“I haven’t been much good to him,” said Mrs Headfort, deprecatingly.
“Oh, yes, my dear,” said her father, with amiable condescension, “you’ve been very good, very good indeed. You did your best, and who can do more?”
Mrs Headfort smiled. She knew she was much less clever than her sister, but the knowledge never roused in her the faintest sensation of jealousy.
“And à propos of my secretaries,” continued Mr Raynsworth, “it’s going to be an embarras de richesses. There’s a letter from Charlie by the second post”—he held out an envelope as he spoke—“to say that he may be coming next week instead of a fortnight later.” Philippa’s face fell a little. Fond as she was of her elder brother, it went somewhat against the grain with her to think of so soon giving up the post of amanuensis to her father, which she had filled for the last two years.
“So,” Mr Raynsworth went on, “so far as I was concerned, my dear, you might have paid a longer visit at Dorriford.”
“Or you might come with me to Wyverston! How I wish you were coming!” said Mrs Headfort, quick to perceive the slight disappointment in her sister’s face called forth by her father’s speech, though it had been made in all innocence.
“I wish I could go with you,” said Philippa. “I shall have nothing to do when you’re away.”
“Oh, yes, dear, you will,” said her mother; “Charlie will be wanting you all day long, to begin with.”
“And I want you dreadfully now,” said Evelyn. “I am longing to show you my clothes and what I’m arranging about them—several things I couldn’t fix about till you came back.”
“I’m quite ready,” said Philippa. “I’m not the least tired,” and she rose to accompany her sister up-stairs, but again the door opened, and this time two pairs of arms were thrown round her with exclamations of delight.