"She's married. Oh, Nurse, if Mums knows them, I'm sure we may go and see him."
"Him! Is that the way to speak of a gentleman?"
"Then does the house really belong to father?" questioned Freda. "What does he want two houses for?"
"When Master Bertie grows up, bless his soul! and brings his wife here,—your father being no longer here,—then the Dower House would be ready for your mother to live in!"
"But, Nurse, how interessing!" exclaimed Freda eagerly. "Where would we live—with Bertie or with Mums?"
"You'd go with your mother, of course. This is your brother's house, not yours, if anything happened to your father. But there! Dear knows why I'm talking in such fashion. We'll hope that your father will live to a ripe old age. There's no call to be talking of his death!"
Nurse relapsed into silence. Freda's busy brain worked away.
"Why should Bertie live here and not us?" she demanded presently. "He's much littler than us!"
"He's a boy, and the heir," said Nurse importantly; "you're only girls."
Freda pouted, then she made a grimace at Bertie across the table, and he returned it promptly.