came down, and confided to Gillian a parcel directed to Miss D. Mohun, containing all the notes written to her, and all the books lent to her, by the false friend whom she had cast off, after which she threw herself into the interests of the present.
The London ornaments, and the residue of the gifts and bonbons, made the Christmas-tree a most memorable one to the G.F.S. mind.
As to Fly, she fraternized to a great extent with a very small maid, in a very long, brown dress, and very thick boots, who did not taste a single bonbon, and being asked whether she understood that they were good to eat, replied that she was keeping them for 'our Bertie and Minnie;' and, on encouragement, launched into such a description of her charges-the blacksmith's small children-that Lady Phyllis went back, not without regrets that she could not be a little nurse who had done with school at twelve years old, and spent her days at the back of a perambulator.
'Oh, daddy,' she said, 'I do wish you had come down; it was such lovely fun-the best tree I ever saw. Why wouldn't you come?'
'If thirty odd years should pass over that little head of yours, my Lady Fly, and you should then meet with Mysie and Val, maybe you will then learn the reason why.'
'We will recollect that in thirty years' time.'
'When our children go to a Christmas-tree.'
'And we sit over the fire instead.'
'Oh! but should we ever not care for a dear, delightful Christmas-tree?'
'If we had each other instead.'
'Then we would all go still together!'
'And tell our little boys and girls all about this one, and the Butterfly's Ball!'
'Perhaps our husbands would want us, and not let us go.'
'Oh! I don't want a husband. He'd be in the way. We'd send him off to India or somewhere, like Aunt Lily's.'
'Don't, Fly; it is not at all nice to have papa away.'
'Oh yes, it would be ten hundred times better if he were at home.'
Such were the mingled sentiments of the triad, as they went upstairs to bed, linked together in their curious fashion.
Some time later, a bedroom discussion of affairs was held by Lady Merrifield and Miss Mohun, who had not had a moment alone together all day, to converse upon the two versions of the disaster which the latter had extracted from Dolores and Constance, and which fairly agreed, though Constance had been by far the most voluble, and somewhat ungenerously violent against her former friend, at least so Lady Merrifield remarked.
'You should take into account the authoress's disappointed vanity.'
'Yes, poor thing! How he must have nattered her!'
'Besides, there is the loss of the money, which, I fear, falls as seriously on good Miss Hacket as on the goose herself.'
'Does it, indeed? That must not be. How much is it?'
'Fifteen pounds; and that foolish Constance fancies that poor Dolores assisted in duping her. I really had to defend the girl; though I am just as angry myself when I watch her adamantine sullenness.'
'I am the person to be angry with for having allowed the intimacy, in spite of your warnings, Jenny.'
'You were too innocent to know what girls are made of. Oh yes, you are very welcome to have six of your own, but you might have six dozen without knowing what a girl brought up at a second-rate boarding-school is capable of, or what it is to have had no development of conscience. What shall you do? send her to school?'
'After that recommendation of yours?'
'I didn't propose a second-rate boarding-school, ma'am. There's a High School starting after the holidays at Rockstone. Let me have her, and send her there.'
'Ada would not like it.'
'Never mind Ada, I'll settle her. I would keep Dolly well up to her lessons, and prevent these friendships.'
'I suppose you would manage her better than I have been able to do,' said Lady Merrifield, reluctantly. 'Yet I should like to try again; I don't want to let her go. Is it the old story of duty and love, Jane? Have I failed again through negligence and ignorance, and deceived myself by calling weakness and blindness love?'
'You don't fail with your own, Lily. Rotherwood runs about admiring them, and saying he never saw a better union of freedom and obedience. It was really a treat to see Gillian's ways tonight; she had so much consideration, and managed her sisters so well.'
'Ah, but there's their father! I do so dread spoiling them for him before he comes home; but then he is a present influence with us all the time.'
'They would all clap their hands if I carried Dolly off.'
'Yes, and that is one reason I don't want to give her up; it seems so sad to send Maurice's child away leaving such an impression. One thing I am. thankful for, that it will be all over before grandmamma and Bessie Merrifield come.'
At that moment there was a knock at the door, and a small figure appeared in a scarlet robe, bare feet, and dishevelled hair.
'Mysie, dear child! What's the matter? who is ill?'
'Oh, please come, mamma, Dolly is choking and crying in such a dreadful way, and I can't stop her.'
'I give up, Lily. This is mother-work,' said Miss Mohun.
Hurrying upstairs, Lady Merrifield found very distressing sounds issuing from Dolores's room; sobs, not loud, but almost strangled into a perfect agony of choking down by the resolute instinct, for it was scarcely will.
'My dear, my dear, don't stop it!' she exclaimed, lifting up the girl in her arms. 'Let it out; cry freely; never mind. She will be better soon, Mysie dear. Only get me a glass of water, and find a fresh handkerchief. There, there, that's right!' as Dolores let herself lean on the kind breast, and conscious that the utmost effects of the disturbance had come, allowed her long-drawn sobs to come freely, and moaned as they shook her whole frame, though without screaming. Her aunt propped her up on her own bosom, parted back her hair, kissed her, and saying she was getting better, sent Mysie back to her bed. The first words that were gasped out between the rending sobs were, 'Oh! is my-he-to be tried?'
'Most likely not, my dear. He has had full time to get away, and I hope it is so.'
'But wasn't he there? Haven't they got him? Weren't they asking me about him, and saying I must be tried for stealing father's cheque?'
'You were dreaming, my poor child. They have not taken him, and I am quite sure you will not be tried anyway.'
'They said-Aunt Jane and Uncle Reginald and all, and 'that dreadful man that came-'
'Perhaps they said you might have to be examined, but only if he is apprehended, and I fully expect that he is out of reach, so that you need not frighten yourself about that, my dear.'
'Oh, don't go!' cried Dolores, as her aunt stirred.
'No, I'm not going. I was only reaching some water for you. Let me sponge your face.'
To this Dolores submitted gratefully, and then sighed, as if under heavy oppression, 'And did he really do it?'
'I am afraid he must have done so.'
'I never thought it. Mother always helped him.'
'Yes, my dear, that made it very hard for you to know what was right to do, and this is a most terrible shock for you,' said her aunt, feeling unable to utter another reproach just then to one who had been so loaded with blame, and she was touched the more when Dolores moaned, 'Mother would have cared so much.'
She answered with a kiss, was glad to find her hand still held, and forgot that it was past eleven o'clock.
'Please, will it quite ruin father?' asked Dolores, who had not out-grown childish confusion about large sums of money.
'Not exactly, my dear. It was more than he had in the bank, and Uncle Regie thinks the bankers will undertake part of the loss if he will let them. It is more inconvenient than ruinous.'
'Ah!' There was a faintness and oppression in the sound which made Lady Merrifield think the girl ought not to be left, and before long, sickness came on. Nurse Halfpenny had to be called up, and it was one o'clock before there
