"We will talk of that also by and by," replied Mrs. Chetwynd, a frown knitting her brows, and her heart sinking a trifle.

Marjorie and Eileen had always been wayward children, difficult to manage; good-tempered and good-hearted, but with a certain stubborn element about them which caused them not to disobey, but to have their desires on almost every point gratified, simply because the trouble of opposing them was immense.

Mrs. Chetwynd remembered these traits in her two bright girls as she welcomed them to their home. She was delighted to see them of course; but it was painful to observe their greasy serge dresses and their hair cropped like boys. Then, too, their manners were eccentric; and there was nothing so distasteful as eccentricity.

Let.i.tia, of course, looked all that was sweet and nice; but she was not Mrs. Chewynd's own daughter, which made a great difference. Try as she would, the widow could not take the absorbing interest in Let.i.tia that she did in Eileen and Marjorie.

"Come upstairs, my darlings," she said. "You must see your charming little rooms. Esther has everything in perfect order for you; fires lighted and all. Come this way."

Mrs. Chetwynd conveyed the girls upstairs. The three rooms were on the same landing, and communicated one with the other. Mrs. Chetwynd had gone to some expense in having doors broken in the walls to effect this arrangement. When completed, the effect was charming. The rooms were papered with a self-colored paper of pale blue. There was a deep frieze of hand-painted flowers and birds. The paint on the doors and round the wainscot was creamy white. The furniture was also creamy white, with bra.s.s fittings. The carpet on each floor was a square of rich Turkey.

The windows of the three pretty rooms were a little open; and with the cheerful fires burning in the small grates, and the sweet air coming in from the square garden, no rooms could look more tempting.

"Delightful! Oh, Aunt Helen, how perfectly sweet of you," said Let.i.tia, as she danced into her own little room. "And do you mean to say we are to have one each. Oh, what a darling little bed-and a spring-mattress and all. How luxurious we shall be. Oh, and do look at those great, roomy cupboards in the wall."

"But what do we want great, roomy cupboards for?" cried Eileen. "With one dress for summer and one dress for winter, surely we don't want much room?"

"I tell you what it is, Eileen," said Marjorie, "I mean to use mine as a dark-room for photography-capital, excellent. Thank you, mother, dear."

"You mean to use your dress-cupboard as a darkroom for photography?"

said Mrs. Chetwynd. "My dear child, you will have little time for photography when you are introduced to Her Majesty, and are in the full swing of a society career."

"But, mother, I never mean to be in such a truly awful position," cried Marjorie.

Her mother knitted her brows anxiously.

"For goodness' sake, Marjorie, don't worry Aunt Helen the first evening," cried Lettie.-"Dear Aunt Helen, everything will be right-quite right. The girls have a crank, each of them; but these delightful rooms and you, dear Aunt Helen, ought to cure them in no time.-Now, girls, do get off those horrid dresses and get into respectable ones.-They have respectable dresses, I a.s.sure you, Aunt Helen. If you will leave us, we will all come down to the drawing-room in less than a quarter of an hour."

"And here is Esther to wait on you," said Mrs. Chetwynd. "You may as well dress for dinner now that you are about it, and I will have tea sent up to you to your rooms. We dine at half-past seven."

She left the room as she spoke, and Esther, a nice-looking girl, came respectfully forward. She looked with consternation at the torn braid on Eileen's dress.

"Oh, please, don't bother about me," said Eileen. "I wouldn't have the services of a maid to save my life. I hate to have anyone touch my hair but myself. Besides, as you doubtless observe, my good girl, there is no arrangement necessary. It is only an inch long, and with a couple of brushes, one in each hand, I can push it into any position I like.

Lettie, if you wish for Esther, please have her. Your neat little head, 'sunning over with curls,' requires plenty of arrangement; but not mine, thank goodness."

"Nor mine either," echoed Marjorie. "Oh, what a comfort it is to have short hair. I never mean to let my locks grow."

"Which dresses will you wish to wear this evening, young ladies?" asked Esther, who had gaped in astonishment while the girls were speaking.

As she spoke she held out her hand for the keys of their trunks.

"Here are the keys," said Marjorie; "but I don't know what evening-dresses we have. I am sure there is nothing fit to be seen. But can't we go downstairs as we are?"

"Perhaps you'll mend this braid," said Eileen, "if you prefer that to cutting it off, which is much quicker."

"I would suggest, miss, that you let me choose your dress. I will unpack your things, and see what are most suitable," said the maid in her prim voice.

"All right; lay them on the bed. Anything for a quiet life," sighed Marjorie.

Esther proceeded to take the things out of Marjorie's trunk, and Eileen walked to the window and looked out, whistling somewhat loudly and in a thoroughly boyish fashion as she did so.

The maid quickly put the contents of the small trunks into the receptacles for their convenience, laid two soiled and crumpled evening-frocks of pale cream cashmere on the beds, and then retired to expend some of her skill, which was considerable, on Let.i.tia's pretty person and charming wardrobe. Let.i.tia was a young lady quite after Esther's own heart.

CHAPTER IV

IN THE GIRLS' BEDROOMS.

Marjorie and Eileen, in soiled and much bedraggled school-party frocks, went down to dinner. Let.i.tia, in pale-blue silk with lace ruffles, looked neat, pretty, and suitably attired; but the other two girls presented an appearance which caused poor Mrs. Chetwynd to shudder. With their really handsome faces, their wide-open intelligent eyes, their exquisitely-formed lips, and pearly rows of teeth, they were nothing but awkward, gauche, and unpresentable. Let.i.tia was as pretty, trim, and agreeable to the eye as a young girl could be; but Eileen and Marjorie!

What was to be done? Mrs. Chetwynd felt her heart sinking like lead in her breast; for there was a stubborn build about Marjorie's chin and about the slight, very slight frown which now and then visited Eileen's intelligent forehead. Mrs. Chetwynd perceived at a glance that if she was to mold these two girls to her ways of thinking, she would have a troublesome task before her. She was rich, and was also good-hearted, good-natured, and pleasant. It was in no way her fault if the girls took after their father, who had been not only a brave soldier, but also that strange combination, a scholar, as well, and who had died before the girls' education was complete. He was a man of extraordinary character and determination, and had all his life been the victim of fads. Mrs.

Chetwynd felt quite certain that their father was to blame for Marjorie's and Eileen's peculiar appearance. She was thankful that she had not asked any friends to meet the girls on their first evening home from school. She determined to make herself as pleasant as possible, and not to allude to the untidy wardrobes, the gauche appearance, and the cropped heads until the following morning.

Dinner pa.s.sed quickly, for all three girls were hungry; and when they retired to the drawing-room Mrs. Chetwynd suggested a little music.

"Eileen, my darling, you sing, don't you?" she said, turning to the younger of the twins.

"Oh, dear me, no, mother; I have not the ghost of a voice," replied Eileen.

"But I thought that your teacher, Miss Fox, spoke highly of your musical talents?"

"She said I should play well if I practiced hard; but I did not think my very moderate gift worth cultivating," replied Eileen, yawning slightly as she spoke. "You see, unless one has genius, there is not the least use in the present day in being musical. Only genius is tolerated; and then I don't ever mean to be ornamental. My vogue in life is the useful.

The music of the ordinary school-girl, after years of toil, is merely regarded as an accomplishment, and generally as an unpleasant one; therefore I have let my music drop."

"Dear, dear! How extraordinary of Miss Fox not to let me know," said Mrs. Chetwynd. "Well, Marjorie, you at least play?" said her mother.

"Yes, mother," in a somewhat solemn style. "I can give you one of Bach's fugues, if you like."

"Do so, my dear. I have spent a great deal of money on your music, and should like to hear the result."

Marjorie rose, went to the piano, sat down, and began to thunder loudly.

She had scarcely any taste for music, and she played several wrong notes. Mrs. Chetwynd had a carefully trained ear, and she quite shuddered when Marjorie crashed out some of her terrible discords.

Having finished the fugue, which took a considerable time, the young girl rose from the piano amid a profound silence. Eileen had turned away and was engrossed in a book on cookery which she had picked up from a side-table. She was muttering to herself half-aloud:

"Take of flour one ounce, b.u.t.ter, cream, three eggs, and--"

"What are you doing, Eileen?" said the mother.

Eileen made no reply.

Marjorie seated herself on a chair near her mother.

"I hope you liked that fugue?" she said. "I took tremendous pains learning it. I got up every morning an hour earlier than the others during the whole of last term, simply because I intended to play that fugue of Bach's to you."

"It was a great pity, dear," began Mrs. Chetwynd; then she sighed and stopped.