“Oh, doctor, you are our only friend—you can never be an intruder,” cried Grace. “Yes, we intended to take everything home; but something has happened since—something that makes every scrap important. We are obliged to do it. It is for the sake of the children!”
“You are giving yourselves a great deal of pain, and you have had enough already,” he said, seating himself at the table between them. “My dear young ladies, you are sure I don’t want to interfere in your family affairs; but I feel responsible to your poor mother for you.”
“What does it matter about us? Dr Brewer, we have made a great discovery to-day!”
“I heard you were out,” he said. “I was very glad to hear that you had been out—a little change is what you want. A great discovery! Well, so long as it is a pleasant one——”
“I don’t know whether it is a pleasant one or not.”
“You shall have my opinion if you will trust me with this important secret,” said the doctor, smiling. He was a man with daughters of his own. He knew the exaggerations, the excitements of youth; and he was very tender of these fatherless children. His friendly countenance, the very breadth and size of the man was a support to them, as they sat slim and slight on either side of him. But when he said this, they looked at each other with that look of consultation which had amused him so often. The doctor thought it was an unnecessary formula on the part of Grace, who always had her own way; but he liked her the better for thus consulting the silent member of their co-partnership before she spoke. To his surprise, however, that silent member returned a glance of meaning—a sort of unspoken veto upon the intended disclosure.
“We have been to the place where papa was when he caught his cold—the same place; and in the same way.”
Here again little Milly, shy and acquiescent as she was, signalled her disapproval. “Don’t,” she seemed to say, with those soft lips which never before had expressed anything but concurrence. The spectator was much more interested, perversely, than if the sisters had been as usual in perfect accord.
“Then you have found your relations?” he said.
“We don’t know if they are relations. Yes, I think so; we had the strangest reception. Doctor, I don’t know how to tell you. We are sure there is something underneath—an inheritance, of which papa has been cheated, which we, or rather our Lenny, is the right heir of. I suppose such things are quite common in England?” cried Grace, full of excitement. “You will be able to tell us what people do?”