“And Leila and Chrissie, too,” said their father, when speaking about them to their mother, “they seem rather subdued, naturally enough, but they will be plucky and sensible and do all they can to help us, I hope.”
“Yes, I hope so,” she agreed, and Mr Fortescue was too busy about other things to notice the want of confidence and cheerfulness in her tone.
Then followed a week or two of extreme “busyness” for the children’s parents. Strange men were constantly coming to the house, with note-books, in which they made long lists of the furniture, and pictures, and ornaments—what were to be sold and what to be kept. House agents, too, and several times, parties of ladies and gentlemen to be shown over all the rooms—some of whom were already friends or acquaintances of the Fortescues, some complete strangers.
It was all very queer, but there was a certain kind of excitement about it, though once or twice Chrissie grew red and angry at hearing some murmured expressions of pity, such as—“Poor people, isn’t it sad for them?” or, “I do feel so for them all.”
“Impertinent things,” muttered the child, though fortunately in a whisper.
Then at last came the day on which their mother with a little touch of relief in her voice, told them that the new house was chosen and decided upon.
“We shall move into it in about a fortnight,” she said, “and it will not be so very difficult to manage. A great deal of the furniture has been bought by the people who have taken this house, and as they are not coming in here for a month or more, we can send off all that we shall require at Spenser Terrace next week, and have it fairly in order before we go ourselves.”
“Spenser Terrace,” repeated Leila, “I never heard of it. Where is it, Mummy?”
“Some way out, of course,” was the reply. “Still, not in the suburbs, which I am glad of. It will be easier in many ways, especially for Daddy and Roland coming and going. Daddy has got a post, my dears—nothing very much, but we are very thankful. We shall just be able to get on with great care, for Aunt Margaret insists on joining the little income left to her, to ours. And I hope and think we can manage Roley’s school,” she added as she hurried off.
“Of course,” said Christabel, when she and Leila were alone, “of course Roland is the one they care about. You and I are to be educated anyhow or nohow, I suppose, so long as he goes to Winton. Why, we shan’t even be able to be governesses!”