Chapter Three.
A New Neighbour.
After dinner that evening the six girls assembled in the drawing-room, and little Mrs Rendell sat in their midst on a low chair drawn up in the centre of the fireplace. A grey silk dress fitted closely to the lines of her tiny figure, two minute little slippers were placed upon the fender, and the diamonds flashed on her fingers as she held up a fan to protect her face from the blaze. She looked ridiculously young and pretty, to be the mother of those six big girls; and a stranger looking in at the scene would have put her down as a helpless little creature, too meek and gentle to cope with such heavy responsibilities. But the stranger would have been mistaken.
“Mother darling,” said Christabel insinuatingly, “granting always that you are the kindest and most amiable of mothers, do you happen to feel in an extra specially angelic temper this evening?”
“An ‘oh-certainly-my-darlings-do-whatever-you-please’ temper!” chimed in Nan sweetly; “because if you do—”
“I hope I shall never be so forgetful of my duties as to say anything so indiscreet,” replied Mrs Rendell firmly. “Margaret, your hair is tumbling down again! Kneel down, and let me fasten it for you at once!”
Nan knelt down meekly, her roguish face on a level with her mother’s, and the brown coils were twisted and hair-pinned together with swift, decided fingers.
“You must do it like this—do you see!—tighter, closer, more firmly!”