Sidney left her chair and went over to the Admiral. Getting down on the hearthrug by his side, she rested her head against his knee. It had been her favourite position as a little child, when she had felt a craving for companionship and solace.
"You and I would be happy in a walnut shell," she said, laughing, and wiping her tear-stained cheeks with her handkerchief. "I think you would feel leaving this house more than I."
"I dare say I should," said the Admiral; "but my training in the Service has taught me to view change as promotion, and if it be to an unpopular station now, our Great Commander makes no mistakes."
He laid his hand caressingly on Sidney's soft hair as he spoke.
And then Sidney's eyes glowed with understanding and appreciation, but she could not trust herself to speak. At length she broke the silence.
"I will be thankful for our mercies," she said in her bright natural voice. "Why, there was an awful time soon after she made her first appearance, when I thought she was setting her cap at you. And imagine—don't laugh—let us imagine my feelings when you told me you were giving me such a stepmother. Oh, dad dear, a house—even a dear old house like this—is nothing to give up—nothing! But don't let us wait for her to humble us. My pride is up in arms. I don't think we are called upon to make ourselves into doormats for her feet! Don't say that will be necessary!"
"I think we must wait and see," said the Admiral very firmly.
And Sidney dropped her head upon his knee again and was very silent.
They did not talk much more about it. Both their hearts were full of the impending change in their lives, and each was trying to discover bits of cheer which might be passed on to the other.
At last Sidney moved.