Cecil made a wry face.
“Shall be soon, uncle!” he declared hopefully, “I’m getting on now first rate. Morton here makes me work like a Trojan.”
“That’s right! And you, Philip? I hope my lazy nephew doesn’t keep you back.”
“Oh, Morton’s all right for his matric. whenever he likes to go in for it!” broke in Cecil.
Mr. Ravenor nodded.
“Good! You’d better go and dress now, both of you; Richards is waiting to show you your rooms.”
We passed up the great oak staircase, and on the first corridor we came face to face with a slim little figure in a white frock, walking demurely by the side of her maid, with her ruddy, golden hair tumbled about her oval face and an expectant light in her dancing blue eyes.
Directly she saw us she flew into Cecil’s arms.
“Oh, Cis, Cis, Cis, how delightful! How glad I am that you have come! They only just told me! And how do you do, Mr. Morton?”
She held out a very diminutive palm and looked up at me with a beaming smile.