It was at this moment that the name of Hercules came into Phillis’s head for her cousin. What feats of strength did he mean to undertake on their behalf? Would he strangle the hydra-headed monster of public opinion that pronounced 294 “women who sewed other women’s gowns” were not to be received into society? Would he help Nan gather the golden apples of satisfied love and ambition? What was it that he meant to do by dint of sheer force and good nature?
Harry Challoner did not long leave them in ignorance of his intentions. In the coolest possible way he at once assumed the headship of the family,—adopting them at once, and giving them the benefit of his opinions on every point that could possibly be mooted.
“I had not a soul belonging to me until now,” he said, looking around on his cousins’ bright faces with a glow of honest satisfaction on his own. “It made a fellow feel precious lonely out there, I can tell you.”
“You ought to have married, Harry,” suggested Dulce.
“I never thought any one would care for such a great hulking fellow,” he returned, simply; “and then the girls over there were not to my taste. Besides, I never thought of it; I was too busy. I am going to take a holiday now, and look about me a little; and when you and Aunt Catherine are settled, I may have a try myself at some one,” he finished, with a big laugh.
This notion amused the girls immensely, then and afterwards. They began to talk of the future Lady Challoner. Nan proposed one of the Paines. Phillis thought if Grace Drummond were only as sweet-looking as her photograph he could hardly help falling in love with her. And Dulce was of opinion that Adelaide Sartoris, handsome and queenly as she was, would not consider a baronet beneath her. They confided all these thoughts to Sir Harry, who thanked them quite gravely for their interest and promised to consider the matter. He even wrote down the names in his pocket-book one after another.
“Adelaide Sartoris, did you say? Ah, we had an Adelaide at Sydney, a little, dark thing, with hair blown all over her temples, and such a pair of mischievous eyes: that girl was always laughing at me, somehow. And yet she seemed sorry to bid me good-bye.”
“Perhaps she was in love with you?” observed Dulce. But Phillis frowned at this. She thought they had gone too far in their jokes already with a cousin who was such a complete stranger. But he returned, quite gravely,—
“Well, now, you know, such a thing never came into my head. I talked to her because a fellow likes to be amused by a lively girl like Miss Addie. But as to thinking seriously of her—well, I could not stand that, you know to be laughed at all one’s life; eh, Miss Mattie?” And Mattie, at this appeal, looked up with round, innocent eyes, and said, “Certainly not,” in such an impressive tone that the other girls burst out laughing.
They all went home after that. Sir Harry escorted his cousins and Mattie to the Friary, and then returned to his hotel to dinner. But the girls, who were in a merry mood, would not part 295 with Mattie. They sent her home to put on her green silk dress, with strict orders that she was to return as soon as possible.