“But she has set her heart on it,” said Florence.
“I know,” remarked Brenda; “but, all the same, our lives are our own, and I don’t think we can do with Mrs Fortescue. I suppose Mr Timmins will tell us what he has decided. We are not of age yet, either of us. You have three years to wait, Flo, and I have two.”
“Well, we must do what he wishes,” said Florence. “I intend to be married ages and ages before I am twenty-one; so that will be all right.”
While they were coming towards the house, an impatient, white-headed old lawyer was pacing up and down Mrs Fortescue’s narrow drawing-room. Mrs Fortescue was sitting with him and doing her utmost to soothe his impatience.
“Dear Mr Timmins, I am so sorry the girls are out. I quite thought they would have been back before now.”
“But they knew my train would be in by three o’clock,” said Mr Timmins.
He was a man of between fifty and sixty years of age, rather small, with rosy cheeks and irascible eyes. His hair was abundant and snow-white, white as milk.
“I said three o’clock,” he repeated.
“Yes,” said Mrs Fortescue, “but on Christmas Eve we made sure your train would be late.”
The lawyer took out his watch.