“For good?” said Mrs. Acheson.
“Well, yes, my dear; I suppose so. You see, they are all eighteen. It is absurd to keep girls at school after eighteen. They were eighteen the end of last year. In these days, when people grow old so terribly fast, girls ought to have their so-called education finished at eighteen.”
“My dear Belle would not agree with you,” said Mrs. Acheson.
Mrs. Chetwynd threw up her hands and slightly raised her arched brows.
“Spare me, dear Emily,” she cried. “I do not want to hear any of your dear, extraordinary, clever Belle’s theories at present. I sincerely trust—yes, my dear, I must be frank—I sincerely trust the wave of her influence will never come into my house.”
Mrs. Acheson sighed and sank back in her chair.
“On the whole,” she said, “I have much to be thankful for. I have enough to live on, and the memory of my dear husband’s brilliant career will always be a comfort to me. Belle is also in excellent health. She is, of course, one of the great admirations of my life; but I will admit it, dear, in a whisper, that she is also one of my trials. But, dear Helen, I had forgotten that you had three daughters; and how can they be all eighteen at the same time?”
“I have not three daughters, my dear; I have only two. Letitia is not my daughter. She is my niece; she is my dear husband’s younger brother’s child. She happens to have been born within a month of Eileen and Marjorie, who are twins, consequently the three are practically the same age. They will be home in about an hour and a half. They are all devoted to each other; but I confess it will be something of a handful taking three into society at the same time.”
“Oh, you surely don’t mean to introduce the whole
three the same season?” said Mrs. Acheson. “How can you contemplate anything so appalling?”