"I suppose I must consider myself the family chronicler," said Mrs. Courtenay. "We certainly ought to let Lindsay and Cicely hear the tale of the picture. Ah, here comes tea! Monica, you must look after our guests."
Monica evidently loved to be her mother's nurse. She placed a small table by the side of the sofa, and busied herself in arranging cushions and seeing that everything was placed for the invalid's greatest comfort. She did not neglect the visitors either, and brought out a jar of honey for their special benefit.
"I know you'll like it, because you were so interested in the bees," she said. "Do you remember the day when you went too close to the hives, and nearly got stung?"
"Yes; we had to run the whole length of the walk where the roses grow. I shan't forget it in a hurry," answered Cicely.
"That is the rose avenue where my namesake outwitted Sir Humphrey Warden. I wish you would tell them the story, Mother."
"Oh, do, please," pleaded Lindsay and Cicely; "we'd like so immensely to hear it!"
"I believe I shall just have time while we finish tea," said Mrs. Courtenay. "I suppose you need not be back in school until half-past five? Have you been in the long gallery at the Manor, and looked at the pictures?"
"Yes, often," said Cicely.
"Then you will remember one, at the far end, of a girl in a white dress, holding a bunch of roses in her hand?"
"Yes; it's the prettiest of them all. We always say it's the exact image of Monica."