always been tall, and atfourteen had looked older than her years, whereas now at five-and-twentyone could scarcely have believed her to be as much. She had fulfilledthe promise of her girlhood for she was an undoubtedly beautiful woman,though to those who knew her but superficially, she might have seemedwanting in animation, for she was quiet almost to coldness, thoughtfuland self-controlled, weighing well her words before she spoke and slowin making up her mind to any decision.
Ermine, brown-haired and brown-eyed, brilliantly handsome, was morepopular than her elder sister. But rivalry or the shadow of it betweenthe two was unknown. Never were two sisters more completely at one,more trusted and trusting friends.
"They are all in all to each other and to their father," was theuniversal description of them. "Almost too much so indeed," some wouldadd. "It must be because they are so perfectly happy as they are thatneither of them is married."
For why the Misses St Quentin did _not_ marry was every year becomingmore and more of a puzzle to their friends and the world at large.
Sir Philip Cheynes got up from the comfortable garden chair on which hehad been lounging and leant against the elm under whose wide-spreadingbranches the little party had established themselves. A table wasprepared for tea, Ermine had a book on her knee which she imaginedherself to be or to have been reading, Madelene was knitting.
"It will spoil it all," said Philip at length after a silence which hadlasted some moments, "spoil it all completely."
"What?" asked Madelene, looking up, though her fingers still went onbusily weaving the soft snowy fleece on her lap.
"Everything, of course. Our nice settled ways--this satisfactory sortof life together, knowing each other so well that we never havemisunderstandings or upsets or--or bothers. Your father and mygrandmother are a model aunt and nephew to begin with, and as for usthree--why the world never before saw such a perfection of cousinship!And into the midst of this delightful state of things, this pleasantlittle society where each of us can pursue his or her special avocationand--and perform his or her special duties--for we're not selfishpeople, my dears--I'm not going to allow that--into the midst of it youfling helter-skelter, a spoilt, ill-tempered, restless unmanageableschool-girl--eager for amusement and impatient of control--incapable ofunderstanding us or the things we care for. I never could have imaginedanything more undesirable--I--"
"Upon my word, Philip, I had no idea you could be so eloquent,"interrupted Ermine. "But it is eloquence thrown away, unless you wantto prove that you yourself, if not we, are the very thing you have beendenying, without having been accused of it."
"Selfishness--eh?" said Philip.
"Of course, or something very like it."
Philip was silent. To judge by his next remark Ermine's reproof had nottouched him much.
"I don't know that, for some time to come at least," he said, "it willmatter much to me. I shall probably be very little here till Christmasand then only for a few weeks."
His cousins looked up in some surprise.
"Indeed," they said. "Where are you going? Abroad again?"--"You willmiss all the hunting and shooting," Ermine added.
"I know that," said Philip. "I'm not going for pleasure. I am thinkingof taking up my quarters at Grimswell for a while. The house there isvacant now, you know, and my grandmother thinks it a duty for me to liveon the spot and look after things a little."
Madelene's eyes lighted up.
"I am so glad," she said. "I quite agree with Aunt Anna."
"I thought you would," said Philip, "and so would never mind who. Ican't say I exactly see it myself--things are very fairly managedthere--but still. I'm the sort of fellow to make a martyr of myself toduty, you know."
Ermine glanced at him as he stood there lazily leaning against thetree--handsome, sunny and sweet-tempered, with a half mischievous, halfdeprecating smile on his lips, and a kindly light in his long-shapeddark eyes.
"You look like it," she said with good-natured contempt.
"But to return to our--" began Philip.
"Stop," cried Ermine, "you are not to say `muttons,' and I _feel_ youare going to. It is so silly."
"Really," Philip remonstrated. "Maddie," and he turned to Miss StQuentin appealingly, "don't you think she is too bad? Bullying me notonly for my taken-for-granted selfishness but for expressions offensiveto her ladyship's fastidious taste which she fancies I _might_ be goingto use."
"My dear Philip, you certainly have a great deal of energy--and--breathto spare this hot afternoon," said Ermine, leaning back as if exhaustedon her seat, "I know you can talk--you've never given us any reason todoubt it, but I don't think I ever heard you rattle on quite asindefatigably as to-day. One can't get a word in."
"I want you both to be quiet and let me talk a little," said Madelenebreaking her way in. She scented the approach of one of the battles ofwords in which, in spite of the "perfect understanding" which Philipboasted of between his cousins and himself, he and Ermine sometimesindulged and which were not always absolutely harmless in their results."As Philip was saying when you interrupted him, Ermie, let us go backto our--subject. I mean this little sister of ours. I wish you wouldnot speak of her return, or think of it as you do, Philip."
"That's meant for me too, I wish you to observe, Phil," said Ermine."It's a case of evil communications, and Maddie is trembling for my goodmanners to the third Miss St Quentin when she makes her appearance amongus."
"On the contrary, Ermine," said Madelene gravely, "if you are influencedby Philip's way of speaking it is that the ground with you is ready forthe seed." Philip began to whistle softly--Ermine grew rather rosierthan she was before.
"If so--well--what then? Go on, Maddie," she said.
She got up from her seat and half threw herself on the grass besideMadelene. But Madelene did not speak. "Of course," Ermine went on, "Iknow it's all quite right, and not only right but inevitable. Andyou're as good and wise as you can be, Maddie. It was only that thismorning I felt rather cross about it, and Philip and I couldn't helpshowing each other what we felt. But go on, Maddie--say what you weregoing to say."
"It is only the old thing," said Madelene. "I think, and I shall alwaysthink what I did at the time, though I was only a child then, that itwas a mistake to send Ella away to be brought up out of her own home andseparated from her nearest relations. Of course it was not anticipatedthat the separation would be so long and complete a one as it has turnedout--at least I _suppose_ not."
"I don't know why it need have been so," said Ermine, "only every timethere has been anything said of her coming to us her aunt has putdifficulties in the way."
"There seemed sense in what she said," Madelene replied; "it was notmuch use Ella's coming here, just to get unsettled and her lessonsinterrupted, for a short visit. And then, of course, papa's longillness was another reason."
"And Mrs Robertson's own wishes--the strongest reason of all," addedErmine. "She may be a kind and good enough woman, but I shall alwayssay she is very selfish. Keeping the child entirely to herself allthese years, and now when she suddenly takes it into her head to marryagain in this extraordinary way--she must be as old as the hills--poorElla goes to the wall!"
"That's probably the gentleman's doing," said Philip.
"Well then she shouldn't marry a man who would do so," said Ermine.
"I quite agree with you," he replied drily, "but we all know there's nofool like an old fool."
"It is hard upon Ella, with whomever the fault lies--that is what I'vebeen trying to get to all this time," said Madelene. "If she had alwayslooked upon this as her home, and felt that we were really her sisters,she would have grown up to understand certain things gradually, which,now when the time comes that she must know them, will fall upon her as ashock."
"You mean about our money and this place?" asked Ermine.
"Of course--and about papa's being, though I _hate_ saying it, inreality a poor man."
"Do you think there is any need for her to
know anything about it forsome time to come?" asked Philip gently, completely casting aside thebantering tone in which he had hitherto spoken.
Madelene looked up eagerly.
"Oh, do you think so, Philip?" she said. "I am so glad. It is what Ihave been thinking, but I know papa respects your opinion and it willstrengthen what I have said to him."
"Decidedly," said Philip. "It seems to me it would be almost--brutal--Iam not applying
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