At this moment there was a shout from below, and the three girls who had summoned Pauline from the land of dreams rushed off, dashing through the house with whoops of triumph.
Pauline rose and dressed quickly. She put on the pretty pale lavender print frock that Aunt Sophia had decided she was to wear, and went downstairs. When she joined the others Mr. Dale greeted her with one of his slow, sweet smiles.
“How are you, darling?” he said. “I have a sort of idea that I am kept standing here on this lawn, exposed to the heat of a very powerful sun, on your account.”
“Of course it is on Pauline’s account, Henry,” said Miss Sophia. “It is her birthday. Kiss me, Pauline, dear. Many happy returns of the day. Henry, give your daughter her present. She is fourteen to-day.”
“Fourteen! Ah!” said Mr. Dale, “a charming age. The ancients considered a woman grown-up at fourteen.”
“But no one is so silly in these days,” said Miss Tredgold. “We know that a girl is never more childish than at fourteen. Henry, open that parcel and give Pauline what it contains.”
Mr. Dale dropped the brown-paper parcel at his feet. He looked at it in bewilderment.
“It is heavy,” he said. “I haven’t the least idea what is in it.”
“It is your present to your daughter.”
“Ah!” said Mr. Dale, “I forgot; and I packed it myself last night. My child, I wonder if you are worthy of it.”