“It’s not fair. It was all Leila. She knocked over the things, and I’d got up early on purpose.”
“Chrissie,” said her mother, and the one word silenced her again—“I cannot trust you together, I see,” Mrs Fortescue went on. “Go up to your room, Leila, and you, Chrissie, stay in the dining-room.”
Then with Harriet’s help—Jasper carefully collecting the flowers—some sort of order was by degrees brought about; the dangerous pieces of glass swept up, and the carpet dried as far as was possible. But it was necessary to leave the window open, and it was plain that some hours must pass before the room could be occupied.
“Make as large a fire as you can, to help to dry the floor, Harriet,” said Mrs Fortescue, and then she took Jasper’s hand and left the room. “Oh dear, oh dear!” she could not help murmuring, “it does seem too bad—Aunt Margaret’s first morning,” and a little squeeze of her fingers told her of Jasper’s sympathy.
“I’m sure Lelly and Chrissie is really werry sorry,” he said, “and Auntie is so kind, Mumsey.”
Kind indeed she was. For a few minutes later, when she came downstairs and it had to be explained to her that a woeful catastrophe had occurred, she declared that it would be a very good thing for her not to be tempted to loiter in the drawing-room that morning, “for I really must unpack and arrange my things upstairs. I suppose lessons have not begun regularly yet,” she went on, “so may Leila and Chrissie help me a little?” and she glanced at them as she spoke. Leila looked down, Chrissie grew scarlet.
“Ah,” thought Aunt Margaret, “I fear what has happened was not all an accident. Poor children—it would have been kinder to them in the end if they had been less indulged. We have all been to blame in the matter. Still, it is never too late to mend, and I must do my part.”
But from now, her eyes, loving though they were, watched things more closely and anxiously.
Neither of the little girls ventured to reply, but Mrs Fortescue, glancing at them, could not keep back a start.
“Chrissie,” she said, “have you looked at yourself this morning? Do you know that your face is simply—well, to speak plainly, dirty, and your hair ‘Like a crow’s nest,’ as my old nurse used to say? I hope Daddy won’t notice it.”