“I wish I had the courage of Sophy,” was Anne’s remark.
“And so do I!” exclaimed Grace. “Oh there’s daddy! Doesn’t he look pleased to see us? One minute, Anne,” she continued. “We’ll be very careful what we say about Kitty, won’t we? We mustn’t encourage daddy to turn against her; it would never, never do.”
“You may be certain I won’t say anything against her,” said Anne; “I wouldn’t be so silly.—Daddy, here we are at last!”
“And welcome, my pets!” said Daddy Dodd, coming forward to welcome his offspring. He was a large, stoutly-made man, of between fifty and sixty years of age. His hair was grizzled and grew back from a lofty forehead; he had bushy eyebrows, small twinkling brown eyes, and a very large moustache. His shoulders were enormously square, and he had great brawny arms; those arms in their day had wielded heavy instruments, for Daddy Dodd had made his fortune by hard and unremitting toil. He had stood on the lower step of the ladder, and had gone conscientiously up and up and up, until he found himself in his present position. He was not “County;” oh no, but he was next door to County, and his girls should be County if he knew the meaning of the word. Through his wife’s influence he had managed to get them into the most select school in England. To him they were by no means plain—in fact, he thought Grace downright pretty. Grace reminded him of her mother, as she was when he was courting her; he adored Mrs. Dodd, and told her so about forty times a day. She was a gentle, good-natured, fairly ladylike woman; she and her John had stood shoulder to shoulder in the early days of their married life; for his sake she had denied herself every possible comfort; she had aided his ambitions, had fostered his toil, and encouraged his work; she had praised his endeavours, and had been the best of good wives to the best of husbands. She loved him devotedly, and now that the toil was over, and great wealth his, she rejoiced, because her John had really earned his riches. He had earned them in the sweat of his brow, and he had been straight. She loved Hillside, which had been built under John Dodd’s special supervision. She loved every scrap of the gaudy furniture, every token of wealth which surrounded her, because these things were John’s presents to his wife, and she loved John better than she loved her daughters, although she loved them, too, very dearly. She came out now to greet them.
“Oh, my dears,” she said, “welcome home! You must be very cold.”
“No, mother, we’re not cold a bit,” said Grace.
“Don’t they speak elegant?” said the father, moving back a space in the great hall and looking at them with satisfaction. “Grace, let me take a good long look at you.—Don’t you think she’s improved, mother?”
“Well, I think she’s about the same as she always was,” replied Mrs. Dodd.
“Now, not a bit of it, mother, not a bit of it; she’s coming on; she’s going to be a beauty like yourself, my dear.”
“Oh no, daddy,” exclaimed Grace, “I’m not a beauty at all; if you were to see the girls at school—Kitty and Peggy, yes, and even Priscilla—you wouldn’t call me pretty.”