“I shall come as soon as I can possibly arrange to be away from the works,” Mr. Tom Cossart had written. “My brother is laid up with the gout and is unable to move, and I cannot be present at the funeral as I have too many important engagements to fulfil. But I shall come immediately afterwards and do my best to assist in the winding up of affairs.”
He had written also to his nephew, stating briefly that there would be a home for them with their relatives and a place for him in the works. Now they were waiting with some excitement of mind for the arrival of the unknown uncle, in whose hands their future seemed to lie.
“I hope he will be nice and kind!” cried Sheila, as she paced the big hall with excited steps. “I want to like him if I can; but what shall we do if he is harsh and unkind, or”—here she lowered her voice and added, as if half afraid of her own imaginings—“if he is dreadfully common and vulgar?”
“He is our mother’s brother,” said Oscar gravely. “We must try always to remember that.”
“Yes, but mother had been sent away to a good school, and father saw her and fell in love with her when she was on a visit just after she left. She had scarcely lived at home at all. I don’t think that is any proof. Oscar, shall I have to kiss him when he comes?”
“I think you had better, Sheila. He is our uncle. I think he will expect it.”
Sheila made a little grimace; but she had been petted all her life, and kissing came easily to her.
“I wonder why girls are expected to kiss everybody and be kissed? Boys get off. It isn’t quite fair. But I’ll try to be as good as I can.”
Sheila was trying to keep a brave face, though her heart was heavy to-night. The coming of Uncle Tom seemed to emphasise the fact that the father’s place was for ever empty; that it was a stranger who must in future rule their lives for them—at any rate, for the next year or two. The blank in the house was keenly felt at all times, although perhaps a little less keenly than it would have been had Mr. Cholmondeley not been much of a recluse during the latter years of his life. It seemed so strange that a visitor should be arriving, and that there should be only the son and daughter to welcome him.
Sheila choked back a sob more than once, as she stood listening for the crunch of wheels upon the gravel, which would herald the approach of the carriage.