'Picotee, are you asleep?' Ethelberta whispered softly at dawn the next morning, by the half-opened door of her sister's bedroom.
'No, I keep waking, it is so warm.'
'So do I. Suppose we get up and see the sun rise. The east is filling with flame.'
'Yes, I should like it,' said Picotee.
The restlessness which had brought Ethelberta hither in slippers and dressing-gown at such an early hour owed its origin to another cause than the warmth of the weather; but of that she did not speak as yet. Picotee's room was an attic, with windows in the roof--a chamber dismal enough at all times, and very shadowy now. While Picotee was wrapping up, Ethelberta placed a chair under the window, and mounting upon this they stepped outside, and seated themselves within the parapet.
The air was as clear and fresh as on a mountain side; sparrows chattered, and birds of a species unsuspected at later hours could be heard singing in the park hard by, while here and there on ridges and flats a cat might be seen going calmly home from the devilries of the night to resume the amiabilities of the day.
'I am so sorry I was asleep when you reached home,' said Picotee.
'I was so anxious to tell you something I heard of, and to know what you did; but my eyes would shut, try as I might, and then I tried no longer. Did you see me at all, Berta?'
'Never once. I had an impression that you were there. I fancied you were from father's carefully vacuous look whenever I glanced at his face. But were you careful about what you said, and did you see Menlove? I felt all the time that I had done wrong in letting you come; the gratification to you was not worth the risk to me.'
'I saw her, and talked to her. But I am certain she suspected nothing. I enjoyed myself very much, and there was no risk at all.'
'I am glad it is no worse news. However, you must not go there again: upon that point I am determined.'
'It was a good thing I did go, all the same. I'll tell you why when you have told me what happened to you.'
'Nothing of importance happened to me.'
'I expect you got to know the lord you were to meet?'
'O yes--Lord Mountclere.'
'And it's dreadful how fond he is of you--quite ridiculously taken up with you--I saw that well enough. Such an old man, too; Iwouldn't have him for the world!'
'Don't jump at conclusions so absurdly, Picotee. Why wouldn't you have him for the world?'
'Because he is old enough to be my grandfather, and yours too.'
'Indeed he is not; he is only middle-aged.'
'O Berta! Sixty-five at least.'
'He may or may not be that; and if he is, it is not old. He is so entertaining that one forgets all about age in connection with him.'
'He laughs like this--"Hee-hee-hee!"' Picotee introduced as much antiquity into her face as she could by screwing it up and suiting the action to the word.
'This very odd thing occurred,' said Ethelberta, to get Picotee off the track of Lord Mountclere's peculiarities, as it seemed. 'I was saying to Mr. Neigh that we were going to Knollsea for a time, feeling that he would not be likely to know anything about such an out-of-the-way place, when Lord Mountclere, who was near, said, "Ishall be at Enckworth Court in a few days, probably at the time you are at Knollsea. The Imperial Archaeological Association holds its meetings in that part of Wes*** this season, and Corvsgate Castle, near Knollsea, is one of the places on our list." Then he hoped Ishould be able to attend. Did you ever hear anything so strange?
Now, I should like to attend very much, not on Lord Mountclere's account, but because such gatherings are interesting, and I have never been to one; yet there is this to be considered, would it be right for me to go without a friend to such a place? Another point is, that we shall live in menagerie style at Knollsea for the sake of the children, and we must do it economically in case we accept Aunt Charlotte's invitation to Rouen; hence, if he or his friends find us out there it will be awkward for me. So the alternative is Knollsea or some other place for us.'
'Let it be Knollsea, now we have once settled it,' said Picotee anxiously. 'I have mentioned to Faith Julian that we shall be there.'
'Mentioned it already! You must have written instantly.'
'I had a few minutes to spare, and I thought I might as well write.'
'Very well; we will stick to Knollsea,' said Ethelberta, half in doubt. 'Yes--otherwise it will be difficult to see about aunt's baptismal certificate. We will hope nobody will take the trouble to pry into our household. . . . And now, Picotee, I want to ask you something--something very serious. How would you like me to marry Mr. Neigh?'
