He stood up to greet his mother, as she came in, followed by the two younger girls. The news of his unexpected arrival seemed all at once to pervade the household.
Penrose entered next; and behind her Mr. Royston, a thick-set grey-haired man, of impulsive manners, sometimes more kindly than judicious.
He was devoted to his family; not much given to books; ready to help anybody and everybody who might appeal to him; generally more or less in financial difficulties, partly from his inherited tendency to allow pounds and pence to slide too rapidly through his fingers. A pleasant and genial man, so long as he did not encounter opposition; but it was out of his power to understand why all the world should not agree with himself. His wife gave in to him ninety-nine times in a hundred; and if, the hundredth time, she set her foot down firmly, he gave in to her; for he was a most affectionate husband.
As for his daughters, he doted on them. Steady Penrose, useful Merryl, picturesque little Frip, were everything that he desired. Magda alone puzzled him. He could not make out what she wanted, or why she would not be content to fit in with others, to play games, to sit and work, to do anything or nothing with equal content. Dreams and aspirations, indeed! Nonsense! Humbug! What did girls want with such notions? They had to be good girls, to do as they were told, and to make themselves agreeable. A vexed face annoyed him beyond expression. He could not get over it. He could never ignore it. By his want of tact, though with the kindest intentions, he often managed to put a finishing stroke to Magda's uncomfortable moods.
"Why can't father leave me alone?" she sometimes complained.
Mr. Royston never did leave anybody alone, whether for weal or for woe. Nor did he ever learn wisdom through his own mistakes.
This afternoon, happily, there were no dismal faces. With Rob to the fore, even though he had not fallen in with her views, Magda was in the best of spirits.
She took pains with her toilette that evening—which she was not always at the trouble to do. Sometimes it did not seem "worth while." Yet she well repaid care in that direction. Though not strictly good-looking, she had a nice figure, and knew how to carry herself; and the mass of reddish-gold hair came out well, if properly dressed; and when she smiled and was pleased, her face would hardly have been recognised by one who had seen her only in one of her "November fogs." Rob looked her over, and signified approval by a quiet—"That's right." She expected no more. He never wasted unnecessary words.
Further confidential talk that day proved out of the question, for Rob was very much in request. But Magda waited patiently; for he had promised, and he always kept his promises. Bedtime arrived; and still she felt sure.
"I'm off early," he said, and he looked at her. "Seven-thirty train. Will you be down at seven, and walk to the station with me?"