“And now,” she said, when the meal had come to an end, “you will go upstairs and put on your prettiest dresses and wait in the drawing-room for Mr Timmins. I shall not be far off. He will naturally want to see me as soon as he has had his talk with you both, so I shall remain writing letters in the dining-room. There are so many letters and cards to send off at Christmas time that I shall be fully occupied, and when you touch the bell, Brenda, I shall know what it means. In any case, I will send tea into the drawing-room at a quarter to four. That will give you time to get through your business first, and if you want me to come in and pour out the tea, I shall know if you will just touch the bell.”
“Thank you,” said Brenda. “But it isn’t half-past one yet, and the day is a lovely one. Florence and I want to take a good brisk walk between now and three o’clock. We shall be back before three. We cannot be mewed up in the house until Mr Timmins chooses to arrive.”
“Oh, my dear children! He will think it queer.”
“I am sorry,” said Brenda, “but he had no right to choose Christmas Eve as the day when he was to come to see us. His train may not be in till late. Anyhow, we want to take advantage of the sunshine. Come, Florence.”
The girls left the room and soon afterwards were seen going out arm-in-arm. They walked down the little avenue, and were lost to view.
There was a certain style about them both. They looked quite different from the ordinary Langdale girls. Florence held herself very well, and although she acknowledged herself to be a beauty, had no self-conscious airs. Brenda’s sweet face appeared to see beyond the ordinary line of vision, as though she were always communing with thoughts deeper and more rare than those given to most. People turned and looked at the girls as they walked up the little High Street. Most people knew them, and were interested in them. They were the very charming young ladies who always spent their holidays with Mrs Fortescue. They were, of course, to be included in all the Christmas parties given at Langdale, and Mrs Fortescue would, as her custom was, give a party on Twelfth Night in their honour.
That was the usual state of things. The girls did not seem in the mood, however, to greet their old friends beyond smiling and nodding to them. As they were returning home, Brenda said—
“We are more than half an hour late. I wonder if he has come.”
“Well, if he has, it is all right,” said Florence. “Mrs Fortescue is dying to have a chat with him all by herself, and she will have managed to by this time. She will be rather glad, if the truth may be known, that we are not in to interrupt her. I can see that she is dying with curiosity.”
“I don’t want her to live with us in the future,” said Brenda.