in this remarkable house who occasionally wear copper-tinted hair and black fox furs?"
"No. Eileen does. Won't you please wriggle—"
"Who is Eileen?"
"Eileen? Why—don't you know who Eileen is?"
"No, I don't," began Captain Selwyn, when a delighted shout from the children swung him toward the door again. His sister, Mrs. Gerard, stood there in carriage gown and sables, radiant with surprise.
"Phil! You! Exactly like you, Philip, to come strolling in from the antipodes—dear fellow!" recovering from the fraternal embrace and holding both lapels of his coat in her gloved hands. "Six years!" she said again and again, tenderly reproachful; "Alexandrine was a baby of six—Drina, child, do you remember my brother—do you remember your Uncle Philip? She doesn't remember; you can't expect her to recollect; she is only twelve, Phil—"
"I remember one thing," observed Drina serenely.
Brother and sister turned toward her in pride and delight; and the child went on: "My Aunt Alixe; I remember her. She was so pretty," concluded Drina, nodding thoughtfully in the effort to remember more; "Uncle Philip, where is she now?"
But her uncle seemed to have lost his voice as well as his colour, and Mrs. Gerard's gloved fingers tightened on the lapels of his coat.
"Drina—child—" she faltered; but Drina, immersed in reflection, smiled dreamily; "So pretty," she murmured; "I remember my Aunt Alixe—"
"Drina!" repeated her mother sharply, "go and find Bridget this minute!"
Selwyn's hesitating hand sought his moustache; he lifted his eyes—the steady gray eyes, slightly bloodshot—to his sister's distressed face.
"I never dreamed—" she began—"the child has never spoken of—of her from that time to this! I never dreamed she could remember—"
"I don't understand what you are talking about, mother," said Drina; but her pretty mother caught her by the shoulders, striving to speak lightly; "Where in the world is Bridget, child? Where is Katie? And what is all this I hear from Dawson? It can't be possible that you have been fox-hunting all over the house again! Your nurses know perfectly well that you are not to hunt anywhere except in your own nursery."
"I know it," said Drina, "but Kit-Ki got out and ran downstairs. We had to follow her, you know, until she went to earth."
Selwyn quietly bent over toward Billy: "'Ware wire, my friend," he said under his breath; "you'd better cut upstairs and unlock that schoolroom."
And while Mrs. Gerard turned her attention to the cluster of clamouring younger children, the boy vanished only to reappear a moment later, retreating before the vengeful exclamations of the lately imprisoned nurses who pursued him, caps and aprons flying, bewailing aloud their ignominious incarceration.
"Billy!" exclaimed his mother, "did you do that? Bridget, Master William is to take supper by himself in the schoolroom—and no marmalade!—No, Billy, not one drop!"
"We all saw him lock the door," said Drina honestly.
"And you let him? Oh, Drina!—And Ellen! Katie! No marmalade for Miss Drina—none for any of the children. Josie, mother feels dreadfully because you all have been so naughty. Winthrop!—your finger! Instantly! Clemence, baby, where on earth did you acquire all that grime on your face and fists?" And to her brother: "Such a household, Phil! Everybody incompetent—including me; everything topsy-turvy; and all five dogs perfectly possessed to lie on that pink rug in the music room.—Have they been there to-day, Drina?—while you were practising?"
"Yes, and there are some new spots, mother. I'm very sorry."
"Take the children away!" said Mrs. Gerard. But she bent over, kissing each culprit as the file passed out, convoyed by the amply revenged nurses. "No marmalade, remember; and mother has a great mind not to come up at bedtime and lean over you. Mother has no desire to lean over her babies to-night."
To "lean over" the children was always expected of this mother; the direst punishment on the rather brief list was to omit this intimate evening ceremony.
"M-mother," stammered the Master of Fox Hounds, "you will lean over us, won't you?"
"Mother hasn't decided—"
"Oh, muvver!" wailed Josie; and a howl of grief and dismay rose from Winthrop, modified to a gurgle by the forbidden finger.
"You will, won't you?" begged Drina. "We've been pretty bad, but not bad enough for that!"
"I—Oh, yes, I will. Stop that noise, Winthrop! Josie, I'm going to lean over you—and you, too, Clemence, baby. Katie, take those dogs away immediately; and remember about the marmalade."
Reassured, smiling through tears, the children trooped off, it being the bathing hour; and Mrs. Gerard threw her fur stole over one shoulder and linked her slender arm in her brother's.
"You see, I'm not much of a mother," she said; "if I was I'd stay here all day and every day, week in and year out, and try to make these poor infants happy. I have no business to leave them for one second!"
"Wouldn't they get too much of you?" suggested Selwyn.
"Thanks. I suppose that even a mother had better practise an artistic absence occasionally. Are they not sweet? What do you think of them? You never before saw the three youngest; you saw Drina when you went east—and Billy was a few months old—what do you think of them? Honestly, Phil?"
"All to the good, Ninette; very ornamental. Drina—and that Josephine kid are real beauties. I—er—take to Billy tremendously. He told me that he'd locked up his nurses. I ought to have interfered. It was really my fault, you see."
"And you didn't make him let them out? You are not going to be very good morally for my young. Tell me, Phil, have you seen Austin?"
"I went to the Trust Company, but he was attending a directors' confab. How is he? He's prosperous anyhow, I observe," with a humorous glance around the elaborate hallway which they were traversing.
"Don't dare laugh at us!" smiled his sister. "I wish we were back in Tenth Street. But so many children came—Billy, Josephine, Winthrop, and Tina—and the Tenth Street house wasn't half big enough; and a dreadful speculative builder built this house and persuaded Austin to buy it. Oh, dear, and here we are among the rich and great; and the steel kings and copper kings and oil kings and their heirs and dauphins. Do you like the house?"
"It's—ah—roomy," he said cheerfully.
"Oh! It isn't so bad from the outside. And we have just had it redecorated inside. Mizner did it. Look, dear, isn't that a cunning bedroom?" drawing him toward a partly open door. "Don't be so horridly critical. Austin is becoming used to it now, so don't stir him up and make fun of things. Anyway you're going to stay here."
"No, I'm at the Holland."
"Of course you're to live with us. You've resigned from the service, haven't you?"
He looked at her sharply, but did not reply.
A curious flash of telepathy passed between them; she hesitated, then:
"You once promised Austin and me that you would stay with us."
"But,
