“Dear Dad, I daresay you are quite right!” she said. “But I’m afraid it’s too late now to preserve what is lost. Elegant speech and graceful manners are very rare.”
“Glad you know it!” and her father made another grimace as his burning toe asserted its existence afresh. “You’ll appreciate my work when you see it!”
“I’m sure I shall!” She hesitated,—then added irrelevantly:
“Jack has joined up.”
“Best thing he could do! He was always idling about, with no aim in life as far as I could see—one of those stupid young men who want licking into shape!”
She made no reply. Moving quietly about the room she put things tidy and stirred the fire into a more cheerful blaze—then, seeing her father had closed his eyes in preparation for a doze she slipped away. In the outer hall she met the parlour-maid,—generally a trim, tidy little body, but now with roughened hair and swollen eyes, crying bitterly.
“Why, Annie! What’s the matter?”
The girl gave a great sob.
“My only brother, miss—he’s killed!”
Killed! The word sounded butcher-like.