The Children of Wilton Chase

"Yes, it is; it's a quarter-past seven," replied Marjorie.

"Oh, I suppose you are so excited about your stupid old Glendower."

"I'm thinking about it but I'm not excited," answered Marjorie a little sadly.

"Well, for goodness' sake don't put on that resigned, pious, martyr sort of air. You are going to have your treat, and take it cheerfully. You know you are dying to go, and your heart is going pit-a-pat like anything."

"I wish you wouldn't be so cross with me, Ermie."

"Oh, of course, I'm always cross; no one ever has a good word for me. Now, Maggie, don't begin to argue the point. I wish to goodness you would stay in bed until it is your proper time to rise, and not wake me up before it is necessary. I might have had a quarter of an hour's more sleep if it had not been for you."

"I could not help myself this morning," answered Marjorie. "Miss Nelson came and woke me soon after six o'clock."

"Miss Nelson?" Ermengarde was suddenly aroused to interest. "Whatever for?"

"Oh, Ermie, you must hear about it – poor Basil."

Ermengarde half sat up in bed.

"I wish you'd speak right out, Maggie. Has Basil hurt himself? Is he ill? What is wrong?"

"Basil isn't ill in body, Ermie, only – oh, it's so dreadful. He found the miniature."

Ermengarde flung herself back again on her bed.

"How sick I am of that stupid miniature!" she muttered.

"Well, Ermie, you want to hear the story about it, don't you? Basil found it, and it had got cracked across, and the poor little sister, she does squint so fearfully now, and she – "

"Oh, never mind about that," retorted Ermengarde. With all her care there was a sort of breathless earnestness in her voice. "What did Basil do?"

"He gave the miniature back to Miss Nelson, and of course Miss Nelson was awfully cut up about it being broken, and just at the minute who should come in but Aunt Elizabeth! and she got into a rage, and she asked Basil how he had got the miniature, and how it was broken, and Basil refused to tell, and there was such a fuss, and father was sent for, and father asked Basil to tell, and Basil refused even to tell father, and father took Basil away to his study, and Miss Nelson doesn't know what happened there, only that dear darling Basil is in disgrace."

"Of course he didn't do it," murmured Ermengarde.

"Do it, Ermie! Basil wouldn't hurt a fly, let alone do such a shabby, shabby, cruel, mean thing as to take away Miss Nelson's dear picture. O Ermie, I thought you at least loved Basil more than anybody, more even than I love him."

"Yes, I do," said Ermengarde; "I love him more than anybody else in the world. Now Maggie, if you don't mind leaving the room, as you happen to be dressed, I'll get up."

"Yes," answered Marjorie, "I'll go away at once." She trotted out of the room.

"I must make up my mind to do it," she said to herself when she reached the landing. "Perhaps Ermie will believe then that I love her a little bit. There's no help for it at all. It's just a plain case of horrid duty, and there's no getting out of it."

Marjorie ran off in the direction of her father's room. She had to push aside the oak doors, and she had to go softly, for Aunt Elizabeth was now at home, and the part of the house behind the oak doors was no longer the children's property. Marjorie ran softly down the long corridor, and when she reached her father's door, she put her ear against the keyhole.

"I mustn't go in until he is up," she said to herself. "I must wait until I hear a little noise. Perhaps when he's shaving he'll have time to listen to me."

Marjorie's little heart was now beating fast enough, for she was dreadfully afraid that Aunt Elizabeth would come out of the bedroom at the other side of the passage, and order her back to the schoolroom regions.

"Oh, I do hope father won't be dreadfully lazy this morning," she murmured. At last welcome sounds from within reached her ears. Mr. Wilton had evidently retired into his bath-room. Presently steps were distinctly audible in the dressing-room; now Marjorie could venture softly to turn the handle of the great bedroom door, it yielded to her pressure, and she somewhat timidly entered. Mr. Wilton was in his dressing-room, the door of which was ajar, and Marjorie had come some distance into the outer room before he heard her.

"Who is there?" he asked suddenly.

"Please, father, it's me; it's Maggie."

"Come along in, and say good-morning, Maggie. I hope you are getting all your possessions together for our visit to Glendower. I shall take the twelve o'clock train. We'll arrive at four."

"Yes, father." Marjorie was now standing by her father's dressing-table. He was shaving, and in consequence his sentences were a little jerky.

"What a quiet Maggie," he said suddenly, looking down at her. "You're delighted to come, aren't you, little one?"

"I was – I loved it. Please, father, I don't want to go now."

"You don't want to go?" Mr. Wilton laid down his razor and looked almost severely into Marjorie's honest but now clouded face. "You don't want to go? Tut!" he repeated. "Don't talk nonsense – you know you are all agog to be off!"

"So I was, but I'm not now. I've changed my mind. That's why I've come in here, and why I'm bothering you while you are shaving."

"You don't bother me, Maggie; you're a good little tot. But about going to Glendower, it's all settled. You're to come, so run away and get Hudson to put up your finery."

"Father, I want you to let Ermie go instead of me."

"No, that I won't; she has been a very disobedient girl. Run away, now, Maggie; it's all settled that you are to go."

"But Ermie was asked in the first instance?"

"Yes, child, yes; but I've explained matters to Lady Russell."

"And Lilias is Ermie's friend."

"What a little pleader you are, Maggie. Ermie should be a good girl, and then she'd have the treats."

"Father, couldn't you punish me instead of her? That is sometimes done, isn't it?"

"Sometimes, Maggie, But I think Ermengarde would be all the better for going through the punishment she richly merits."

"Truly, father, I don't think so, and I know Ermie so well. I know, father, she's awfully unhappy, and she's getting so cross and hard, and perhaps this would soften her. I can't make out what's up with her, but I think this might soften her. Do try it, father; do, please, father."

"Come and sit by me for a moment on this sofa, Maggie. I see you're frightfully in earnest, and you're a dear good child. Everyone speaks well of you, Maggie, so I'm bound in honor to hear you out. You'll tell me the whole truth, whatever it is, won't you, Maggie?"

"Oh, won't I just! What a dear, darling father you are! Nearly as nice as the birthday father!"

"Nearly, puss? Not quite, eh? Well, you suit me uncommonly well, and it is a comfort to have an honest outspoken child. What with Ermengarde's disobedience, and Basil's disgraceful want of openness, I scarcely know what to do at times."

"Father, Basil has done nothing wrong."

"Oh, you take his part, eh? You wouldn't, if you had seen that obstinate young dog last night. I see you know all about it, and I may as well tell you, Maggie, that I am deeply displeased with Basil. I am much more angry with him than I am with Ermengarde, for somehow or other I measured him by his mother's standard, and she often said that Basil couldn't be underhand."

"Mother was right," said Marjorie; "he couldn't."