The Third Miss St Quentin

even in the hour or twosince she came. What are we to do with her, Madelene?" Madelene couldnot help smiling a little at her father's overwhelmed tone. He who hadfaced unmoved all the dangers and vicissitudes of a soldier's life, whohad not so many years ago borne with comparative equanimity the completeloss of all the fortune he could really call his _own_, now seemed quiteunnerved by what was surely but a most natural, not to say agreeableevent, the return of his youngest child to her home.

  "Oh, papa, don't worry about her," she said. "Things will settlethemselves, you'll see. It is only the awkwardness of her suddenarrival that makes you feel uneasy about her. She _must_ be a nicechild--she couldn't be your daughter and poor Ellen's--" since the deathof her young stepmother, Miss St Quentin had half-unconsciously adoptedthe habit of speaking of her by her Christian name--"without having atrue and good nature _au fond_."

  "If she only were a child," said her father, "but it strikes me prettyforcibly," he went on, smiling a little, though rather grimly, in spiteof himself, "that she is, and considers herself very decidedly a youngwoman. She's very pretty too, and knows how to set herself off, thatlittle black frock with those fal-de-rals, rosettes--what do you call'em?"

  "Bows," corrected Madelene.

  "Bows then--was very coquettishly managed."

  "It was too old for her," said Miss St Quentin decidedly. "And--notaltogether good style for so young a girl as she really is. I fancyMrs Robertson has left her a good deal to herself, of late especially.I think it was time she came to us, papa," she added. "Indeed I onlywish--" but she stopped.

  "That she had never left us--but don't say it, Madelene. It's no use,and--I don't know that she would have been alive but for Phillis'scare."

  "Perhaps not," said Madelene. "Still, she is not like her mother--shehas not that transparent look." She did not say more, reserving toherself her private opinion that Ella was and always had been, herslight make notwithstanding, a most sturdy little person, for whichindeed there was every precedent, as young Mrs St Quentin had been theonly delicate member of her own family. "It may perhaps soften papa tothink her not strong," she said to herself.

  "Like her mother," repeated Colonel St Quentin, "no, indeed. Ellen wasthe simplest, most gentle creature. I don't suppose she ever gave twothoughts to herself in any way--appearance or anything else. Yet--ohMadelene, I do wish I had not married again!" he burst out with a sigh.

  "Papa?" said Madelene, and her tone sounded almost as if she were alittle shocked. "I can't quite understand how you can say so, or feelso, dear papa," she went on, more softly. "When you say yourself, howperfectly sweet and gentle Ellen was--and not only sweet, sturdily true,and high-principled, even for our sakes, Ermie's and mine, you should beglad we had such an influence as hers for the six or seven years shelived. I often think we don't know how much we owe her."

  "Yes," said her father, "that is true, and I thank you for reminding meof it. If her own child had had the same advantage all might have beenwell. It has all gone wrong; the having to part with her for so long--and then my losses. Of course but for that I would probably have hadher home sooner, but I could not bear you girls to have all the expensesof her education, and the running about with her to mild climates if thewinter happened to be severe, as well as your poor old father on yourhands!"

  "Papa--I did not know you had thought of it that way," said Madelene,rather sadly. "It makes me feel as if we really have something to makeup for to poor little Ella."

  "No--don't begin fancying that," he said quietly. "There were otherreasons, too--my health for a time; and then Phillis was able andwilling. I wish I hadn't said it. For of all things I dread yourspoiling Ella. And don't sacrifice yourselves to her for my sake in anyway, I entreat you, my dear child."

  He looked up anxiously.

  Madelene smiled as she replied, though in her heart she sighed. ColonelSt Quentin was not a selfish man, in intention even less so than indeed. And _the_ sacrifice, a sacrifice of some years' duration already,which his eldest daughter had made to him, he suspected as little as shedesired that he should.

  "You needn't be afraid, papa," she said. "For her own sake it would be_wrong_ to spoil her."

  "But there's spoiling and spoiling," he went on. "In her place now, sheshould go on studying for some time. You know, Madelene, she _should_be prepared for contingencies. She may have to work for her living;there is no saying."

  "Only in case of both Ermine and me dying," said Madelene calmly. "Andthat, to say the least, is not _probable_. Besides--we might easilyincrease our life insurance, papa?"

  "No, no, nothing of the kind," said Colonel St Quentin excitedly. "Iwon't have you crippling your income any more--do you hear, Madelene?If such an awful catastrophe happened as your both dying before me--well, _surely_ it would kill me?" he said. "Though such things don'tkill! But there would be enough for me, as much as I have deserved,after mismanaging my own money."

  "It wasn't your fault, papa. _Everybody_ says so," his daughterreplied. "I do wish you wouldn't speak of it that way."

  "But besides that," Colonel St Quentin went on, "there are other andless terrible possibilities. If you married, Madelene, you and Ermine,and of course that may happen any day, though I know you are both of yourather, what the French call _difficile_--your husbands might not,naturally enough--care about being saddled with a littlehalf-sister-in-law, even if he consented to the pensioning off of theold man himself."

  "Papa," said Madelene again, but this time her tone was really stern,"you pain me indescribably, really indescribably, by speaking so.Anything reasonable--_anything_, really for Ella's good, you may dependon our carrying out. But you cannot expect us to sympathise with youwhen you become, I must say, really morbid on this subject."

  Colonel St Quentin was silent for a moment or two. He sat, shading hisface with his hand, so that Madelene could not judge as to hisexpression.

  "There is another view of the case, too," said Madelene. "Ella is veryattractive. Why should _she_ not marry? Surely there are some few menin the world who don't look out for heiresses."

  "Perhaps," said her father. "Well yes, I suppose we may allow that is apossibility. Still--that brings in complications too--there must be nosailing under false colours, and it would be so natural for her to becredited with her share of your fortunes by strangers. No, Madelene,till she is old enough to understand the whole--and I agree with youthat till she has come really to _know_ you and Ermine, it may be bestto avoid explanations--I think the less society she sees the better.And one outlay I will not object to for her--let her have a fewthoroughly good lessons, the best you can get; it will give heroccupation, and at the same time fit her to be independent--should theworst come to the worst so to speak?"

  "Very well," said Madelene. "I agree with you, that it will be good forher to have occupation--"

  "And make her useful--practically useful, so far as you possibly can,"interrupted her father again.

  "Very well," she said again. "But, papa dear, as far as `the worst'scoming' in any sense except that Ermie and I might die--is to be takeninto account, do dismiss it for ever. We _couldn't_ marry men who wouldlook at things in the way you put it. You wouldn't wish us to marryselfish brutes, papa?"

  And Colonel St Quentin was forced to smile.

  Then Madelene and he joined the two others in the drawing-room.

  "Can we not have a little music?" said Colonel St Quentin, a minute ortwo latter. "Ella, my dear, you play I suppose--or do you sing?"

  His tone was kindlier again. Madelene's spirits rose. She thought hertalk with her father had done good. She went towards the piano andopened it, glancing smilingly at her young sister.

  Ella was seated on a low chair in a corner of the room--the light of alamp fell on her face and bright hair. It struck Madelene that shelooked paler than on her first arrival.

  "Will you play something, Ella?" she said, "or are you perhaps tootired?"

  "I am not the least tired
, thank you," the girl replied, "but I hateplaying. I never practise, on that account."

  "Upon my word," muttered Colonel St Quentin.

  "Do you sing then?" Ermine interposed, quickly. Ella hesitated.

  "Your mother--mamma," said Madelene, using purposely the old name forher stepmother, "mamma sang beautifully."

  Ella turned towards her.

  "Do you mean _my_ own