"I think I ought to tell you," she said gravely, "that your father is very much upset at this news; he's very much hurt by what your aunt has done. I can understand and sympathize with his feelings. You see he knows that he has always been a good father to you, and it would have been more seemly had this money been left to him, though, of course, your father and I have control of it until you each become twenty-one years old or get married."
Something prompted her to make the situation quite clear to her children. She had another motive for telling them, or at all events for telling Joan, exactly how things stood; she wanted to know the worst at once. She knew anything would be more endurable than uncertainty as to how this legacy would affect Joan.
The children were silent; something awkward in the situation impressed them; they longed to be alone to talk it over. Mrs. Ogden left the room to interview the cook; she had had her say, and she felt now that she could only await results.
3
As the door closed behind her they stared at each other incredulously. Joan was the first to speak.
"What an extraordinary thing!" she said.
Milly frowned. "You are queer; I don't believe you're really pleased. I believe you're almost sorry."
"I don't know quite what I am," Joan admitted. "It seems to worry Mother, though I don't see why it should; but I have a feeling that that's going to spoil it."
"Oh, you always find something to spoil everything. Why should it worry Mother? It doesn't worry me; I think we're jolly lucky. I know what I'm going to do, I'm going to talk to Doddsie this very day about going to the Royal College of Music."
Joan scented trouble. Would Milly's little violin master side with her when he knew of his pupil's future independence?