Daisy was of a persistent nature, not easily silenced. "But, mother, you know the 21st of December is Fulvia's birthday; and we meant to have all sorts of fun. If once we go abroad, we shall never get back in time. I know we shan't."
"Madre said nothing about our going, Daisy."
"Well, then, that will be worse still. Horridly dull to keep your twenty-first birthday without father and mother."
"Daisy, do hold your tongue. You are worrying the madre," whispered Fulvia.
"Why?" in a return whisper of astonishment.
"I haven't a notion. The fact is patent enough. Do let things go."
Daisy subsided, and for two minutes nobody spoke. Then a peal sounded at the front door.
Anice's lips parted, and her cheeks flushed. She almost said "Nigel!"
"Nonsense," Fulvia replied to the motion of her lips. "Not to-night."
But Simms came in. Simms was one of those unexceptionable modern men-servants who always have their wits about them, and who never can be startled. Simms prided himself on a perfect command of feature and of manner. Whatever happened, he seemed to have known it beforehand, to have been at that moment expecting it. In his usual style of composed confidence he entered, and as calmly as if announcing dinner, he said—