It was not a successful tea-party; for the fact of Victor’s previous acquaintance with Lady Margot, so far from acting as a bond of union, seemed to cast a constraint over all.  The meeting between the two had been cool and unnatural.  They persistently avoided speaking to or looking at each other, and it seemed to Mollie’s critical ear as if even Lady Margot’s voice had altered in tone since she had turned the corner of the terrace.  She chatted away as easily as before, but the friendly manner was replaced by something colder and more formal.  As she sat with veil turned back, the full rays of the sun shining upon her face, it became more obvious than ever that, in spite of chestnut hair and violet eyes, Lady Margot fell far short of beauty; but, none the less, the eye dwelt upon her in fascinated attention, so graceful was the pose of the small, stag-like head, so finely cut the curve of chin and cheek; while the smallest action, as of lifting a cup to her lips, became a veritable joy to behold.

She was the incarnation of grace, and, looking at her, Mollie became uncomfortably aware of roughened hair, sunburnt hands, and a dozen little deficiencies of toilette.  Even Ruth suffered from the comparison, and, despite an obvious effort to sustain her rôle as hostess, there was a strained, unhappy expression upon her face which went to Mollie’s heart.

It was a relief to all when Lady Margot rose to take leave; but when she offered her hand to Victor in his turn, he said eagerly-

“Mayn’t I walk down with you to the vicarage?  It is so long since we met!  Please let me take you so far!”

“Oh, certainly, if you can spare the time!” replied Lady Margot with a careless indifference of manner which made her consent almost more blighting than a refusal.

Victor winced beneath it, but made no comment, and the two tall figures walked slowly down the terrace.  Immediately they had disappeared, Jack summoned a servant to wheel him into the house, and the girls were left alone.

They sat silently for a long time, as true friends can do without offence, Ruth gazing ahead with grey eyes which saw nothing of the beauty of the scene; Mollie glancing from time to time at her troubled face, then turning quickly aside, lest her scrutiny might be observed and resented.

At length Ruth spoke, letting her figure drop back in her chair with a gesture of weariness-

“I wonder how it is that nothing is ever as nice as one expects?  If we could have looked forward two months ago, and seen ourselves as we are now, we should have imagined ourselves the happiest creatures on earth; but I am not.  Sometimes it seems quite perfect for a few moments, but something always happens to rub off the bloom.  Uncle Bernard is cross, or Mrs Wolff stupid, or-or something else!  I believe we are not meant to be happy in this world!”

Mollie looked up with a quick flush of dissent.

“Oh, I think that is such a grudging idea!  I hate to hear people say it, and I can’t think how they can, when they look round, and see how bright and beautiful everything has been made!  If God had meant us to be dull and sad, would He have made all the flowers different colours, and every season different from the last, and the sunsets and the dawn, and the wonderful changing clouds?  It is just a gorgeous feast to delight our eyes of colour; and all the animals are so cheerful, while they are young, at least-they skip and dance by instinct, so surely we must be meant to be happy too!”

“I don’t know,” Ruth objected slowly.  “Animals have not souls and responsibilities, but we have, and that keeps us serious.  The average man and woman is not happy, if you can judge by appearances.  I remember reading about a man who walked about the streets of London all day long to see how many people he should meet with a smile on their faces.  I forget how many there were-half a dozen, perhaps-terribly few!”

“Well, there would have been thousands, if people were half as grateful as they should be.  Do you know, I sometimes think that what must grieve God more than almost anything else is that so many people refuse to be happy, in spite of all He can do, and go on forgetting their blessings, and making themselves miserable about little bits of silly worries and bothers day after day.  Imagine if you had a child who was always grizzling, in spite of all your love and care!  How would you feel?”

“But a child is a child.  We may be meant to be serious.”

“You can be serious without being glum.  You can be happy without being thoughtless.”

“Ah, Mollie dear,” cried Ruth, turning to her sister and holding out her hand with a rush of tenderness-“ah, Mollie dear, happiness is a gift, which you possess and I do not!  I am sad even on this lovely day, in this lovely place.  It may be wrong, but I can’t help it, yet I don’t think I am ungrateful.”

“You are happy enough as a rule; but you do `sup sorrow with a spoon’ when you get the chance, old dear!  An hour ago, for instance, the sky seemed remarkably bright, and I could make a shrewd guess at the reason of this cloud; but, if I did, I expect you would snap off my head for my pains!”

“Yes, I should-I certainly should; so be careful what you say!” cried Ruth hastily.  Then, as if eager to change the subject-“Here is James coming out with the afternoon letters.  I hope there is one from home.  It seems ages since we heard!”

“Trix!  For me.  How lovely!  I’ll read it aloud!” cried Mollie, tearing open the envelope, and unfolding several odd sheets torn out of an exercise-book and covered with large, untidy handwriting.  Trix’s characteristic epistles were always welcome, and this afternoon’s specimen had arrived in the very nick of time to stop an embarrassing discussion, and cheer Ruth’s drooping spirits.

Mollie lay back in her chair, and began reading in her clear fresh tones-

“Darling Moll,-While you are basking in the lap of luxury, this poor critter is snatching a few precious moments from `prep’ to answer your last epistle, and give what news there is.  First and foremost, mother is as well as possible, and goes about with an `open your mouth and shut your eyes, and in your mouth you’ll find a prize’ expression, which puzzles her friends into fits.  Poor mum simply dies to tell them that one of her daughters will shortly become a millionaire!  But she shuts her lips up tight, and looks more mysterious than ever, because, of course, there is a chance that it may not come off.  Don’t let me ever see your faces again if it doesn’t, that’s all!

“Fancy you having all those fine clothes!  I can’t imagine how you would look respectably attired.  Kindly remember Beatrice Olivia for any cast-off fineries.  Hair-ribbons especially desired.  I’ve nothing left but an old Navy-blue, twisted up like a tape.

“We had a general intelligence examination at school this week.  Stupid old things!  One question was, `What is the complementary colour to red?’ I had never heard of a complementary colour in my life, and I was just racking my brains to think what to say, when my eyes happened to light on Miss Smith’s carrots. `Ah, ha,’ thinks I, `I have it!’ So I put down `auburn,’ and was jolly well pleased with myself until lunch-time came, when I was telling Gladys my answers, and Miss Bateson heard me, and went into perfect fits!  It seems complementary means something idiotic about two colours making a white light-as if they ever could!  Anyway, I think my answer was very pretty and tactful-don’t you? and I hope it will soften Smithy’s hard heart.

“Another silly question was, `Order a dinner for a class of twelve Board-school children, and state what quantities of each article are required.’  One girl ordered a pound of roast beef and a pound of potatoes for each child, and ten and a half yards of Swiss-roll for the whole class!  I ordered the `scrag-end of the neck.’  Haven’t the least idea what it means, but I thought it sounded cheap.  I likewise gave them suet dumplings for pudding.  Hope they liked them!

“Is Mr Melland’s ankle getting better?  Have you had any more callers, invitations, rides, excursions, or excitements generally?  Please answer my questions next time, and don’t ignore them, as you generally do.  Drummond had a fine adventure yesterday.  Another small boy dared him to stick his head between our railings, and he did, but it wouldn’t come out!  He pushed, and the small boy pulled, and a crowd collected right across the pavement, making kind suggestions, and commenting on the size of his ears.  Whenever he tried to get back, the railings caught them, and they stuck out like sails.  Finally his pride gave way, and he howled, and a friendly policeman coming along, poked the rails apart with a stick, or did something or other, and out he came with a rush.  He looked very crushed in every sense all the evening, so we hope it may be a lesson to him.

  “The next-door girls have new hats-mustard straw, draped with green,
  and roses under the brim.  It seems so sad to reflect that the poor
  dears probably imagine they look quite nice!

  “How is the Ogre?  Does he still live in his den, and growl when you
  appear?  I should be very glad he did shut himself up, when he is so
  cross and disagreeable!

“Well, ta-ta, my darlings!  I miss you at home, but I can’t say I pine for your return, for it’s quite pleasant to be Number One for a change, and boss Attica and the Muz.  Take care of yourselves, behave prettily, and don’t forget the hair-ribbons.-Your loving Trix.”

“Wild child!” said Ruth, smiling.  “She does write the most absurd letters!  Better tear that up at once, Mollie, or burn it when you get into the house.  You have such a trick of leaving things about, and it isn’t safe.  Uncle Bernard might-”

She started violently, and Mollie jumped to her feet as a harsh voice interrupted the sentence-

“Uncle Bernard has already had the pleasure of hearing the way in which a member of your family writes of him to a visitor in his own house.  Ideas of loyalty seem to have altered since my young days, when it was considered a breach of decent feeling to eat a man’s salt and speak slightingly of him behind his back!”

Ruth sat silent, crimson to the roots of her hair; Mollie shuffled miserably from one foot to another, but did not shrink from the old man’s angry gaze.

“But how did you hear, Uncle Bernard?  Have you been sitting behind this open window, listening to us all the while we have been talking?  I don’t think it is quite fair to do that.”

“Don’t you, indeed!  I happened to be reading in my armchair, when you came and planted your chairs immediately outside.  I was the first-comer, you observe, not yourselves, and I cannot say I was interested enough to listen to your conversation until my attention was attracted by the description of myself.  I presume the very descriptive title was originally your invention?”

He planted his stick on the ground, and stared fixedly in Mollie’s face.  The grey eyes fell before his, and she answered hesitatingly-

“I’m-I’m afraid it was.”

“And do you think it was good manners to write in such a way of your host?”

“No, I don’t; I think it was hateful.  But-”

“But?”

Mollie took a step forward, and laid a timid hand on his arm.

“But, in a sort of way, it is true.  You shut yourself up, and you do growl, and even when you are kind, you pretend to be cross.  We have tried and tried to be friends with you, but you won’t let us.  We have said over and over again that we felt as if we were living in an hotel, and it has been a trouble to us all.  I don’t wonder you feel angry; but don’t you think you are a wee bit in the wrong yourself?”

Mr Farrell stared down at the eager face, the wide grey eyes, the little hand upon his arm, then deliberately drew himself away, saying coldly-

“You would make a good lawyer, my dear.  You have a clever trick of evading an awkward question, and shifting the blame from your own shoulders.  You will excuse me if I say that I can scarcely consent to discuss my own conduct with a girl of your years.  The point I mentioned was your own conduct in writing disrespectfully of your host.”

“I know, and I’ve said already that it was horrid; but it was not so horrid as you think.  Trix is my sister, and we all have a habit of exaggerating and using stronger terms than we really mean.  We have a habit of giving nicknames, too.  They are not complimentary as a rule, but we don’t mean to be unkind.  If you read some of Trix’s other letters, you would see that we have not been altogether ungrateful.  Will you read them?  I have them all upstairs, and could bring them down in a moment.”

“You are very good.  Judging from the specimen I have heard, I think I would rather decline the honour.”

“Yes; but you ought not to decline!  It isn’t a question of enjoyment; it’s a question of justice to Ruth and to me.  You accuse us of being disloyal and ungrateful, so it’s only fair you should hear our defence.  I will bring down the letters, and you can read them at your leisure.  They may bore you a little, but you will see that we are not so bad as you think, and that we have not always been uncomplimentary.”

She walked hastily towards the house, leaving Ruth and the old man alone.  He stood leaning on his stick, staring fixedly at her with his sunken eyes; but her head remained persistently drooped, the dark lashes lying on the flushed cheeks.

In the tension of that silence she could hear the beating of her own heart, and her ears strained nervously for the sound of returning footsteps.  She had not long to wait.  With a clatter, Mollie came scrambling out of the library window, the letters in her hand.

“There’s our defence!  Please read them before you scold us any more.”

Mr Farrell took the letters, thrust them into his pocket, then stood silently, as if waiting for something more.

Mollie stared at him curiously, but he paid no attention to her; his gaze was fixed on Ruth’s bent figure and downcast face.  At length, surprised at the prolonged silence, she lifted her eyes with a frightened glance, and immediately Uncle Bernard broke into speech.

“Yes, I was waiting for you!  Have you nothing to say on your own account?” he demanded sternly.  “You seem content to sit silently and let your sister fight your battles.  Is it because you are innocent of having offended in the same way yourself?”

Ruth’s cheeks flushed to an even deeper rose.

“I,” she stammered-“I-I’m sorry!  I didn’t mean-”

Mr Farrell turned to re-enter the house.

“Ah,” he said coldly,” so it was cowardice, after all!  I understand.  It is an interesting discovery!”