This story is so much about Peggy and her satellite Bobby that we have rather neglected Lilian, and she deserves a chapter all to herself; for she was one of the sweetest, gentlest, most unselfish of girls, who filled a quiet niche in the little world of her home which would have been sadly empty without her.
If anyone had asked Lilian what was her favourite study she would promptly have replied: 'Music.' She practised away patiently at the old piano, much to the delight of her German teacher, who was wont to hold her up as his pattern pupil.
'Mees Vaughan, she take pains, ver' great,' he would say to Miss Martin. 'As for ze ozer yong ladies, zey have no more musique in zem zan an old hurdy-gurdy. All zat vill please zem is a tune to make dance, but for ze vorks of ze best composers zey have no heart at all.'
Lilian's secret ambition was to go to Germany to study at the Leipzig Conservatoire, which Herr Frankenburg always described as the very home and abode of the spirit of music, and made her sadly envious with accounts of the wonderful concerts and operas which might be enjoyed in that favoured city, where the very street vendors would not be tolerated if they cried their wares out of tune.
Lilian's experience of concerts was confined to an occasional afternoon performance in the Warford Assembly Rooms, or the military band in the Spa gardens; but she bravely hid her longings for better things, for she knew that a musical education would be an utter impossibility in the family circumstances, and that Father had strained a point already to allow her to learn from Herr Frankenburg, who was the most expensive teacher in the school.
She had a sweet, true voice, though not of any great volume, and would sing away with much delight when she got the Rose Parlour all to herself, often composing little things of her own, which were really quite pretty, though she was generally too modest to own to them.
One Saturday towards the end of May six of Lilian's most particular school-friends had been invited to spend the afternoon, and there were great preparations at the Abbey. Rollo had been newly washed and combed, the rabbits' hutch had been scrubbed, the arbour swept out, the museum tidied, and Nancy had baked a supply of cakes and tarts calculated to provide for the healthiest appetites.
'Here they are!' cried Bobby, who, perched on the archway that surmounted the gate, could command a view of the distant prospect, and report progress, like Sister Anne in the story of Bluebeard.
'All of them?' asked Lilian, hurriedly tying a pink ribbon round the neck of the pet lamb, whose toilet had been forgotten among the many arrangements.
'Yes; I can see six bicycles coming along the road. One girl's got red hair, so I'm sure it's Evelyn Proctor, and the two in the blue hats will be Susie and Mary. Oh, it is really, for they're turning up from the village over the bridge, and waving their hands.'