Never had Frances enjoyed herself more, her only regret being that Jacinth was not there to share her pleasure. There was the element of novelty to add zest to the whole, and then as the 'boarders' looked upon her as in some sense their guest, they vied with each other in making much of her--for her own sake too, for Frances was a great favourite, a much greater favourite than her sister, among their companions. It is to be doubted if Frances would have enjoyed herself quite as much had Jacinth been with her. For not only did Jacinth's rather cold, stand-off manner destroy any geniality towards herself; it often acted on Frances as a sort of tacit reproach to her own overflowing spirits.

And through all the little girl's fun and merriment there ran the consciousness of the trust reposed in her by the Harpers. She was full of intense interest in their family history; it was really quite like a story in a book, she kept saying to herself, and she felt bursting with eagerness to relate it all to Jacinth.

How good and delightful they must all be, Bessie and Margaret's father and mother, and brothers and sisters! It was easy to believe it, the girls were so nice themselves! How lovely it would be if, somehow, she, or Jacinth and she, could be the means of healing the family breach and introducing her relations to Lady Myrtle, so that in the end they might be restored to their lost rights. For 'rights' Frances was determined to consider them, in her vehement young judgment and hot partisanship of her friends.

'It is not fair or just!' she said to herself; 'it is shameful that they and their father should suffer for their _grandfather's_ fault. But n.o.body could help seeing how good they are: if only Lady Myrtle knew them it would all be right. I wonder how would be the best way to tell her? Jacinth will know--she is so much cleverer than I, and then she is sure to be Lady Myrtle's favourite. I am glad she is, for in spite of what Bessie and Margaret say, I don't feel as if I could ever like that old lady.'

And her eagerness to go home and talk it all over with 'Ja.s.s,' made her, notwithstanding her enjoyment of the afternoon, scarcely sorry when one of Miss Scarlett's servants came out to tell her that her maid had called to fetch her.

She said good-bye to her companions and ran in for a moment, by old Miss Scarlett's special desire, to the drawing-room, where the ladies were sitting. They kissed her affectionately.

'I've been so happy,' she said. 'We've had such beautiful games; I've not had such fun for ever so long.'

'I am so glad, my dear child,' said the eldest lady, and she smoothed the little girl's soft hair. 'You must come again and see something of your companions out of lesson hours as well as in the schoolroom.'

Frances's eyes sparkled with pleasure.

'I would like it very much,' she said.

'What is your sister about this afternoon?' said Miss Marcia. 'Perhaps she does not care so much about games and romping as you do?'

'No, she doesn't,' replied Frances, bluntly. 'This afternoon she's gone with Aunt Alison to the girls' club.'

'Very nice,' said Miss Scarlett, approvingly. 'Jacinth is a thoughtful girl and older than her years, in some ways. Is she interested already in Miss Mildmay's good works?'

The old lady was pleased to hear of any bond of sympathy likely to draw the aunt and niece together, for much as she respected Miss Mildmay, she had had strong doubts of her fitness for the charge of the girls, and considerable misgivings as to their happiness with her. And Miss Scarlett was old-fashioned, and but for her native kindliness of _heart_ she might almost have been prejudiced and narrow-minded. She scarcely belonged to the present generation. Her youth had been pa.s.sed in a somewhat restricted groove, where the Lady Bountiful notions of benevolent work among the poor were still predominant. Her sisters, a good many years her juniors, had to a certain extent a.s.similated modern ideas.

Frances hesitated. She could not bear in the least to decry her dear 'Ja.s.s,' and yet she knew that her sister had so far troubled her head very little, if at all, about her aunt's girls' club or other philanthropic undertakings.

'Aunt Alison doesn't tell us much about all these things,' she said.

'To-day was the first time she asked Jacinth to go with her, but Ja.s.s was very pleased indeed, and I'm sure she'll like to be of use.'

Miss Scarlett smiled. She was quick of perception in some ways; she understood the little girl's loyal admiration of her sister, and again she patted her fair head.

'Well,' she said, encouragingly, 'sometimes, I hope, Jacinth may like to spend a holiday afternoon with us. But tell her and your aunt from me, that if ever they are at a loss what to do with _you_, Frances, Miss Mildmay must let me know. We can manage a good run in the garden even in wintry weather, and there _are_ such things as blindman's-buff and hide-and-seek in the house sometimes.'

'Thank you _very_ much,' said Frances. 'I think--I would like to come sometimes on Sat.u.r.days, for, besides going with Aunt Alison, I shouldn't wonder if--I daresay Ja.s.s may have often to go'----She stopped and hesitated, and finally blushed. 'I don't think I can explain,' she said.

'Never mind, my dear,' said Miss Marcia, coming to the rescue, with a vague idea that perhaps Jacinth had some private charities of her own in prospect which she did not wish talked about. 'Give Miss Scarlett's message to your aunt and sister, and good-bye till Monday morning.'

Frances ran off, much relieved in her mind.

'But I really must be careful how I talk,' she reflected sagely. 'I had quite forgotten that I wasn't to chatter about Lady Myrtle--except to Bessie and Margaret. Jacinth said I might really count them my friends, and that means being able to tell them anything I like. Besides, how could I have helped telling Margaret about Lady Myrtle, when she told me all the story of her being their great-aunt?'

Her conscience nevertheless was not absolutely at rest, and joined to her eagerness to tell her sister all she had heard of the Harpers'

family history was now a slight fear of Jacinth's considering her indiscreet, and she was so preoccupied that, as she hurried out to the hall, where Phebe was waiting, she almost ran against Bessie, who was eagerly watching for her.

'Frances,' she said, 'I must speak to you a moment. I asked Miss Linley, and she let me run in, and she said I might walk down to the gate with you.' There was rather a long drive up to the door of Ivy Lodge.

'Listen, dear; it's this. I can't bear to ask you to keep anything a secret from your aunt or your sister, but _sometimes_ secrets may be right, if they concern other people and are not about anything in any way wrong. And I don't see what else to do. It is this--would you mind promising me not to tell _anybody_ about Lady Myrtle Goodacre being our relation, till I have written home to mother and told her that you and Jacinth know her, and about your grandmother having been her dear friend? I am _so_ afraid of doing harm, or vexing father, for though he is so good, he is--very proud, you know, and--he could not bear it to--to come round to Lady Myrtle that we were talking about her, or--thinking about her money.'

Bessie's face by this time was crimson. Frances opened her mouth as if about to speak, then shut it again, and gazed at Bessie with a variety of contradictory feelings looking out of her blue eyes. There was disappointment, strong disappointment that her wonderful schemes for bringing the Harpers and their old relative together threatened thus to be nipped in the bud; there was disappointment, too, that she was not to have the pleasure and importance of relating the story 'just like one in a book' to her sister; and yet there was considerable relief, born of her recently aroused misgiving as to how Jacinth would look upon her confidences with Margaret.

Bessie meanwhile stood looking at her in undisguised anxiety.

'It doesn't matter a bit about Aunt Alison,' Frances at last blurted out. 'We're not at all bound to tell her everything; mamma knows she wouldn't understand or take the trouble to listen. And so, when we came here, mamma said we must just do the best we could. I've always told Ja.s.s everything, and we write long, _long_ letters to mamma. We tell her--at least I do--everything that puzzles us, even things I can't understand about--about religion,' and here Frances grew red. 'Though that's _one_ thing that's better here than at Stannesley; the Bible cla.s.ses are so nice.'

'But Frances,' repeated Bessie, 'about not telling Jacinth? It is only till I write to mother and get her answer. And I'm not asking you to hide anything wrong; it's really our own family affairs.'

'I know,' said Frances. 'No, I don't think it could be wrong to promise.'

'Put it this way,' said Bessie: 'suppose you had, by some sort of accident, overheard anything about other people, you wouldn't at all think you were bound to tell Jacinth. Well, you see it was a _little_ like that; Margaret shouldn't by rights have told you without asking mamma.'

'I see,' said Frances. 'Well then, Bessie, I promise not to tell anybody till you give me leave. Only, you won't count my writing it all to mamma? I write the most of my weekly letter to her on Sunday, so I'd like to know, because to-morrow's Sunday, you see.'

'_Of course_,' said Bessie with the utmost heartiness, '_of course_ you must write everything to your mother, just as I shall to mamma. Thank you so much, dear Francie, for understanding so well. And--and--just one other little thing--don't you think, just now, it will be better for you and Margaret not to talk about Lady Myrtle to each other? I mean if she invites you to Robin Redbreast and you go, I don't think you'd better tell Margaret. She's not very strong, and she thinks of things so, once she gets them in her head. She's different from me. I can put them right away.'

And Bessie gave herself a little shake and stood there, all the anxiety gone out of her face, bright, fearless, and handsome as usual.

Frances, however, gave a little sigh.

'Very well,' she said, 'I won't speak about it any more to Margaret if you think I'd better not. But it's rather hard not to have any one I can tell about it, when I've been so interested.'

And Frances's face grew very doleful.

Bessie Harper looked and felt sorry for her. She knew what a warm faithful little heart she had to do with, and unaware as she was of Frances's slight fear of Jacinth's displeasure, she perhaps overestimated the trial it was to the younger sister to be debarred from giving her confidences to the elder one.

'I'm very sorry,' she said, sympathisingly. 'I really am very sorry indeed. But still I'm sure it's better for Jacinth not to know about it till I hear what mother says. You see she _may_ be invited to Lady Myrtle's any day, and if anything about the Elvedons or our family was said, it would be impossible for her not to feel uncomfortable and--and--not open, you know, unless she told what Margaret told you, and that might be just what father would dislike.'

'And suppose _I_ go to Robin Redbreast too,' said Frances, 'what am I to do?'

'I thought you said Jacinth was the one who would go,' said Bessie.

'Oh well,' replied Frances, who had raised the difficulty partly out of half-petulant contradiction, 'I am pretty sure it will be Ja.s.s. I don't think Lady Myrtle noticed me much, and I don't want to go. I don't like her; at least I don't care about her unless she could be made nice to you. And any way she wouldn't ask _me_ questions, even if by chance she did hear your name'----

'And Jacinth isn't the least likely to speak about us, as things are. So it's all right; and any way, Frances, you can write a very long letter to your mother to-morrow.'

'Yes,' the little girl agreed. 'That's better than nothing; only, just think of the weeks and weeks before I can get an answer! Whatever other troubles you have, Bessie, you _are_ lucky to have your father and mother in England, and to know them. I don't know mamma for myself a bit; only by her letters, and because I just feel she _must_ be very good and kind. When I was very little it seemed something like--no, perhaps you wouldn't understand'----

'I think I would,' said Bessie, who was eager to make up by every means in her power for any distress she was causing to her friend. 'Tell me.'

'I was only thinking what queer feelings children have,' said Frances.

'When I was little, before I had ever seen mamma--of course I can remember her since the time I _did_ see her, five years ago, and since then she has seemed real--but before that, it was only a kind of faith.

Writing letters to her was a very little--don't think it's naughty of me to say it--a very little like saying our prayers. They went out, away to somewhere, to some one I'd never seen; just like, you know, when we pray.'

'Yes,' said Bessie gently, 'but the answers came.'

'I know,' replied Frances simply. 'And sometimes I think it helped to make me feel that there is something _real_ in saying our prayers. But I must go.'

'And so must I,' said Bessie. 'And thank you, dear Francie.'