She kissed the little face affectionately, and then hastened back to her companions.

'I do love Frances,' she thought. 'Somehow, I don't feel as if I could ever love Jacinth quite as much. I do hope all this won't bother the poor little thing. I should make Margaret unhappy if I blamed her for having told Frances, and I scarcely see how she could have helped it. It isn't as if we were in disgrace,' and Bessie threw back her head proudly. 'We have no secrets: father's whole life and character are _grand_; and rather than have that horrid old Lady Myrtle--there, now, I'm calling her just what I told Frances she mustn't--rather than have her thinking _we_ want her money, I'd--I don't know what I wouldn't do.

If only'----And here poor Bessie's heroics broke down a little. There came before her a vision of 'father' with his crutch--for he had been wounded in the hip and was very lame--with the lines of suffering on his face, showing through the cheery smile which it was seldom without; and of 'mother' in her well-worn black poplin, which she used to declare was 'never going to look shabby,' planning and contriving how to send the two girls, neatly and sufficiently provided for, to school, when the wonderful chance of a year at Miss Scarlett's had so unexpectedly come in their way.

Bessie's eyes filled with tears.

'I'd do anything for them,' she thought. 'I'd go to be Lady Myrtle's companion or lady's-maid or _anything_, if it would do any good. It's all very well to be "proud," but I'm afraid my pride would melt very quickly if I could see any way to help them. But I'm glad I stopped Frances talking about it; it really might have done harm. I must write a long letter to mother. I wonder if I can begin it to-night?'

Frances, escorted by Phebe, made her way home in greater silence for some minutes than was usual with her. She was revolving many things in her fluffy little head.

'Had they come in when you started to fetch me?' she inquired at last of the maid.

'Not yet, Miss Frances. Miss Mildmay gave me orders to go for you at half-past six, before she went out. But I don't think they'll be long.

Late tea is ordered for half-past seven, and Miss Mildmay is never behind time on Sat.u.r.day evenings.'

'I don't mind whether they're in or not--not much,' said Frances. 'I don't want any more tea. I suppose Eugene has had his?'

'Yes, Miss Frances, his tea and an egg. He was very pleased. Master Eugene does enjoy a nice boiled fresh egg. I think you'll have to go down to late tea, though, Miss Frances; perhaps Miss Mildmay wouldn't be pleased if you didn't; and perhaps'----

'Nonsense, Phebe,' said her young mistress; 'Aunt Alison doesn't care.

You speak as if she was like a mamma, wanting to have us beside her always. She's had Miss Jacinth all the afternoon, and she likes her better than me. I'm sure she wouldn't care if she never saw me again.

Well, no; perhaps I shouldn't say that, for she's quite kind. She was very kind about letting me go this afternoon, and sending you to take me and to fetch me, Phebe.'

'Yes, Miss Frances,' began Phebe, again with some hesitation, 'it was just that I was thinking about. If you go down to tea just as usual, nice and neat, it'll make it more likely that she will let you go again.

It will show that a little change now and then will do you no harm, nor get you out of regular ways, so to say, Miss Frances.'

'Very well,' the child agreed; 'I don't care much one way or another. Oh Phebe,' she went on, brightening up again--it would have been difficult to depress Francie for long--'we had such fun this afternoon;' and she went into some particulars of the games, which Phebe listened to with great interest. 'I wish Aunt Alison would _sometimes_ let us have friends to play with us. We could have beautiful "I spy" in the garden.'

'Yes, Miss Frances, so you could,' agreed Phebe.

'You see at Stannesley there were really no children, no girls any way near our age except the Vicar's daughter, and though she came to have tea with us sometimes it wasn't much pleasure--not _fun_, at least.

She's a little older than Miss Jacinth, and oh, Phebe, she's so _awfully_ deaf. It's almost like not hearing at all.'

'Poor young lady!' said Phebe, sympathisingly.

'Yes, isn't it sad? And so, you see, the one thing we were glad of about coming here--I was, any way--was about going to school; just what some girls wouldn't have liked. I've always wanted so to have some companions, only it isn't half as much good having them if you only see them at lessons. I don't think Miss Jacinth minds. She was pleased to go to school because of learning better and finding out how much other girls know compared with us, but I don't think she minds the way I do.'

She had almost forgotten whom she was speaking to, or indeed that she was speaking aloud, and half started when Phebe replied again to this long speech.

'It's just because of that, Miss Frances,' said the girl, 'that I was thinking how nice it will be if you're invited sometimes to play with the young ladies of a holiday afternoon like to-day. And if I were you, I'd take care to show Miss Mildmay that it doesn't unsettle you, and I'd just put out of my mind about having any young ladies to come to you.

It'd not suit your aunt's ways.'

'No,' said Frances, 'I suppose not. It's only really the Harpers I care about,' she added to herself. 'And now,' she went on thinking, 'with this muddle about the old lady at Robin Redbreast--if their mother doesn't want her to know about them, perhaps it's best for Jacinth not to see them much. And I'll have to forget what Margaret told me, after I've written to mamma. I want to remember it _exactly_ to tell her.'

She sighed a little. Almost for the first time Frances began to realise that, even when one is possessed of the purest motives and the best intentions, life may be a complicated business. Right and wrong are not always written up before us on conspicuous finger-posts, as we fancy in childhood will be the case. There are shades and modifications, wisdom and unwisdom; apparently, though, thank G.o.d, only 'apparently,'

conflicting duties, whose rival claims it is not always easy to measure.

And it is not till some stages later in our journey that we come to see how our own prejudices or shortsightedness or self-will are really at the root of the perplexity. For G.o.d demands no impossibilities. As has been quaintly said, 'He neither expects us to be in two places at once, nor to put twenty-five hours' work into twenty-four.'

To do what is the least agreeable to us, though far from an invariable rule, is often a safe one. Frances would have liked to run up-stairs to the nursery, and to sit down there and then to the long letter to 'mamma,' to the outpouring of confidence to the almost unknown friend she had learned to trust. But common-sense and a certain docility, which was strongly developed in her, in spite of her superficial self-a.s.sertion and blunt, even abrupt outspokenness, made her yield to Phebe's advice.

And it was a neat, composed-looking little maiden who met her aunt and sister on their return half an hour or so later, somewhat tired and f.a.gged by their rather tedious afternoon's work.

'I am glad you are back, my dear,' said her aunt. 'I wished afterwards I had made a point of your not keeping Phebe waiting, as I had forgotten that Eugene would be alone, and I am always afraid of any accident with the fire, or anything of that kind.'

'I did keep her waiting a little,' said Frances, honestly. 'But I've been back a good while. I've heard Eugene his Sunday lessons: he knows them quite well. And I think tea is quite ready, Aunt Alison.'

'That's right,' Miss Mildmay replied. 'You may ring for it to be brought in, while Jacinth and I take off our things.--Frances seems none the worse for her visit,' she added to her elder niece as they made their way up-stairs. 'I shall not object to her going to Ivy Lodge sometimes in this way, if it does not make her rough or hoydenish.'

'I don't think there is much fear of her learning anything of that kind from the _boarders_,' said Jacinth, gratified by her aunt's confidential tone. 'I shouldn't be so sure of the day-scholars, but you know, Aunt Alison, the Miss Scarletts keep them very distinct. It is a--well,' with a little smile, 'a great compliment for Francie to be asked this way.'

'The Miss Scarletts have plenty of discrimination,' her aunt replied.

'They know that my nieces--your father's daughters--going to any school, especially a day-school, is a great compliment to that school.'

It was not often that Miss Mildmay indulged in any expression of her underlying family pride. It suited Jacinth's ideas 'down to the ground.'

'Yes, of course,' she agreed quietly. 'Still the school _is_ an exceptional one. I think Frances is learning to understand some things better,' she went on. 'But of course she is _very_ young for her age. At first she was far too ready to rush into bosom friendships and enthusiastic admirations and all that sort of thing. And she perfectly adores games,' with a slight intonation of contempt.

'_You_ don't?' said Miss Mildmay, smiling. 'There is nothing to be ashamed of in liking games, if not allowed to go too far.'

'I think it must be born in some people,' said Jacinth. 'It isn't laziness that makes me not care for them. For I love riding and long walks and dancing. Only, somehow, I feel so much _older_.'

'I can sympathise with you,' said her aunt. 'I have never been able to care for any game that ever was invented. So I have not been victimising you this afternoon, you are sure?'

'Oh indeed, no,' replied Jacinth heartily.

On the whole the domestic atmosphere in Market Square Place seemed more genial.

CHAPTER VII.

AN INVITATION.

Jacinth was quick of observation. They had not been many minutes seated at table before it struck her that Frances was unusually silent--or rather, absent and preoccupied, for the mere fact of her not speaking much in her aunt's presence was not remarkable.

She glanced at Frances once or twice inquiringly, then she tried to draw her into the conversation, but only succeeded in extracting monosyllables in reply. Still her sister did not look depressed, certainly not cross; it was much more as if her thoughts were elsewhere.

'What are you dreaming about, Frances?' said Jacinth at last with a touch of sharpness. 'Are you very tired?'

'Did you not enjoy yourself this afternoon?' asked Miss Mildmay, following suit.

Frances started, and pulled herself together.

'Oh yes,' she said, '_very_ much. I never enjoyed myself more. I was only--oh, I was only thinking of things.'

'What sort of things?' asked her aunt good-humouredly. 'Had you much grave and learned discussion at Ivy Lodge?'