At an unorthodox hour of the night the letter-box clanked, and an undirected note fell into the box. Philippa read it, and grew pale with anger; Madge read it, and grew flaming red; Hope cried, “Oh! oh!” and Theo tossed her head like a tragedy queen. The note was short and to the point; it bore neither address nor signature:
“If the occupants of flat Number 10 would have the consideration to remember the existence of their neighbours, it would add greatly to the comfort of the other dwellers in the mansions. Such establishments could not continue to exist if rowdiness and horseplay were permitted without protest. It is sincerely to be hoped that the matter may be remedied before appeal be necessary to those in authority.”
“Anonymous, too! As if we did not know perfectly well who wrote it!” Philippa cried, with curling lip. “Cranky, sallow-faced wretch! He ought to live in a den, and not among ordinary flesh-and-blood mortals. I’ll write an answer! I’ll settle him!”
“He banged on the ceiling one day when I was practising,” chimed in Hope, with smouldering resentment. “It isn’t as if I were a schoolgirl and couldn’t play.”
“Thinks we make too much noise, does he?” murmured Barney thoughtfully. “Sweet innocent! He doesn’t know he is born. Wait a bit until I have really given my mind to the subject.”
“No, no; none of that now, Barney! If we live in a flat we are bound to keep within bounds,” interrupted Stephen anxiously. He reviewed the past fortnight, and was bound to acknowledge that the writer of the note had some just ground for complaint. “I am afraid we have been rather noisy since you arrived.—But perhaps you can explain in your reply, Phil, that there have been—er—special circumstances—er—not likely to occur again. Smooth him down. Great mistake to quarrel with one’s neighbours.”
Philippa looked her brother over, her head erect, her shoulders squared in the defiant manner he had learned to know. She made no reply in words, but he understood full well what was meant by that look. If he were prepared to give in meekly, she was not; if he would not fight for the rights of the family, she would do it for him; and it would not be to-day nor to-morrow either that she would write an apology in response to so audacious a complaint.
All that evening Philippa sat with pursed-up lips, composing and revising an answer which should be at once haughty, sarcastic, and to the point; and no sooner was Stephen safely out of the way next morning than it was written, submitted to Theo for professional revision, and safely deposited in the “Hermit’s” letter-box:
“Miss Charrington is in receipt of an anonymous letter, the source of which, however, she is at no lose to decide. She agrees with the writer that forbearance and consideration are necessary where several tenants live beneath the same roof, but she would impress upon his notice that such consideration should be mutual and not one-sided. It is unreasonable to expect a large and still young family”—(“Still young! he won’t like that—it implies that he is so old himself!”)—“to live in a condition of absolute inaction; and repeated and varied complaints”—(“That means the rapping on the ceiling”)—“are at least as disagreeable to its members as their musical efforts appear to be to their neighbour.”
“That ought to settle him for some time to come,” cried the girls complacently; and when by chance they met the “Hermit” on the stairs they stared at him beneath haughtily contracted brows, and held their skirts well to the side, lest by chance they should brush against him as they passed.