The Children of Wilton Chase

Marjorie did not join in the laugh, she was feeling intensely solemn.

"Miss Nelson is very angry, and in dreadful trouble," Basil went on presently. "I quite thought she would speak to Ermengarde this morning."

"She has not said a word, Basil."

"I know that."

"Basil, let me speak to Ermie."

"But now, you're not going to accuse her, or any rubbish of that sort, Maggie?"

"As if I would, Basil!"

"Then I wish you would speak to her. I'm uncomfortable enough about the whole thing, I can tell you. I hate to have anybody think such thoughts of Ermie."

"I'll tell her," said Marjorie eagerly. "I'll tell her the miniature is lost."

She ran off, and Basil took another pencil out of his pocket and began to sharpen it. He did not like the aspect of affairs at all. His interview with Marjorie had given him no real satisfaction. Marjorie had not thrust the idea of Ermie's guilt from her with the horror he had expected. Of course she had agreed with him, but not with that emphasis he had desired. He felt rather sickened. If Ermengarde could be mean and shabby, if by any possibility, however remote, Ermengarde had stooped to theft for the sake of a petty and small revenge, then he was very sorry he had not gone to Scotland, that was all. He'd give up Ermie if she was that kind, but of course she wasn't. It was horrid of him to lend even half credence to such a belief. He would go and have a game of cricket with Eric, and get such a monstrous idea out of his head.

When they were preparing for dinner, Marjorie told her sister about the stolen miniature. She told the story in her own characteristic way. She was determined to take no unfair advantage of Ermie, and so, while washing her hands, and purposely splashing the water about, and with her back so turned that she could not get a glimpse of Ermie's face, she burst forth with her news. When she turned round, Ermengarde was calmly combing out her long hair.

"It's dreadful, isn't it?" said Marjorie.

"Dreadful," echoed Ermengarde, but her voice did not sound excited.

"And she was so fond of that little sister," continued Marjorie.

"I never heard of any sister," said Ermengarde in a profoundly uninterested voice. "Let us come down to dinner, Maggie; the gong has sounded."

Marjorie gave vent to a very heavy sigh. She had got no satisfaction out of Ermengarde, and yet her manner gave her a sense of insecurity. She recalled again Ermie's strange excitement of the evening before, and wondered in vain what it all meant.

At dinner-time Miss Nelson's face was paler than ever. It was noticed now by the three people who shared her secret. Eric and Lucy were perfectly comfortable and easy in their minds, but the older children felt a sense of constraint. After dinner Eric asked Marjorie to come with him to visit his ferrets.

"They are at Collins's, you know," he said. "I hope Collins is treating them properly. If he does not, Shark will pay him out; that's a certainty. Come along, Mag."

"I will presently," said Marjorie.

"Oh, no; you must come at once. I have a lot to do this afternoon; you can't keep me waiting."

A good-humored smile played over Marjorie's sunny face. "Other people have a good deal to do too," she said. "I'll come soon, Eric. You can wait for me outside. I won't keep you long; but I have something important to do first."

Eric went away feeling very cross. If Marjorie took to giving herself airs, the world might as well stop at once. What use was Marjorie except to be at everybody's beck and call; and more especially at his – Eric's – beck and call. He kicked his heels into the gravel, thrust his hands into his trousers pockets, and put on all the airs of an ill-used mortal.

Meanwhile Marjorie, whose important business made her round face look intensely solemn, was trotting down the corridor to Miss Nelson's sitting-room. She guessed that she would find the governess there. To her gentle little tap Miss Nelson replied at once, and the little girl came in and stood before her.

"What is it, Marjorie?" said her governess. "Have you anything to say to me? I am busy. Why don't you go out with your brothers?"

"I wanted to give you a kiss," said Marjorie, "and to tell you – to tell you – that if the other little girl loved you, so do I. I thought I'd tell you; I know it won't be a real comfort, but I thought perhaps you ought to know."

"It is a real comfort, Marjorie," said Miss Nelson in a softened voice. "Give me that kiss, dear. Thank you, my love. You are a good child, Marjorie – a dear child. Now run away and play."

"You have a headache, I know," said Marjorie, "and see how the sun does stream in at this window. May I pull down the blinds? And will you lie on the sofa? Do, and I will bathe your head with eau de Cologne. I wish you would let me."

"No, dear, the others are waiting for you."

"Let them wait. Eric wants me to see his ferrets. I'd much rather stay with you."

Miss Nelson knew that Marjorie adored Eric, and that whatever pets of his happened to be in vogue had the strongest fascination for her. Nevertheless she did lie down on the sofa, and her little pupil's gentle hand felt all that was delightful and soothing as it touched her brow. When Marjorie stole out of the room, Miss Nelson had dropped asleep.

Eric was still waiting. He was amusing himself peeling an early autumn apple, eating it in a discontented sort of way, for he was not very hungry, and watching the windows for Marjorie to appear. He was delighted when he saw her, but he would not show his pleasure.

"Come on," he said, in a gruff voice. "I don't know why I waited for you. Half the evening is gone already. Do be quick, Mag; how you loiter!"

"I've an apple in my pocket for Shark," said Marjorie.

She tucked her hand comfortably through Eric's arm. She was feeling very sunshiny and happy, and soon managed to bring back the ever-bubbling humor to the little boy's lips.

About a quarter of an hour later, a sort of bundle rolled rather than walked into the Collinses' neat little cottage. Mrs. Collins uttered an exclamation and darted forward. She did not at once recognize that the bundle consisted of Marjorie and Eric, who, with peals and bursts of laughter, had in this style intruded themselves into her modest dwelling.

"Let go, Mag, don't throttle me!" screamed Eric.

"Well, leave the apple in my pocket; I'm going to feed Shark."

Mrs. Collins conducted her two little visitors to the yard, where Shark and his companion ferret resided in their wire cage. Marjorie sank down in front of the cage, and gazed at the ferrets quite as long and as earnestly as Eric could desire.

"They are beautiful," she said at last. "More especially Shark."

Eric felt that if it were not undignified, he could have hugged his sister. They left the yard, and re-entered Mrs. Collins's house the dearest of friends.

They were going into the kitchen to beg for a piece of brown cake, which they knew Mrs. Collins could make to perfection, when, hearing voices raised in dispute, Marjorie drew Eric back.

"Let's come another time for the cake," she whispered. "The passage-door is open, we can go out that way."

"Wait a second, Mag. I forgot to take a squint at Lop-ear. Just stay where you are, I'll be with you in a twinkling."

Marjorie stood still; Eric departed. The following words fell on Marjorie's ears:

"It's all very well to talk, Susy, but I'm quite sick of you and your mysteries, and I will know what you're hiding under your apron."

"I can't tell you, mother. It's a secret between Miss Ermengarde and me."

"Well, show it to me, anyhow. I don't mind your talking to miss, though the family make such a fuss about it. If it's anything she gave you, you might as well show it to your mother, Susy."

"Yes, she did give it to me; she gave it to me yesterday."

"Well, show it to me."

"No, no; that I won't."