“Yes, but there is every hurry, my friend—every hurry! I want you to take three—three orphan girls—three girls who have neither father nor mother; I want you to take them at once into the upper school. They are not specially well off; but I am their guardian, and your terms shall be mine. I have just come from the death-bed of their aunt, one of my dearest friends; she was in despair about Betty and Sylvia and Hester Vivian. They are three sisters. They have been well educated; and, although I don’t know them personally, any girl brought up by Frances Vivian, my dear friend who has just passed away, could not but be in all respects a desirable inmate of any school. I am forced to go to India immediately, and must ask you to look after Fanny for me during the next vacation. Now, if you would only take the Vivians I should go away with a light heart. Do you say ‘Yes,’ my dear friend! Remember how many of my name have been educated at Haddo Court. You cannot refuse me. I am certain you will not.”
“I never take girls here on the plea of friendship—even for one like yourself, Sir John. I must know much more about these children before I agree to admit them into my school.”
Sir John’s face became very red, and just for a minute he looked almost angry.
“Oh, Mrs. Haddo,” he said then, “do banish that alarmingly severe expression from your face and look kindly on my project! I can assure you that Frances Vivian, after whom my own Fanny has been called, had the finest character in the world. Ah, my dear friend, I have you now—her own sister was educated here. Now, isn’t that guarantee enough? Look back on the past, refer to the old school-books, and you will see the name of Beatrice Vivian in the roll-call.”
“What can you tell me about the girls themselves?” said Mrs. Haddo, who was evidently softened by this reference to the past. “I remember Beatrice Vivian,” she continued, before the baronet had time to speak. “She was a very charming girl, a little older than myself, and she was undoubtedly a power for good in the school.”
“Then, surely, that makes it quite all right?” said Sir John. “Mrs. Haddo, you must pity me. I have to place these girls somewhere in a week from now. I am responsible for them. They are homeless; they are young; they are good-looking.”
“Tell me something about their characters and dispositions,” said Mrs. Haddo.
“I can tell you nothing. I only saw Betty for two or three minutes; she was in a state of wild, tempestuous grief, poor child! I tried to comfort her, but she rushed away from me. Sylvia was nearly as bad; while as to poor Hetty, she was ill with sorrow.”
“Well, I will think the matter over and let you know,” said Mrs. Haddo. “I never decide anything hastily, so I cannot say more at present.”
The baronet rose. “I had best have a peep at Fanny before I go,” he said. “I am only going as far as London to-night, so you can wire your decision—‘Yes’ or ‘No’—to the Ritz Hotel. Poor Fanny! she will be in trouble when she hears that I cannot receive her at Christmas; but I leave her in good hands here, and what can any one do more?”