"She's coming down this week. Dear heart alive! What shall we all do? The master—so young and hearty—but there, this War be takin' all the best! He had no need to volunteer as he did!"
Freda and Daffy crept into a corner of their nursery and cried a little. Nurse was crying easily and almost happily; tears hurt and choked Freda. She was horribly ashamed of them, and struggled to overcome them. Daffy felt she ought to cry harder than she did. She loved her father, but could not yet take in what his loss would mean. They had never seen very much of him; he had always been so busy, but sometimes he would take them to the Zoo or to Madame Tussaud's or to the Pantomime, and then the hours were golden.
"Shall we go on living here?" she asked Freda. "Perhaps Mums will take us back to London."
"Oh, I hope not. Oh, Daffy, do you remember what Nurse said? It has come to pass, and we never thought it would."
"About this being Bertie's house if Dad died? Yes, I remember."
Daffy spoke soberly, but Freda's eagerness carried her on.
"Of course if it's Bertie's house now he can give us leave to do anything we like, and it will be quite easy to put strangers up for the night. Nurse could say nothing at all, nothing. We'll ask Bertie now."
Bertie was pulled into the corner which Freda and Daffy always retired to when they had important business on hand. It was the corner which was farthest from Nurse's chair, and from her quick ears, which often heard more than they were meant to do.
"Bertie, this is your house now. You'll give us leave to have one of the bedrooms to do what we like with, won't you?"
Bertie stared at his sister with round eyes.