“I keep them in my own room now,” he replied with pride, for the possession of “my own room,” a tiny slip of a place out of Roland’s, had gone far to console him for the loss of former luxuries and comforts; “and I’ll tell Lelly to come down to be ready for Aunt Margaret; shall I, Mumsey?” and off he ran.
So, thanks to Christabel’s feeling vaguely wishful to make up for her impatience with her pupil, and perhaps in her heart grateful to him for having made the best of it to her mother; thanks, too, to Jasper’s timely rousing Leila to come downstairs to be ready for their expected guest, the sisters were in good trim when the four-wheeler drew up at the door and Jasper’s joyful cry, “They’ve come,” brought them all out into the hall.
It was such a rainy day—a really hopelessly wet winter’s day—the dull street looking duller than ever, the sky without the faintest gleam—everybody knows what London, above all London “far out,” and where there are no shops even near at hand, can look like in these conditions. And to one whose whole home life till now had been spent in beautiful places, the contrast must have been sharp. Yet never did a face look brighter than Aunt Margaret’s as she got out of the cab and smiled up at her nephew as if asking him, too, to be happy, which poor Mr Fortescue just then was finding difficult.
He glanced anxiously at the house, and was pleased to see the door open and a row of heads in the passage.
“I am sure of Edith”—“Edith” was Mrs Fortescue—“and little Japs,” he thought, “but those girls! I do hope they will be all light.”
Yes, they were at their best—gentle and affectionate, and indeed it would have been difficult to greet their aunt in any other way. She was not a very old lady, though her hair was quite white and she looked delicate, for she was many years younger than her brother, Sir Percy.
She came in, her eyes bright with pleasure, her kind voice already murmuring all their names, and the children gave a start of delight when they saw that their aunt was carrying a huge basket of the loveliest flowers—Fareham flowers, from the beloved hot-houses there. Their delicate fragrance already seemed to fill the little hall.
Mrs Fortescue darted forward.
“How good of you,” she exclaimed, even before she kissed the new-comer, and indeed it would not have been easy to do so with the mass of flowers between them! “Oh, how delicious! Leila, Chrissie,” and the little girls seized the treasures eagerly, and between them bore the basket off to a safe place.
“I thought I would like to bring the flowers in myself for my darlings,” said Aunt Margaret, smiling, “as a sort of ‘good luck,’ you know.”