyfield, and therefore I have to make other arrangements for him.”“Yes,” said Harriet, in a breathless sort of voice. “Dear Ralph! He is such a sweet little boy. Have you made your arrangements, Mr Durrant?”“I am going to South Africa early in October,” was his reply, “and cannot take my dear little son with me: he must remain in England. Now, this house is quite to my liking. It is large, and airy and well drained and not far from the seaside. I know a lady, a special friend of mine, who will come to look after Ralph, and he can have the best masters at Eastbourne and a daily tutor who will come out here to instruct him. But all these advantages are not sufficient. He must have a companion. There is in my opinion no companion so suitable for all that Ralph requires as Robina Starling; and I am going to see her father to-morrow in order to make arrangements for her to remain with him.”“And not go back to Abbeyfield?” said Harriet.Her voice was low. It was getting dusk too, and Mr Durrant could not very well see her face.“Robina would not go back to school?” she repeated.“In that case, no; but she would lose nothing thereby; for I should make it a personal matter, and would see that her education was thoroughly finished at my expense. She is a clever girl, and I can give her not only the very best masters, to develop what talent she possesses, but would eventually send her to Girton, where I understand she greatly longs to go.” Harriet was quite silent. “You approve, don’t you?” said Mr Durrant, scarcely knowing why he asked the question.Harriet gave a little gasp.“You are very, very good,” she said: “you have done a great deal for the girl that Ralph likes best. Is the girl who is to stay with him while you are away to be the girl he likes best, or the girl you like best? Hitherto, it has been the girl he likes best. Is that to be the case still?”“I hope so, indeed I trust that he will like Robina best.”“Because you do,” said Harriet.“Yes, Harriet,” said Mr Durrant. “I like her; she is honest, and honourable. She has never, to my knowledge, done an underhand thing: I could not stand underhand ways in the companion who has to be so much in the society of my little son. I love honour before all things—honour and truth: they are the pillars in which the whole character must be raised to any sort of strength or perfection. I believe Robina to be both honourable and truthful.”“Yes,” said Harriet: “you would not let her have the charge of Ralph if she had not these qualities.”“Certainly not: but she has. I will wish you good-night now. I hope you will be quite well on Monday evening when I return from my visit to the Brown House.”Mr Durrant left the room, and Harriet lay back in her deep, easy chair, lost in thought. Once again she said to herself:“That horrid girl is about to supplant me. I wonder, oh, I wonder!”She thought long and hard.

Harriet took Ralph to her own room. There she changed all his things and made him get into her bed until she could fetch some fresh ones for him. He was cold, and shivering a great deal, but Harriet, quite unacquainted with the illnesses of young children, was not in the least alarmed. She ransacked Ralph’s wardrobe for another little drill suit, and he was dressed in new, dry clothes, and all trace of his ducking in the pond was removed before the party returned from their picnic.

Harriet herself had remained much longer than Ralph in her wet things, but she also was in fresh garments when they stood holding each other’s hands ready to welcome the others on their return.

Somehow, that ducking in the pond had quite managed to restore Harriet’s good humour. She and Ralph now held a secret between them, and she was firmly convinced that his friendship for Robina must be seriously weakened thereby.

“Why, Ralph, my little man,” said his father, “you do look well.”

He was pleased to see how bright his little son’s eyes were and what a high colour he had in his cheeks, and never guessed that the brightness of the eyes was caused by slight fever, and that the pretty cheeks were flushed for the same reason. At dinner time. Ralph, of his own accord elected to sit near Harriet, and at intervals during the meal he whispered in her ear:

“None of them knew ’cept you and me I risked my life for you, and you risked your life for me.”

“Yes, yes,” whispered Harriet back; “but none of the others must know. Don’t say those words so loud, Ralph, or they will hear us.”

Ralph snuggled close to Harriet, now in an ecstasy at the thought which the great secret they held between them caused. The rest of the day’s programme was carried out in all its entirety. But towards evening, Ralph’s feverish symptoms had increased. During the picnic tea he was unable to eat anything, and Harriet when questioned had to confess that her throat was sore.

The next day both Harriet and Ralph were ill, but Harriet was much worse than Ralph. To be in bed, to be unable to get up and enjoy the fresh air and the sunshine was a trial very hard for so small a boy as Ralph to bear; but when he was told that Harriet was worse than he, and that the doctor had to be sent for, he submitted to his own illness with a good grace. It was Robina who brought him the tidings.

“Harriet is really ill,” she said; “but Dr Fergusson says that you will very soon be all right again; you have only caught a little cold: I wonder how you managed it.”

“Oh, I know quite well all about it,” said Ralph.

“Do you, dear? then you ought to tell us,” said Robina.

Ralph’s soft brown eyes flashed with anger.

“Does you think I’d be so mean?” he said.

Robina looked at him in surprise. After a long time he made the following remark:

“Harriet is quite the most noble girl in the world. If it was not for Harriet, there’d be no me at all.”

Robina burst into a merry laugh.

“Oh, Ralph; you funny little boy!” she said; “what are you talking about?”

“You don’t understand Harriet,” was Ralph’s next speech, and he looked at Robina without the favour he used to bestow upon her. She was his school-mother and, of course, the one he loved best; but still she had never saved his life.

“I wish I could see my darling Harriet,” he said, after a pause. “I wish I could see her all by my lone self. I want to talk to her. We has a great secret atween us.”

The doctor, however, had forbidden Ralph to leave his bed that day, and certainly Harriet could not leave hers. In consequence, the children did not meet for a few days, and then it was rather a pale little boy who rushed into the arms of a thin, pale girl who, weak from the somewhat severe attack she had gone through, was seated in an easy chair not far from an open window.

“Now go ’way, all of you,” said Ralph, “I want to talk to my ownest school-mother. I has a great secret to talk over with her.”

The others obeyed without any protest. Robina, when she left the room, turned to Jane.

“I am sure of one thing,” she said: “something must have happened that day when Ralph and Harriet were left alone together. They were both quite well even although Harriet was cross when we started on our expedition to the beach; but they both got ill that very night, and since then, Ralph has altered: he is devoted to Harriet.”

“Perhaps he has learned to love Harriet best,” said Jane.

In spite of herself, there was a tone of triumph in her voice, for was not Harriet her friend, and did not every one else adore Robina?

“Would you mind?” she asked, fixing her round black eyes now on Robina’s face.

“Mind?” replied Robina. “Yes,” she said, after a little pause, “I don’t like to own to such a horrid feeling, but I am proud of Ralph’s love.”

She turned away as she spoke. She was going to her own room. In order to reach it, she had to pass the tiny chamber where Ralph slept. She found one of the maid-servants coming out. The woman had in her hand a little white drill suit all soaked through and much stained with the green weed which grows on ponds.

“I have just found this, miss,” she said, “in the cupboard in Master Ralph’s room. I wonder how it came there. Surely, little Master Ralph has not had a ducking in the pond.”

Robina felt the colour rushing into her face. For a minute, a sense of triumph filled her. Then she said, gently:

“Send that suit to the wash, please, Maria; and,” she added, “do not say anything about it.”

“There are stockings too, miss, all sopping, and shoes.”

“You can have the shoes dried, can’t you?” said Robina.

“Oh, yes, miss, certainly.”

“Well, send all the other things to the wash.”

“Yes, miss,” said the girl. “Perhaps,” she added, after a pause, “these things account for little Master Ralph not being well for the last few days.”

“They may or may not, Maria: anyhow, we won’t talk about that,” said Robina.

She went downstairs. Her heart was beating fast. The fierce desire to drag the truth from Harriet at any cost, which had overpowered her for a minute, had passed away. Her face was pale. She sat down on the nearest chair.

“Are you tired, my dear?” said Mr Durrant, approaching her at this minute, and sitting down by her side.

“No; not really tired,” she answered.

“I am glad to find you all by yourself, Robina; there are many things I want to say to you.” Robina waited expectantly. “You and Ralph are capital friends, aren’t you?”

“I hope so, indeed—indeed I love him dearly,” said Robina.

“And so does he love you. I cannot tell you, Robina, how thankful I am that he has made a girl of your sort one of his greatest friends; he might so very easily have chosen otherwise. There is Harriet Lane, for instance. Poor Harriet, I don’t want to speak against her, but she is not your sort, my dear. Now I like an open mind, generous—if you will have it, a manly sort of girl, one with no nonsense in her: one, in short, who will help Ralph to be the sort of man I desire him to be by and by. You, my dear, as far as I can tell, are that sort of girl. You have no fear in you. You have, I think, an open mind and a generous disposition. Compared to Ralph, you are old, although of course in yourself you are very young. I shall have to leave my little boy immediately after the summer holidays. My wish was to send him to school—to Mrs Burton’s school—where he could have had a little discipline, school life, and the companionship of many young people. But I have received a letter from Mrs Burton which obliges me to alter my plans.”

“Oh,” said Robina, speaking quickly, “I am very, very sorry—”

“So am I, dear, more sorry than I can express. I am terribly upset about this letter, and I do not think it wrong to confide my trouble to you.” Here Mr Durrant drew his chair close to Robina’s side.

“You see, my dear child, I treat you as though you were grown-up.”

“Please do, Mr Durrant,” said Robina, “for there is nothing I would not do for you.”

“Well, this is the position,” said Mr Durrant. “Mrs Burton won’t be able to conduct her own school for the next term. She has induced a lady, a great friend of hers, to take the school over, and her hope is that she may be able to return to it herself after Christmas. Even this, however, is doubtful. Mrs Burton’s friend, Miss Stackpole, has had much experience of schools, but she is a maiden lady; and, in short, will not admit dear little Ralph as one of her pupils. Mrs Burton is obliged to spend the next term with her only sister, who is dangerously ill, and must undergo a serious operation. My plans, therefore, for Ralph are completely knocked on the head. I cannot possibly take him with me to South Africa. I have undertaken an expedition to that country which is full of adventure and danger. No young child could accompany me. I cannot bear to send Ralph to the ordinary boys’ school; and, in fact, my dear Robina, it has occurred to me that if I could possibly get a lady, trustworthy, kind, sensible, to keep on this house, I might induce you to stay with her as Ralph’s companion. Were this the case, I would myself undertake all your future education. You should have the best masters, the best mistresses that money could secure, and eventually, if you wish it, you should go to Newnham or Girton. I would see your father, my dear Robina, on the subject, and arrange the matter with him. You would have a right good time, for the lady I have in my mind’s eye is a certain Miss Temple, a cousin of my own, a very gentle and sweet woman, who would do all she could for your comfort and happiness, and would not unduly coerce you. Being Ralph’s school-mother, and the girl he has chosen above all others as his special friend, I doubt not that he would love the arrangement. As to your fees at Mrs Burton’s school, those can, of course, be managed. What do you say, Robina? Are you willing to continue at Sunshine Lodge as my dear little boy’s greatest friend—in fact, as his little school-mother?”

“Oh, I should like it!” said Robina. “But does it not depend on Ralph?” she continued.

Mr Durrant moved rather impatiently. “I have never coerced Ralph in the least,” he answered. “My endeavour has been from his birth to allow my dear little boy to choose for himself. I believe in the young, clear judgment of extreme youth. I think that little children can penetrate far. Of all your school-fellows he chose you, Robina; and who, my dear child, could have been more worthy?”

“But I am full of faults,” said Robina, tears springing to her eyes; “you don’t really know me. At home I am often blamed. My Aunt Felicia doesn’t think highly of me. You ought to go to my home and ask my own people what they really think with regard to me.”

“It is my intention to do so. I must talk to your father and mother about this plan; but somehow, I do not think they will disappoint me, and as a matter of fact I do not believe any little girl could better help my little son than you can.”

“Only suppose—suppose,” said Robina, “that he prefers Harriet.”

“Harriet?” cried Mr Durrant; “but there is surely no chance of that?”

“I don’t know, I am not sure. He likes Harriet certainly next best after me; he may even like her better.”

“I think not: you are without doubt the favoured one. Robina, we are all alone now. Harriet Lane is your schoolfellow. Tell me honestly what you think about her.”

Robina sprang to her feet.

“As her schoolfellow,” she said, hastily, “I cannot tell you anything about her; please don’t ask me. This, Mr Durrant, is a very serious matter, and I—I would rather not say.”

“You have answered me, my child,” said Mr Durrant, “and as I thought you would. Now, we will talk no more on the matter.”

Robina left him, and went into the grounds. The happy summer days were slipping by. Why is it that summer days will rush past one so quickly on such swift wings, that almost before we know it, they have all gone—never, never to return?

The eight little school-mothers at Sunshine Lodge wanted no one good thing that could add to the joys of life. From morning till night, their cup of bliss seemed to overflow. In addition to all the pleasures provided for them, they had perfect weather, for that summer was long to be remembered in England—that summer when day by day the sun shone in the midst of a cloudless sky, and the warm, mellow air was a delight even to breathe.

While on this occasion Mr Durrant was having a long talk with Robina and giving her to understand what he really wished with regard to the future of his little son, that same little son was pouring out his heart to Harriet.

“You is better, isn’t you?” he said.

“Yes,” replied Harriet, who had resolved to make the very most of things. “But I was ill, very ill indeed: I don’t think the doctor expected me to live.”

“And you’d have died—you’d have become deaded for me?” said Ralph.

“Yes,” answered Harriet, patting the little brown hand. “But I am all right now,” she added; “I am only weak.”

“I love you like anything,” said Ralph.

“Of course you do, Ralph,” answered Harriet.

“There is nothing at all I wouldn’t do for you.”

Harriet longed to say: “Love me better than Robina, and I will have obtained my heart’s desire.” But she did not think the time for this speech had come yet; and as, in reality, notwithstanding her affection for Ralph, she found herself from time to time rather worried by his presence, she now requested him to leave her, and the little boy ran downstairs and out into the open air.

There the first person he saw was his father.

“Oh, dad!” said the boy, dancing up to his parent, and putting his little hand in his.

“Well Ralph, old man,” said the great traveller, lifting the boy to his shoulder, “and how are you this afternoon?”

“Werry well,” said Ralph, “nearly quite well,” he added.

“And how is our other invalid, Harriet Lane?”

“She is better, father. Dear Harriet has beenawfu’bad. Did you guess, father, how bad she was?”

“No, my son: and I don’t think she was as bad as all that, for the doctor did not tell me so.”

“But she telled me her own self. She wouldn’t tell a lie, would Harriet.”

“Only, Ralph, when people are ill, they imagine they are much worse than they really are. That was the case with Harriet. She will be all right now in a day or two, and you can enjoy yourself as soon as possible.”

“Oh yes; oh yes!” said Ralph. He clasped one arm round his father’s neck. “Why has you got such a big brown neck?”

“Because, I suppose, I am a big brown man.”

“I love brown men ever so,” said Ralph.

“That is right.”

“And I love you best of all; and—and Harriet, and Robina. I has got three very great special friends—you, and Harriet, and Robina.”

“Why do you put them like that, Ralph?” answered his father, a certain uneasiness in his tone. “You mean it this way: you love father first—that is quite right—then comes Robina, then Harriet.”

“It used to be like that,” said Ralph, in a very low tone.

“And it is still, my son; it is still.”

Ralph fidgetted, and was silent. After a time he said:

“Put me down please, father.”

Mr Durrant obeyed.

“Take my hand, father,” said Ralph, “I want to lead you somewhere.”

Mr Durrant took the little hand. Ralph conducted his father to the edge of the round pond.

“Does you see the water over there?” said Ralph, “just over there where the lilies grow?”

“Of course, my dear boy.”

“And does you see the branch of the willow tree?”

“Well, yes, Ralph; having eyes, I see both the lilies and the willow tree.”

“Could you make a great, great guess, father, about how deep the water is there?”

“Roughly speaking,” said Mr Durrant, “I should say the water in that part was from seven to eight feet deep.”

Ralph straightened himself and looked full up at his father.

“I isn’t eight feet high, is I?”

Mr Durrant laughed.

“You little man,” he said, “you are not four feet yet.”

“Then if I was to stand bolt upright in that water where the lilies grow, I’d be drownded dead as dead could be?”

“Were such a thing to happen, you would be.”

“But if somebody swimmed out, somebody very, very brave, and clutched me, and brought me back to shore, I wouldn’t be a drownded boy; I’d be a saved boy,” said Ralph.

“That is true.”

“I’d most likely,” continued Ralph, “love that person very much.”

“It would be a brave thing to do, certainly,” said Mr Durrant. “But then it has not happened, Ralph, so don’t let your imagination run away with you.”

“No father,” said Ralph; “I won’t let my ’magination run ’way with me. I don’t quite know what it means, father; but—I won’t let it,—’cause then I shouldn’t be close to you, father; and I love you best, and then Harriet, and then Robina.”

“Robina is a very fine girl,” said his parent. “I like her very much; I am glad she is your friend.”

“So does I like her: she was my school-mother. I like Harriet too, father: I like herawfu’much. I mustn’t tell you nothing at all, but I like Harriet best of all my school-mothers.”

Mr Durrant thought for a short time over Ralph’s little speech to him. It puzzled the good man not a little. He did not, however, lay it deeply to heart. The boy was under the influence of Harriet, and, truth to tell, Mr Durrant did not take to that young lady. He was, however, sufficiently interested in her to pay her a visit that same evening in her own room.

She was a good deal startled and somewhat nonplussed when he first knocked at the door, then bent his tall head and entered the room.

“Well, Harriet,” he said, “I thought I would find out for myself how you are. I hope you are progressing well, and will soon be able to join the rest of us. It was strange how you and Ralph both caught cold the same day: it was very unlucky. How are you to-night, my dear girl?”

“Better,” said Harriet, changing colour as she spoke, for she was rather weak from her illness and was much excited by Mr Durrant’s visit. “I am better,” she continued; “I hope to be quite well by next week.”

“So do I hope you will be quite well, for time is speeding very fast, Harriet: the summer holidays go almost before we know they are with us. Now I have many expeditions in my mind’s eye—expeditions in which I want you and Ralph to join. This is Saturday night. To-morrow is Sunday. To-morrow, I am going to leave home for a day or two, but on Monday I shall be back again. I hope by then to find you quite well and enjoying yourself with the rest of your school-fellows. Everything that man can do will be done for your pleasure, and I trust I shall find my little party without any invalids amongst them waiting to welcome me back on Monday evening at the latest.”

“And what is going to happen on Tuesday?” asked Harriet, whose eyes began to sparkle now, for she had suddenly lost her fear of Mr Durrant.

“The weather is so fine at present,” was his reply, “that I have chartered a yacht and am going to take you all for a cruise. What do you say to that? You are not likely to be sea-sick, are you?”

“Never was sea-sick in the whole course of my life,” said Harriet, dimpling all over her face now with anticipation.

“I thought I’d discovered something to please you. The sea breezes will put colour into those pale cheeks. Ponies, donkeys, governess carts will all be left behind, and for one long perfect week we shall coast round the Isle of Wight, and other parts of this perfect country. What do you say? I have already mentioned the matter to the others, and I find that they are, without a single exception, good sailors.”

“I will be well enough, whoever else isn’t,” said Harriet, stoutly. “It’ll be lovely, lovely. You know I have spent all my early days at the seaside.”

“Have you? Then of course you are accustomed to yachting.”

“I am accustomed to going out in the fishing boats: I often did so at Yarmouth: I used to make great friends with the sailors.”

“Then that will be capital, my dear. Now I am leaving early to-morrow. You won’t guess where I am going, will you?”

“How can I guess, Mr Durrant?”

“To no less a place than Robina’s home.”

“Robina’s home,” said Harriet. She felt herself turning red, and one of her hands which had been lying idle on her lap, clenched itself tightly. “Why to Robina’s home?” she asked.

“That is just it. I have a little scheme in my head; why should not I tell you? I have told her—why should not you also be in the secret?”

“Oh, please, please tell me?” said Harriet. “I love secrets,” she added.

“Most girls do. Well, this is the state of things. You know that my first intention was to send Ralph back to Mrs Burton’s school with you and the other school-mothers. He was to be primarily under Robina’s care, and the rest of you were of course to be good to him. Dear, kind Mrs Burton had consented to the arrangement, and everything was going well, when, lo and behold! I was obliged to change my plans.”

“Oh!” said Harriet: “to change your plans—how? why?”

“I will tell you why, dear Harriet, and I am sure you will sympathise with me. I know you have a great regard for my little boy, and I believe he returns your regard; therefore anything connected with his future will be of interest to you. Mrs Burton cannot receive Ralph at her school as she at first promised to do. She will herself give you her reasons for this, but I need not trouble you about them at the present moment. Suffice it to say that Ralph cannot go back to Abbeyfield, and therefore I have to make other arrangements for him.”

“Yes,” said Harriet, in a breathless sort of voice. “Dear Ralph! He is such a sweet little boy. Have you made your arrangements, Mr Durrant?”

“I am going to South Africa early in October,” was his reply, “and cannot take my dear little son with me: he must remain in England. Now, this house is quite to my liking. It is large, and airy and well drained and not far from the seaside. I know a lady, a special friend of mine, who will come to look after Ralph, and he can have the best masters at Eastbourne and a daily tutor who will come out here to instruct him. But all these advantages are not sufficient. He must have a companion. There is in my opinion no companion so suitable for all that Ralph requires as Robina Starling; and I am going to see her father to-morrow in order to make arrangements for her to remain with him.”

“And not go back to Abbeyfield?” said Harriet.

Her voice was low. It was getting dusk too, and Mr Durrant could not very well see her face.

“Robina would not go back to school?” she repeated.

“In that case, no; but she would lose nothing thereby; for I should make it a personal matter, and would see that her education was thoroughly finished at my expense. She is a clever girl, and I can give her not only the very best masters, to develop what talent she possesses, but would eventually send her to Girton, where I understand she greatly longs to go.” Harriet was quite silent. “You approve, don’t you?” said Mr Durrant, scarcely knowing why he asked the question.

Harriet gave a little gasp.

“You are very, very good,” she said: “you have done a great deal for the girl that Ralph likes best. Is the girl who is to stay with him while you are away to be the girl he likes best, or the girl you like best? Hitherto, it has been the girl he likes best. Is that to be the case still?”

“I hope so, indeed I trust that he will like Robina best.”

“Because you do,” said Harriet.

“Yes, Harriet,” said Mr Durrant. “I like her; she is honest, and honourable. She has never, to my knowledge, done an underhand thing: I could not stand underhand ways in the companion who has to be so much in the society of my little son. I love honour before all things—honour and truth: they are the pillars in which the whole character must be raised to any sort of strength or perfection. I believe Robina to be both honourable and truthful.”

“Yes,” said Harriet: “you would not let her have the charge of Ralph if she had not these qualities.”

“Certainly not: but she has. I will wish you good-night now. I hope you will be quite well on Monday evening when I return from my visit to the Brown House.”

Mr Durrant left the room, and Harriet lay back in her deep, easy chair, lost in thought. Once again she said to herself:

“That horrid girl is about to supplant me. I wonder, oh, I wonder!”

She thought long and hard.

Book Two—Chapter Eight.Mr Durrant Visits Brown House.Mr Durrant arrived at the Brown House on Sunday afternoon. It was a day when few visitors were expected. Mr Starling, having gone to church in the morning, invariably spent the afternoon lying back in a cosy corner of the green-house, smoking and reading a Sunday newspaper. He was by no means an irreligious man, but he liked his ease on Sunday, being under the supposition that he worked extremely hard during the week days. Mrs Starling spent Sunday afternoon lying down and imagining herself a little worse than usual. Miss Felicia sat in the drawing-room, and Violet and Rose played on the lawn.They were quite good little children and never made any unruly noise—that is, except when Robina was at home. Robina brought a disturbing element into their young lives: but now that she was gone, and Bo-peep was gone, the entire Starling family had settled down into their ordinary habits.The day was an intensely hot one, and when Mr Durrant appeared on the scene, he stood still for a minute to wipe the moisture from his brow.“Hallo, little ’un!” he said to Rose who, not at all shy, toddled up to him.“What’s ’oo want, g’ate big man?” was her inquiry.“I want your father, or your mother, or your aunt,” was Malcolm Durrant’s reply. “I want some one who can tell me something. Now I know you can’t, because you’re too small.”“There’s my auntie in the drawing-room,” said Violet at that moment. Violet by no means wished Rose to monopolise the stranger. “She’ll say ‘Don’t’ if you has mud on your boots: but you hasn’t, they is quite clean.”“Only dusty,” said Rose. “Let’s dust ’em.”She knelt down as she spoke, and, taking the skirt of her little white frock, began to remove the dust from the stranger’s boots.“Don’t, Rose! Rose, how dare you!” called a shrill voice from the drawing-room, and Miss Felicia made her appearance through the open window. “How do you do, sir,” she said. “I must apologise for my niece. Really, Rose, your conduct is disgraceful. Go away at once to the nursery and get your frock changed; what a dreadful mess you are in!”“Poor little one!” said Malcolm Durrant. “She but did what her sex did before her for the Saviour of all the world. Forgive her, madam.”He spoke in a very courteous tone, and, raising his hat, exhibited a noble brow and features which at once puzzled Miss Felicia and caused her heart to beat. “Won’t you come indoors, sir?” she said.“And don’t ‘don’t’ him, please auntie!” said Violet.But Miss Felicia, agitated, she knew not why, did not even hear her. She conducted the stranger into the little drawing-room.“Sit down, sir,” she said. “And now, may I ask your name. You have, of course, come to see my brother-in-law on business. I can call him in a moment; but first, would you not like something to drink?”“Very much, indeed,” said the stranger. “The fact is, I was never in such a thirsty place in the whole course of my life. A cup of tea or—or lemonade or—or—water—in fact, anything except spirits.”“Dear sir, I am glad you are a teetotaller.”“Dear madam, I drink wine in moderation; but that is neither here nor there. I should not like it at the present moment. You want to know my name? Malcolm Durrant. Your niece—for surely you are Miss Felicia Jennings—is at present honouring me by residing under my roof.”“So you are the great traveller,” said Miss Felicia. She felt herself turning quite pale. “Sir,” she said, in a low reverent tone, “I honour you. It is a great, great privilege to have you under this roof. I will presently tell my brother-in-law and my sister of your arrival. My poor sister is a sad invalid; but to see you—I have not the slightest doubt—she will make an effort to come downstairs.”“And I earnestly beg,” said Durrant, “she will do nothing of the kind. My business can be confided to you, madam. You can acquaint your sister and your brother-in-law with my desires, and they can either accept or refuse. But first of all—your hospitality was very much to the fore, dear madam, a minute ago; and I am terribly thirsty.”Never did Miss Felicia Jennings in the whole course of her life feel happier than now. She tripped eagerly from the room, knocking against a chair as she did so. In a few minutes, she conveyed in her own fair hands a large glass of cool lemonade to her guest. He drank it off to the last drop, put down the empty glass, and told Miss Felicia in the most courteous language that she was a good Samaritan.“Ah! my dear sir,” was her reply. “Who would not be a good Samaritan to you?”Durrant settled himself comfortably in his easy chair.“You have a nice little place here,” he said, “and a pretty out-look. How many sweet and peaceful homes there are in England!—and those two dear little maids to welcome me on the lawn. I only wish that they belonged to my party of young people who are at present enjoying life at Sunshine Lodge.”“They are too young to leave home at present,” said Miss Felicia; “although I doubt not that being in your presence would do them a great deal of good. May I ask, my dear sir, how that precious little animal, Bo-peep, is progressing?”“Bo-peep is, I believe, in admirable health, and so is Robina. You have not asked yet after the welfare of your niece.”“Robina is a strong child: she never ails anything,” replied Miss Felicia.“I am glad to be able to inform you that she remains in her normal, health,” answered Durrant. “And now for the purpose of this visit. I have, as you know, a little son.”“I have heard of him; a child after your own heart—in fact, your Benjamin.”“My little son; my only child,” said Durrant. “He is young—not yet quite six years old. I do not care to send children of such a tender age to school. I have many schemes for his future while I, alas! am forced to part from him, and my final desire is to leave him in his present home with a trustworthy lady whom I know, and who was my late dear wife’s relation—and with one young girl to be his constant companion. The girl I particularly wish to be with Ralph during my absence is, madam, your niece, Robina Starling.”“Indeed!” said Miss Felicia. It was on the tip of her tongue to say, ‘Don’t,’ but the word did not come.“You look surprised,” said the traveller.“Well,” said Miss Felicia, “I know you admire Robina, or you would not have given her that pony in such an extraordinary and munificent way. But surely, she is a little—a little rough—if I may so express it.”“Hers is an upright character: she is upright, honest, truthful. My boy cares for her, and she cares for him: he cannot be under better influence. In short, if her father and mother consent, I want to make them an offer with regard to their child, Robina.”“And what is that offer, Mr Durrant?”“I want to take her from her present school, making arrangements with Mrs Burton, so that Mr Starling may be put to no expense by her transfer. I want to give her all the possible advantages of a good education. These can partly be supplied by Mrs Temple, who is a very polished and accomplished lady, and partly by masters and mistresses who visit Eastbourne weekly from London. Eventually, if she so desires it, I would pay all her expenses at Girton or Newnham.”“It is a great chance for Robina: to be honest with you,” continued Miss Felicia, “we sent her from home because she was a little noisy, and upset her poor dear mother, who is a sad invalid; but she is a good girl on the whole.”“I find her an excellent girl: I like her very much.”“Well, sir,” said Miss Felicia; “I thank you for what you have told me. I will now go and acquaint my brother-in-law with the fact that he is deeply honoured by your visit to our humble roof.”“Don’t put it in that way, I beg of you, madam. Try, please, and remember that when I am at home I may be just an ordinary individual, and in no sense wish to be lionised. You will oblige me by bearing this fact in mind.”“I will endeavour to do so,” said Miss Felicia. She left the room, nodding many times to herself.“Now he is under our roof—I have looked at him: I have heard his voice. I wonder if he will write his name in my birthday book. I should so prize it. I have not had one real celebrity to write in my book yet. Malcolm Durrant! How that great name would stand out amongst the inferior signatures of the people in our small neighbourhood. Oh, what a chance for Robina! Of course she will go. And her expenses lifted from her father’s head. He will grab at it. I can’t imagine myself what such a great man as Malcolm Durrant finds in the child. Still, these great people are very odd now and then in their preferences. I must go to wake Edward. Dear, dear! what a lot of sleep that man does require!”She burst open the green-house door.“Edward; how you are snoring! Do rouse yourself. Whodoyou think is in the drawing-room?”“Dear me, Felicia! How can I tell,” replied Edward Starling, rubbing his eyes and looking at his sister-in-law in a dazed way. “You know perfectly well that I don’t see visitors on Sunday. It is my one day of rest after a week of toil.”“A week of toil, indeed! Why, you do nothing. But rouse yourself now, if you don’t want your child to lose her golden chance in life. There is no less a person waiting for you in the drawing-room than the great traveller, Malcolm Durrant!”Now the fame of this very great person had penetrated even to Edward Starling’s ears, and he roused himself at the news, fixing his eyes in some amazement on his sister-in-law.“You must be dreaming,” he said. “It is quite impossible that Durrant should come here.”“But hehascome here! It is about Robina; he wants to settle her in life, to do everything for her. You had best go and clinch the bargain. What he sees in her is more than I can tell. If I had my way, and could speak honestly to the poor dear man, I would say ‘Don’t’ fast enough. But there—these geniuses always take strange fancies—do let me pull your collar down, Edward, and smooth that long lock of your front hair. It looks so queer half hanging down your back. Now then, you look better. Go in: make yourself agreeable. I will follow in a few minutes just to see that you don’t make a fool of yourself.”

Mr Durrant arrived at the Brown House on Sunday afternoon. It was a day when few visitors were expected. Mr Starling, having gone to church in the morning, invariably spent the afternoon lying back in a cosy corner of the green-house, smoking and reading a Sunday newspaper. He was by no means an irreligious man, but he liked his ease on Sunday, being under the supposition that he worked extremely hard during the week days. Mrs Starling spent Sunday afternoon lying down and imagining herself a little worse than usual. Miss Felicia sat in the drawing-room, and Violet and Rose played on the lawn.

They were quite good little children and never made any unruly noise—that is, except when Robina was at home. Robina brought a disturbing element into their young lives: but now that she was gone, and Bo-peep was gone, the entire Starling family had settled down into their ordinary habits.

The day was an intensely hot one, and when Mr Durrant appeared on the scene, he stood still for a minute to wipe the moisture from his brow.

“Hallo, little ’un!” he said to Rose who, not at all shy, toddled up to him.

“What’s ’oo want, g’ate big man?” was her inquiry.

“I want your father, or your mother, or your aunt,” was Malcolm Durrant’s reply. “I want some one who can tell me something. Now I know you can’t, because you’re too small.”

“There’s my auntie in the drawing-room,” said Violet at that moment. Violet by no means wished Rose to monopolise the stranger. “She’ll say ‘Don’t’ if you has mud on your boots: but you hasn’t, they is quite clean.”

“Only dusty,” said Rose. “Let’s dust ’em.”

She knelt down as she spoke, and, taking the skirt of her little white frock, began to remove the dust from the stranger’s boots.

“Don’t, Rose! Rose, how dare you!” called a shrill voice from the drawing-room, and Miss Felicia made her appearance through the open window. “How do you do, sir,” she said. “I must apologise for my niece. Really, Rose, your conduct is disgraceful. Go away at once to the nursery and get your frock changed; what a dreadful mess you are in!”

“Poor little one!” said Malcolm Durrant. “She but did what her sex did before her for the Saviour of all the world. Forgive her, madam.”

He spoke in a very courteous tone, and, raising his hat, exhibited a noble brow and features which at once puzzled Miss Felicia and caused her heart to beat. “Won’t you come indoors, sir?” she said.

“And don’t ‘don’t’ him, please auntie!” said Violet.

But Miss Felicia, agitated, she knew not why, did not even hear her. She conducted the stranger into the little drawing-room.

“Sit down, sir,” she said. “And now, may I ask your name. You have, of course, come to see my brother-in-law on business. I can call him in a moment; but first, would you not like something to drink?”

“Very much, indeed,” said the stranger. “The fact is, I was never in such a thirsty place in the whole course of my life. A cup of tea or—or lemonade or—or—water—in fact, anything except spirits.”

“Dear sir, I am glad you are a teetotaller.”

“Dear madam, I drink wine in moderation; but that is neither here nor there. I should not like it at the present moment. You want to know my name? Malcolm Durrant. Your niece—for surely you are Miss Felicia Jennings—is at present honouring me by residing under my roof.”

“So you are the great traveller,” said Miss Felicia. She felt herself turning quite pale. “Sir,” she said, in a low reverent tone, “I honour you. It is a great, great privilege to have you under this roof. I will presently tell my brother-in-law and my sister of your arrival. My poor sister is a sad invalid; but to see you—I have not the slightest doubt—she will make an effort to come downstairs.”

“And I earnestly beg,” said Durrant, “she will do nothing of the kind. My business can be confided to you, madam. You can acquaint your sister and your brother-in-law with my desires, and they can either accept or refuse. But first of all—your hospitality was very much to the fore, dear madam, a minute ago; and I am terribly thirsty.”

Never did Miss Felicia Jennings in the whole course of her life feel happier than now. She tripped eagerly from the room, knocking against a chair as she did so. In a few minutes, she conveyed in her own fair hands a large glass of cool lemonade to her guest. He drank it off to the last drop, put down the empty glass, and told Miss Felicia in the most courteous language that she was a good Samaritan.

“Ah! my dear sir,” was her reply. “Who would not be a good Samaritan to you?”

Durrant settled himself comfortably in his easy chair.

“You have a nice little place here,” he said, “and a pretty out-look. How many sweet and peaceful homes there are in England!—and those two dear little maids to welcome me on the lawn. I only wish that they belonged to my party of young people who are at present enjoying life at Sunshine Lodge.”

“They are too young to leave home at present,” said Miss Felicia; “although I doubt not that being in your presence would do them a great deal of good. May I ask, my dear sir, how that precious little animal, Bo-peep, is progressing?”

“Bo-peep is, I believe, in admirable health, and so is Robina. You have not asked yet after the welfare of your niece.”

“Robina is a strong child: she never ails anything,” replied Miss Felicia.

“I am glad to be able to inform you that she remains in her normal, health,” answered Durrant. “And now for the purpose of this visit. I have, as you know, a little son.”

“I have heard of him; a child after your own heart—in fact, your Benjamin.”

“My little son; my only child,” said Durrant. “He is young—not yet quite six years old. I do not care to send children of such a tender age to school. I have many schemes for his future while I, alas! am forced to part from him, and my final desire is to leave him in his present home with a trustworthy lady whom I know, and who was my late dear wife’s relation—and with one young girl to be his constant companion. The girl I particularly wish to be with Ralph during my absence is, madam, your niece, Robina Starling.”

“Indeed!” said Miss Felicia. It was on the tip of her tongue to say, ‘Don’t,’ but the word did not come.

“You look surprised,” said the traveller.

“Well,” said Miss Felicia, “I know you admire Robina, or you would not have given her that pony in such an extraordinary and munificent way. But surely, she is a little—a little rough—if I may so express it.”

“Hers is an upright character: she is upright, honest, truthful. My boy cares for her, and she cares for him: he cannot be under better influence. In short, if her father and mother consent, I want to make them an offer with regard to their child, Robina.”

“And what is that offer, Mr Durrant?”

“I want to take her from her present school, making arrangements with Mrs Burton, so that Mr Starling may be put to no expense by her transfer. I want to give her all the possible advantages of a good education. These can partly be supplied by Mrs Temple, who is a very polished and accomplished lady, and partly by masters and mistresses who visit Eastbourne weekly from London. Eventually, if she so desires it, I would pay all her expenses at Girton or Newnham.”

“It is a great chance for Robina: to be honest with you,” continued Miss Felicia, “we sent her from home because she was a little noisy, and upset her poor dear mother, who is a sad invalid; but she is a good girl on the whole.”

“I find her an excellent girl: I like her very much.”

“Well, sir,” said Miss Felicia; “I thank you for what you have told me. I will now go and acquaint my brother-in-law with the fact that he is deeply honoured by your visit to our humble roof.”

“Don’t put it in that way, I beg of you, madam. Try, please, and remember that when I am at home I may be just an ordinary individual, and in no sense wish to be lionised. You will oblige me by bearing this fact in mind.”

“I will endeavour to do so,” said Miss Felicia. She left the room, nodding many times to herself.

“Now he is under our roof—I have looked at him: I have heard his voice. I wonder if he will write his name in my birthday book. I should so prize it. I have not had one real celebrity to write in my book yet. Malcolm Durrant! How that great name would stand out amongst the inferior signatures of the people in our small neighbourhood. Oh, what a chance for Robina! Of course she will go. And her expenses lifted from her father’s head. He will grab at it. I can’t imagine myself what such a great man as Malcolm Durrant finds in the child. Still, these great people are very odd now and then in their preferences. I must go to wake Edward. Dear, dear! what a lot of sleep that man does require!”

She burst open the green-house door.

“Edward; how you are snoring! Do rouse yourself. Whodoyou think is in the drawing-room?”

“Dear me, Felicia! How can I tell,” replied Edward Starling, rubbing his eyes and looking at his sister-in-law in a dazed way. “You know perfectly well that I don’t see visitors on Sunday. It is my one day of rest after a week of toil.”

“A week of toil, indeed! Why, you do nothing. But rouse yourself now, if you don’t want your child to lose her golden chance in life. There is no less a person waiting for you in the drawing-room than the great traveller, Malcolm Durrant!”

Now the fame of this very great person had penetrated even to Edward Starling’s ears, and he roused himself at the news, fixing his eyes in some amazement on his sister-in-law.

“You must be dreaming,” he said. “It is quite impossible that Durrant should come here.”

“But hehascome here! It is about Robina; he wants to settle her in life, to do everything for her. You had best go and clinch the bargain. What he sees in her is more than I can tell. If I had my way, and could speak honestly to the poor dear man, I would say ‘Don’t’ fast enough. But there—these geniuses always take strange fancies—do let me pull your collar down, Edward, and smooth that long lock of your front hair. It looks so queer half hanging down your back. Now then, you look better. Go in: make yourself agreeable. I will follow in a few minutes just to see that you don’t make a fool of yourself.”

Book Two—Chapter Nine.A Discovery.Malcolm Durrant might be a great traveller, and doubtless was; but all the same, Mr Starling felt annoyed at being disturbed in his Sunday nap. Great people did not raise enthusiasm within his breast: he believed in them, of course, and would have been quite interested to hear some of the said Malcolm Durrant’s adventures, had that gentleman been kind enough to tell them. But on a hot August afternoon, sleep was more refreshing than anything else, and he was not in the best of humours, when he entered the room where his guest was waiting for him.Robina—Something was about to happen which would be to Robina’s advantage. As a matter of fact, she was his favourite child. He had a much better time when she was at home than when she was at school. She suited him, as he himself expressed it, down to the ground. She “ragged” him, as she called it. She was not at all afraid of him. She made him laugh. She encouraged him to be more noisy at meals than Miss Felicia thought was seemly in the house with a great invalid. He had yielded to Miss Felicia’s representations that school was necessary for Robina. She had gone to school, and some one else had discovered her virtues, for she had come back accompanied by a very valuable adjunct—no less a thing than a live pony, a spirited animal which could gallop and canter and trot and look all that was bright and intelligent. This animal, provided with a side-saddle and attendant groom whose wages were paid by some one else was a great addition to theménageat the Brown House. When Robina went away to Sunshine Lodge, accompanied by the pony and the groom and the side-saddle, Edward Starling had missed his child and her belongings a great deal. He wondered what else was to be expected of him, and nodded curtly now to the stranger as he entered the room.“Glad to see you, of course, sir,” he said. “How is Robina?”“Very well, thank you,” said Durrant.“You are a great person, Mr Durrant,” said Starling: “that is, you have made a great name for yourself. But be that as it may, I hold with the words, ‘A man’s a man for a’ that.’ You are a man, sir, and I am another, and Robina is my child. Now, my sister-in-law, who between ourselves is a right good sort but a bit of a goose, considers you not a man, but an archangel, with a halo round you. Now I see neither the archangel nor the halo, but a person who at present is enjoying the society of my pleasing young daughter. I understand that you have come to say something to me about her. What, Mr Durrant, may that something be?”“A very outspoken something,” replied Durrant. “I am exceedingly glad, Mr Starling, that you speak to me as you do. I am not an archangel, and I wear no halo. I am an ordinary man. Circumstances have placed me, on several occasions, in positions of extreme danger where, if I had not used an Englishman’s pluck, I should have been worsted in the battle. I only did, sir, what you or any other man would have done under the circumstances. But now—to come to your child. I want to know if you will grant me a very great favour.”“Well, let us hear it, let us hear it,” said Starling. “But why should we sit moped up in this fusty room? Let us come out into the garden and enjoy our pipes together: what do you say?”“I shall be only too delighted,” said Durrant.The two men immediately left the drawing-room. Miss Felicia, from a sheltered corner of her sister’s bedroom, watched them as they passed up and down.“He has, my dear sister,” she remarked, “the most honourable carriage of the head: it is but to look at that man to see what he is. You, dear, at least, won’t throw any obstacle in the way of Robina’s good luck: all her life long it will be remembered in her favour that she was selected by Malcolm Durrant to be the companion of his little boy during his own absence.”“I am not likely to put an obstacle in the way,” answered Mrs Starling, “seeing that I have small voice in any matters. Where you don’t rule me,—Felicia,—my husband does; and where my husband doesn’t, the little children do; and where the little children don’t, Robina does; and where Robina doesn’t, the servants do. I am ruled by everyone; I am the most ruled out person on earth; I have not a bit of colour or opinion left. When Bo-peep was here, I felt a little happier than I had done for some time, because the animal seemed to like me without wanting in the very least to get the upper hand of me. But there, it cannot be helped.”“Don’t talk any more in that silly vein,” was Miss Felicia’s remark. “Each day after day as it goes, you make things quite disagreeable and contrary. I wanted to dress you nicely and bring you downstairs to tea, so that you might have the privilege of conversing yourself with the distinguished traveller; but really, what with hysterics in view, I doubt if it would not be better to leave you upstairs.”“I am not going to have any hysterics,” said poor Mrs Starling. “I have passed all that. Perhaps Robina rules me rather less than the rest of you; but I should like to see the man who wants to be a sort of father to her. I can’t imagine why she should leave her own father; but you all think otherwise.”“We all think otherwise,” retorted Miss Felicia with a sort of snort; “when golden chances do come in life, as a rule one isn’t such a fool as to throw them away. But now, my dear Agnes, your purple silk dress with the real lace collar will look exceedingly nice, and it will do you no harm to get into it, even if you don’t come downstairs.”While Mrs Starling was being dressed, the men were having their smoke in the garden. Durrant made his proposal quite plainly before Mr Starling.“I shall be absent for a year,” he said. “During that time, I want your daughter to be my little son’s companion; I, of course, paying all expenses. At the end of the year, she can, if you wish it, go back to Mrs Burton, and continue her education in that most excellent school, or she can still remain under my roof, looked after by my friend and relation, Mrs Temple, and given the best possible instruction that Eastbourne and the neighbourhood of London can supply. When she is old enough, I will myself send her to Newnham or Girton; or if she does not care for that sort of education I will give her two or three years’ foreign travel. It will be a great pleasure to me to do all this for the girl who helps my little boy during a rather lonely period of his life. I offer these advantages to your daughter because, in the first place, Ralph likes her better than any other girl he has ever seen, and in the second place, I respect and love her on her own account. During the holidays she will of course spend the time with you, unless you wish it otherwise.”“There is no use whatever in that,” said Starling, interrupting Mr Durrant’s remarks in a somewhat gruff voice. “Robina is a good girl, and suits me uncommonly well, but she does not get on with the ladies here. Can’t tell why, I am sure—too outspoken—doesn’t suit Felicia Jennings. Felicia, between you and me, is somewhat of a bore—an excellent creature, but too much ‘don’t’ about her. Robina has got a high spirit, and she can’t stand it. That is why she went to school. Believe me, I didn’t want her to go: I miss the girl uncommonly. She takes after me—a little rough, you know.”“I haven’t found her rough,” said Mr Durrant.“Well, perhaps you would not call it so; but that is what the women here say. They have dinned it into my ear till at last I have got to believe it. Robina is so rough, they say, and so noisy, and so like a tomboy.”“I need not tell you, my dear sir, that I found the child spirited and agreeable and an excellent companion. What I admire about her so much is her outspoken honesty and her truthfulness,” said Mr Durrant.“Well, yes; she is all that: I have never found her out in a lie, never, although, to be sure, many a person might prevaricate a trifle to get away from the ‘don’ts’ of that old woman, Felicia. I am agreeable to your proposal, Mr Durrant: you can carry it out with my consent, and I have no doubt my poor wife will also fall in with your views: but I leave you, sir, to tackle the ladies yourself, for I am no match for them. Women are always slippery sort of creatures, hard to circumvent, sir, and mighty knowing. It is my belief they have twice the brains of us men. A woman can squeeze herself out of a corner where a man would be simply trapped. Now you know my opinion. Robina’s a good girl, and she may as well stay at Sunshine Lodge for a year as at Mrs Burton’s for a year. As to the holidays; if you would invite me to spend part of the time with her at Sunshine Lodge, it would save a lot of ructions; but I don’t make that asine qua non. I am agreeable to any arrangement that suits you and the ladies.”“Thank you; you are very kind,” said Mr Durrant.The conversation languished a little after that, although Mr Starling tried to keep it lively by expatiating on Bo-peep’s many excellent points, and describing how truly his wife loved the little animal. Eventually, a small, clear voice interrupted the conversation, and Violet, dressed in her best and most starchy white frock, appeared on the scene. She announced in a prim little voice that tea was ready.“You is to come in, and I may hold oo’s hand,” said Violet, giving hers at once with the utmost confidence to the stranger.The men immediately entered the house, accompanied by the little maid. Rose was within, looking rather tearful, and seated close to her mother.“I is not to ’peak, but I is ’onging to,” was her first remark as she fixed her cherubic eyes on the stranger’s face.“Don’t, Rose! Keep silent,” said her aunt. “Mr Durrant, may I present you to my dear sister, Robina’s mother.”Mr Durrant found a place close to Rose. He presently transferred this small person to his own knee, where she became radiantly happy, and then he entered into conversation with Mrs Starling. Mrs Starling, without in the least intending it, managed to convey to him the fact that she considered Robina a very rough, disobedient child, whom of course she loved, but to whom discipline was sadly necessary.Mrs Starling was a very sweet looking woman, notwithstanding her illness, and Durrant became instantly much interested in her, and asked her a good many questions with regard to Robina. Finally, it was arranged that the momentous question of the little girl’s becoming Malcolm Durrant’s guest during his absence was to be deferred until the week after that spent by the entire happy party of school-mothers on the yacht; and Durrant promised to write to the Starlings on the subject at the end of that period.He arrived back at Sunshine Lodge early on Monday morning, and then informed the different children that the weather report being excellent they would start on the cruise early on the following day. Nothing could exceed the delight of all the little school-mothers, and amongst them, no one was more cheerful than Harriet Lane. She had quite recovered her normal health, and was to all appearance in the highest of spirits.That evening, she and Jane had a short conversation together.Jane, said Harriet; “I mean, if possible, to be the girl left in charge of Ralph during his father’s absence. I know quite well all that has happened with regard to Robina. Mr Durrant wants Robina to stay with Ralph here; and he went to see her people, because he told me so; but all the same, matters won’t be quite settled until Ralph himself arranges the matter. Now Ralph wishes for me, not Robina, and I think Ralph’s wishes will in the end carry the day.”Jane looked somewhat unhappy. After a pause, she said:“Nothing could be more delightful than our life here, and I am looking forward to our time on board the yacht more than anything else in all the world; but you manage somehow always to give an unpleasant tone to things. I thought after the fright you got with regard to Ralph when we were at school that you would let him alone in the future; but you are just as bad as ever.”“I am,” said Harriet; “I am worse than ever. I am not very happy at home, and I have not the advantages that Robina has.”“Robina has one thing that you have not,” said Jane, stoutly. “She really and truly loves little children. Don’t you remember how sweet she was to Curly Pate? She has a way about her that all little children like: I suppose it is partly because she has got two little sisters of her own. Now, you do not care for children—not in your heart of hearts.”“I don’t care for the ordinary child, and I certainly began by not loving Ralph at all,” was Harriet’s response; “but certainly I do care for him now better than I ever did for any other child. If I were left here, I should be good to him, and he would be happy. But that is not the point. I want the advantages that Mr Durrant offers—oh yes! Robina can keep her pony; that wonderful Bo-peep can go back to the Brown House and delight them all, and Robina can ride Bo-peep in the holidays. I don’t grudge her her pony, but I do grudge her Ralph. Why I—oh, but you don’t know about that.”She stopped abruptly.“You may as well tell me,” said Jane. “I guessed—I think we all guessed that something happened that day when you were so horribly cross and would not come with us to the sea-shore. You got poor little Ralph into no end of mischief that day, or why should you both have been taken ill that evening?”“I will tell you, Jane,” said Harriet, “if you will promise never, never to let it out to anybody else.”There was a girl lying in a hammock close by. That girl was Robina. She had been fast asleep. The day was hot, and she was tired from much exercise, for Mr Durrant’s parties never did let the grass grow under their feet. But she awoke now to find that Harriet and Jane were standing a few feet away. Her impulse was to say, “I am here.” The next moment, she would have uttered the words, but, hearing her own name spoken, arrested the speech that was on her lips. She did not know why, but a swift and horrible temptation came over her. She bent a little forward, and, unperceived by the two who were standing two or three feet off, could hear every word that was spoken.“You will never tell,” began Harriet.“No, no,” said Jane, a trifle impatiently; “if I wanted to begin to tell all the things you have confided in me, I’d have a pretty bad time of it. You know you have always plotted and planned against Robina. Well, what did you do against her that day?”“The only thing I could do, and that was not much. You know all about the gipsies, and my following Ralph and bringing him home and my real sorrow, and my giving Ralph up to Robina; and you know how Robina won the pony?”“Yes,” said Jane; “I know that story, I am perfectly sick of it,” she added.“Well, that story has somehow come to an end, but another story has begun. It is this: I will tell you what really did happen. I was, oh! in such a rage; and I wouldn’t ride the horrid donkey, and you all went off without me, only Ralph—he stayed.”“He is a dear little boy,” said Jane. “He did not want to stay, I can tell you; but he could not stand the thought of your being left all alone, so he asked his father if he might stay, and Mr Durrant said, ‘Of course.’ Mr Durrant never makes much of people being self-sacrificing; he seems to think it only right. Well, anyhow, he stayed.”“He did,” said Harriet. “In some ways he was rather a little nuisance. He talked to me and I talked to him; and he—he—told me that he loved Robina the best.”The girl in the hammock gave a quick catch in her breath, then a sigh of relief, but too faint to reach the girls who were talking eagerly in the shrubbery below.“He said he loved her best; and you know that sort of little chap,” said Harriet, “he never, never could tell a lie—that is quite outside his category.”“Oh quite, dear little man!” said Jane.“Well, I wanted some water-lilies; and what do you think? I tried to pull some, but I couldn’t, and he—he crept along a bough. I could have prevented him, but I didn’t, for a thought got into my head.”“What was that?”“I knew quite well that if he crept along that bough—that willow bough that hangs over the round pond, that it wouldn’t hold his weight, and that he would fall in.”“You knew it!” said Jane, gasping, “and you let him do it?”“I did. I let him do it on purpose. He didn’t see me. He wanted to get the water-lilies for me, and he thought he would manage—oh, so fine! and I watched behind a shrub.”“Oh, Harriet!”“Well, my dear; you needn’t go on like that. The bough dipped lower and lower, and Ralph, he is not a bit frightened—you know he never was, he is as plucky as his father. I did feel inclined to say, ‘oh, do go back, Ralph—’”“And you didn’t say the words, Harriet?”“No, no; you goose, I didn’t; well, anyhow, he tumbled into the water where it was pretty deep too; and he would have sunk, poor little man, for there are such a lot of weeds about just there—only of course I was close by, and I rushed down to the edge of the pond and flung myself in, and swam out to him. I saved him—oh, it was quite easy; he was not even unconscious when I got him out of the water; only of course we were both drenched to the skin.”“I don’t understand,” said Jane. “It seemed a horrid mean thing to do, and you speak as though it was something fine.”“Ralph thinks it awfully fine. You see, he takes it in this way. He thinks he tried to get the lilies for me at the risk of his life.”“That’s true enough,” said Jane.“And that I saved him at the risk of mine.”“Which is not a bit true,” said Jane, “for you can swim like a duck anywhere.”“Ah, but Ralph does not know that, and there is no one who will dare to tell him. We both got ill afterwards, and I was more ill than Ralph, because I was longer in my dripping wet clothes; and now Ralph loves me much, much better than Robina, for you see I saved his life.”“Oh! I think you are a horrid girl!” said Jane.“Do you? do you? Well, perhaps you won’t think me quite so horrid when I get you invited here, say, for Christmas, and when we have a jolly, jolly time, with that old Mr Durrant safe in Africa and Ralph just obliged to put up with us. I’ll always be good to him, you may be sure of that, but I shan’t molly-coddle him: I’ll look after number one, see if I don’t.”“All the same,” said Jane, “Robina is the one who will be invited to take care of Ralph, and you haven’t a chance.”“I know better,” said Harriet. “I have my own plans. You will have to help me, for if you don’t, I won’t give you that five pounds that my god-mother allows me on each of my birthdays.”“Five pounds!” said Jane, with a gasp.“Yes; if I am allowed to stay as Ralph’s companion, I will give you that money this year. Think what that will mean.”Jane was absolutely silent. The girls went away from under the shadow of the thick plantation, and walked like any other innocent little pair in the sunshine. Robina, after a long time, crept out of her hammock and went to the house. She had a dreadful feeling at her heart. She must be alone. She reached her bedroom and locked herself in.

Malcolm Durrant might be a great traveller, and doubtless was; but all the same, Mr Starling felt annoyed at being disturbed in his Sunday nap. Great people did not raise enthusiasm within his breast: he believed in them, of course, and would have been quite interested to hear some of the said Malcolm Durrant’s adventures, had that gentleman been kind enough to tell them. But on a hot August afternoon, sleep was more refreshing than anything else, and he was not in the best of humours, when he entered the room where his guest was waiting for him.

Robina—Something was about to happen which would be to Robina’s advantage. As a matter of fact, she was his favourite child. He had a much better time when she was at home than when she was at school. She suited him, as he himself expressed it, down to the ground. She “ragged” him, as she called it. She was not at all afraid of him. She made him laugh. She encouraged him to be more noisy at meals than Miss Felicia thought was seemly in the house with a great invalid. He had yielded to Miss Felicia’s representations that school was necessary for Robina. She had gone to school, and some one else had discovered her virtues, for she had come back accompanied by a very valuable adjunct—no less a thing than a live pony, a spirited animal which could gallop and canter and trot and look all that was bright and intelligent. This animal, provided with a side-saddle and attendant groom whose wages were paid by some one else was a great addition to theménageat the Brown House. When Robina went away to Sunshine Lodge, accompanied by the pony and the groom and the side-saddle, Edward Starling had missed his child and her belongings a great deal. He wondered what else was to be expected of him, and nodded curtly now to the stranger as he entered the room.

“Glad to see you, of course, sir,” he said. “How is Robina?”

“Very well, thank you,” said Durrant.

“You are a great person, Mr Durrant,” said Starling: “that is, you have made a great name for yourself. But be that as it may, I hold with the words, ‘A man’s a man for a’ that.’ You are a man, sir, and I am another, and Robina is my child. Now, my sister-in-law, who between ourselves is a right good sort but a bit of a goose, considers you not a man, but an archangel, with a halo round you. Now I see neither the archangel nor the halo, but a person who at present is enjoying the society of my pleasing young daughter. I understand that you have come to say something to me about her. What, Mr Durrant, may that something be?”

“A very outspoken something,” replied Durrant. “I am exceedingly glad, Mr Starling, that you speak to me as you do. I am not an archangel, and I wear no halo. I am an ordinary man. Circumstances have placed me, on several occasions, in positions of extreme danger where, if I had not used an Englishman’s pluck, I should have been worsted in the battle. I only did, sir, what you or any other man would have done under the circumstances. But now—to come to your child. I want to know if you will grant me a very great favour.”

“Well, let us hear it, let us hear it,” said Starling. “But why should we sit moped up in this fusty room? Let us come out into the garden and enjoy our pipes together: what do you say?”

“I shall be only too delighted,” said Durrant.

The two men immediately left the drawing-room. Miss Felicia, from a sheltered corner of her sister’s bedroom, watched them as they passed up and down.

“He has, my dear sister,” she remarked, “the most honourable carriage of the head: it is but to look at that man to see what he is. You, dear, at least, won’t throw any obstacle in the way of Robina’s good luck: all her life long it will be remembered in her favour that she was selected by Malcolm Durrant to be the companion of his little boy during his own absence.”

“I am not likely to put an obstacle in the way,” answered Mrs Starling, “seeing that I have small voice in any matters. Where you don’t rule me,—Felicia,—my husband does; and where my husband doesn’t, the little children do; and where the little children don’t, Robina does; and where Robina doesn’t, the servants do. I am ruled by everyone; I am the most ruled out person on earth; I have not a bit of colour or opinion left. When Bo-peep was here, I felt a little happier than I had done for some time, because the animal seemed to like me without wanting in the very least to get the upper hand of me. But there, it cannot be helped.”

“Don’t talk any more in that silly vein,” was Miss Felicia’s remark. “Each day after day as it goes, you make things quite disagreeable and contrary. I wanted to dress you nicely and bring you downstairs to tea, so that you might have the privilege of conversing yourself with the distinguished traveller; but really, what with hysterics in view, I doubt if it would not be better to leave you upstairs.”

“I am not going to have any hysterics,” said poor Mrs Starling. “I have passed all that. Perhaps Robina rules me rather less than the rest of you; but I should like to see the man who wants to be a sort of father to her. I can’t imagine why she should leave her own father; but you all think otherwise.”

“We all think otherwise,” retorted Miss Felicia with a sort of snort; “when golden chances do come in life, as a rule one isn’t such a fool as to throw them away. But now, my dear Agnes, your purple silk dress with the real lace collar will look exceedingly nice, and it will do you no harm to get into it, even if you don’t come downstairs.”

While Mrs Starling was being dressed, the men were having their smoke in the garden. Durrant made his proposal quite plainly before Mr Starling.

“I shall be absent for a year,” he said. “During that time, I want your daughter to be my little son’s companion; I, of course, paying all expenses. At the end of the year, she can, if you wish it, go back to Mrs Burton, and continue her education in that most excellent school, or she can still remain under my roof, looked after by my friend and relation, Mrs Temple, and given the best possible instruction that Eastbourne and the neighbourhood of London can supply. When she is old enough, I will myself send her to Newnham or Girton; or if she does not care for that sort of education I will give her two or three years’ foreign travel. It will be a great pleasure to me to do all this for the girl who helps my little boy during a rather lonely period of his life. I offer these advantages to your daughter because, in the first place, Ralph likes her better than any other girl he has ever seen, and in the second place, I respect and love her on her own account. During the holidays she will of course spend the time with you, unless you wish it otherwise.”

“There is no use whatever in that,” said Starling, interrupting Mr Durrant’s remarks in a somewhat gruff voice. “Robina is a good girl, and suits me uncommonly well, but she does not get on with the ladies here. Can’t tell why, I am sure—too outspoken—doesn’t suit Felicia Jennings. Felicia, between you and me, is somewhat of a bore—an excellent creature, but too much ‘don’t’ about her. Robina has got a high spirit, and she can’t stand it. That is why she went to school. Believe me, I didn’t want her to go: I miss the girl uncommonly. She takes after me—a little rough, you know.”

“I haven’t found her rough,” said Mr Durrant.

“Well, perhaps you would not call it so; but that is what the women here say. They have dinned it into my ear till at last I have got to believe it. Robina is so rough, they say, and so noisy, and so like a tomboy.”

“I need not tell you, my dear sir, that I found the child spirited and agreeable and an excellent companion. What I admire about her so much is her outspoken honesty and her truthfulness,” said Mr Durrant.

“Well, yes; she is all that: I have never found her out in a lie, never, although, to be sure, many a person might prevaricate a trifle to get away from the ‘don’ts’ of that old woman, Felicia. I am agreeable to your proposal, Mr Durrant: you can carry it out with my consent, and I have no doubt my poor wife will also fall in with your views: but I leave you, sir, to tackle the ladies yourself, for I am no match for them. Women are always slippery sort of creatures, hard to circumvent, sir, and mighty knowing. It is my belief they have twice the brains of us men. A woman can squeeze herself out of a corner where a man would be simply trapped. Now you know my opinion. Robina’s a good girl, and she may as well stay at Sunshine Lodge for a year as at Mrs Burton’s for a year. As to the holidays; if you would invite me to spend part of the time with her at Sunshine Lodge, it would save a lot of ructions; but I don’t make that asine qua non. I am agreeable to any arrangement that suits you and the ladies.”

“Thank you; you are very kind,” said Mr Durrant.

The conversation languished a little after that, although Mr Starling tried to keep it lively by expatiating on Bo-peep’s many excellent points, and describing how truly his wife loved the little animal. Eventually, a small, clear voice interrupted the conversation, and Violet, dressed in her best and most starchy white frock, appeared on the scene. She announced in a prim little voice that tea was ready.

“You is to come in, and I may hold oo’s hand,” said Violet, giving hers at once with the utmost confidence to the stranger.

The men immediately entered the house, accompanied by the little maid. Rose was within, looking rather tearful, and seated close to her mother.

“I is not to ’peak, but I is ’onging to,” was her first remark as she fixed her cherubic eyes on the stranger’s face.

“Don’t, Rose! Keep silent,” said her aunt. “Mr Durrant, may I present you to my dear sister, Robina’s mother.”

Mr Durrant found a place close to Rose. He presently transferred this small person to his own knee, where she became radiantly happy, and then he entered into conversation with Mrs Starling. Mrs Starling, without in the least intending it, managed to convey to him the fact that she considered Robina a very rough, disobedient child, whom of course she loved, but to whom discipline was sadly necessary.

Mrs Starling was a very sweet looking woman, notwithstanding her illness, and Durrant became instantly much interested in her, and asked her a good many questions with regard to Robina. Finally, it was arranged that the momentous question of the little girl’s becoming Malcolm Durrant’s guest during his absence was to be deferred until the week after that spent by the entire happy party of school-mothers on the yacht; and Durrant promised to write to the Starlings on the subject at the end of that period.

He arrived back at Sunshine Lodge early on Monday morning, and then informed the different children that the weather report being excellent they would start on the cruise early on the following day. Nothing could exceed the delight of all the little school-mothers, and amongst them, no one was more cheerful than Harriet Lane. She had quite recovered her normal health, and was to all appearance in the highest of spirits.

That evening, she and Jane had a short conversation together.

Jane, said Harriet; “I mean, if possible, to be the girl left in charge of Ralph during his father’s absence. I know quite well all that has happened with regard to Robina. Mr Durrant wants Robina to stay with Ralph here; and he went to see her people, because he told me so; but all the same, matters won’t be quite settled until Ralph himself arranges the matter. Now Ralph wishes for me, not Robina, and I think Ralph’s wishes will in the end carry the day.”

Jane looked somewhat unhappy. After a pause, she said:

“Nothing could be more delightful than our life here, and I am looking forward to our time on board the yacht more than anything else in all the world; but you manage somehow always to give an unpleasant tone to things. I thought after the fright you got with regard to Ralph when we were at school that you would let him alone in the future; but you are just as bad as ever.”

“I am,” said Harriet; “I am worse than ever. I am not very happy at home, and I have not the advantages that Robina has.”

“Robina has one thing that you have not,” said Jane, stoutly. “She really and truly loves little children. Don’t you remember how sweet she was to Curly Pate? She has a way about her that all little children like: I suppose it is partly because she has got two little sisters of her own. Now, you do not care for children—not in your heart of hearts.”

“I don’t care for the ordinary child, and I certainly began by not loving Ralph at all,” was Harriet’s response; “but certainly I do care for him now better than I ever did for any other child. If I were left here, I should be good to him, and he would be happy. But that is not the point. I want the advantages that Mr Durrant offers—oh yes! Robina can keep her pony; that wonderful Bo-peep can go back to the Brown House and delight them all, and Robina can ride Bo-peep in the holidays. I don’t grudge her her pony, but I do grudge her Ralph. Why I—oh, but you don’t know about that.”

She stopped abruptly.

“You may as well tell me,” said Jane. “I guessed—I think we all guessed that something happened that day when you were so horribly cross and would not come with us to the sea-shore. You got poor little Ralph into no end of mischief that day, or why should you both have been taken ill that evening?”

“I will tell you, Jane,” said Harriet, “if you will promise never, never to let it out to anybody else.”

There was a girl lying in a hammock close by. That girl was Robina. She had been fast asleep. The day was hot, and she was tired from much exercise, for Mr Durrant’s parties never did let the grass grow under their feet. But she awoke now to find that Harriet and Jane were standing a few feet away. Her impulse was to say, “I am here.” The next moment, she would have uttered the words, but, hearing her own name spoken, arrested the speech that was on her lips. She did not know why, but a swift and horrible temptation came over her. She bent a little forward, and, unperceived by the two who were standing two or three feet off, could hear every word that was spoken.

“You will never tell,” began Harriet.

“No, no,” said Jane, a trifle impatiently; “if I wanted to begin to tell all the things you have confided in me, I’d have a pretty bad time of it. You know you have always plotted and planned against Robina. Well, what did you do against her that day?”

“The only thing I could do, and that was not much. You know all about the gipsies, and my following Ralph and bringing him home and my real sorrow, and my giving Ralph up to Robina; and you know how Robina won the pony?”

“Yes,” said Jane; “I know that story, I am perfectly sick of it,” she added.

“Well, that story has somehow come to an end, but another story has begun. It is this: I will tell you what really did happen. I was, oh! in such a rage; and I wouldn’t ride the horrid donkey, and you all went off without me, only Ralph—he stayed.”

“He is a dear little boy,” said Jane. “He did not want to stay, I can tell you; but he could not stand the thought of your being left all alone, so he asked his father if he might stay, and Mr Durrant said, ‘Of course.’ Mr Durrant never makes much of people being self-sacrificing; he seems to think it only right. Well, anyhow, he stayed.”

“He did,” said Harriet. “In some ways he was rather a little nuisance. He talked to me and I talked to him; and he—he—told me that he loved Robina the best.”

The girl in the hammock gave a quick catch in her breath, then a sigh of relief, but too faint to reach the girls who were talking eagerly in the shrubbery below.

“He said he loved her best; and you know that sort of little chap,” said Harriet, “he never, never could tell a lie—that is quite outside his category.”

“Oh quite, dear little man!” said Jane.

“Well, I wanted some water-lilies; and what do you think? I tried to pull some, but I couldn’t, and he—he crept along a bough. I could have prevented him, but I didn’t, for a thought got into my head.”

“What was that?”

“I knew quite well that if he crept along that bough—that willow bough that hangs over the round pond, that it wouldn’t hold his weight, and that he would fall in.”

“You knew it!” said Jane, gasping, “and you let him do it?”

“I did. I let him do it on purpose. He didn’t see me. He wanted to get the water-lilies for me, and he thought he would manage—oh, so fine! and I watched behind a shrub.”

“Oh, Harriet!”

“Well, my dear; you needn’t go on like that. The bough dipped lower and lower, and Ralph, he is not a bit frightened—you know he never was, he is as plucky as his father. I did feel inclined to say, ‘oh, do go back, Ralph—’”

“And you didn’t say the words, Harriet?”

“No, no; you goose, I didn’t; well, anyhow, he tumbled into the water where it was pretty deep too; and he would have sunk, poor little man, for there are such a lot of weeds about just there—only of course I was close by, and I rushed down to the edge of the pond and flung myself in, and swam out to him. I saved him—oh, it was quite easy; he was not even unconscious when I got him out of the water; only of course we were both drenched to the skin.”

“I don’t understand,” said Jane. “It seemed a horrid mean thing to do, and you speak as though it was something fine.”

“Ralph thinks it awfully fine. You see, he takes it in this way. He thinks he tried to get the lilies for me at the risk of his life.”

“That’s true enough,” said Jane.

“And that I saved him at the risk of mine.”

“Which is not a bit true,” said Jane, “for you can swim like a duck anywhere.”

“Ah, but Ralph does not know that, and there is no one who will dare to tell him. We both got ill afterwards, and I was more ill than Ralph, because I was longer in my dripping wet clothes; and now Ralph loves me much, much better than Robina, for you see I saved his life.”

“Oh! I think you are a horrid girl!” said Jane.

“Do you? do you? Well, perhaps you won’t think me quite so horrid when I get you invited here, say, for Christmas, and when we have a jolly, jolly time, with that old Mr Durrant safe in Africa and Ralph just obliged to put up with us. I’ll always be good to him, you may be sure of that, but I shan’t molly-coddle him: I’ll look after number one, see if I don’t.”

“All the same,” said Jane, “Robina is the one who will be invited to take care of Ralph, and you haven’t a chance.”

“I know better,” said Harriet. “I have my own plans. You will have to help me, for if you don’t, I won’t give you that five pounds that my god-mother allows me on each of my birthdays.”

“Five pounds!” said Jane, with a gasp.

“Yes; if I am allowed to stay as Ralph’s companion, I will give you that money this year. Think what that will mean.”

Jane was absolutely silent. The girls went away from under the shadow of the thick plantation, and walked like any other innocent little pair in the sunshine. Robina, after a long time, crept out of her hammock and went to the house. She had a dreadful feeling at her heart. She must be alone. She reached her bedroom and locked herself in.

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