"Not at all," replied Mrs. Clinton. "And her name is Miss Phipp. She is coming in ten days, so you must make the best of your holidays until then."
Nancy sighed. "Our happy childhood is over," she said. "No more will the house ring with our careless laughter. In ten days' time we shall become fevered students."
"I hope it won't be quite so bad as that," said Mrs. Clinton.
The Squire was waiting at the door. He had never before kissed his wife before the servants, but he did so now. If they liked to go away and talk about it they might. "We'll have no more of this gadding about," he said jovially. "We want you at home, don't we, children?"
"Rather," said the twins, renewing their embraces; and Mrs. Clinton felt that there was nothing lacking in the warmth of her welcome.
They went into the morning-room where the tea-table was already set and the kettle boiling over its spirit-lamp. "I told 'em to bring up tea," said the Squire; "I want a word with you. Now run along, children. You can talk to your mother afterwards."
The twins obediently retired. "He's full of it," said Joan. "What a childish pleasure he takes in a piece of news!"
"If it is as we believe," said Nancy, "we mustn't call her Silky Susan any more."
"She's all right, really," said Joan, "if you get her away from her awful old mother."
The Squire, left alone with his wife, took up his favourite attitude in front of the fire. "I've got a piece of news for you, Nina," he said. "What would you think of another marriage in the family?"