"I won't do that."
"And remember," said Stasy severely, "that this is a hotel, not our ownhouse. Whatever you eat here has to be paid for separately. It's notlike having a kitchen of our own, and Felicie going out and buyingeverything and cooking for us. _Then_ it didn't make much differencewhether you ate a great deal or not." Herty took the slice ofbread-and-butter, in which he had just made a large semicircular hole,out of his mouth, and looked at Stasy very gravely. This was a new ideato him, and a rather appalling one.
"Yes," his sister repeated, nodding her head to give emphasis to herwords, "you'll have to think about it, Herty. Mamma isn't as rich asshe used to be; we haven't got vineyards and great cellars all full ofwine now. And when you go to school, that will cost a lot. Englishschools are very dear."
Herty slowly turned his head round and gazed, first at his mother, thenat Blanche. The round of bread-and-butter had disappeared by this time,so he was able to open his mouth wide, which he proceeded to dopreparatory to a good howl.
"Mamma," he was beginning, but Blanche stepped in to the rescue.
"Stasy," she said, though she could scarcely help laughing, "how can youtease him so?"
For it was one of Stasy's peculiarities that, in a certain depressedmood of her very April-like temperament, the only relief to her feelingswas teasing Herty. The usual invigoration seemed to have followed thepresent performance; her colour had returned, and her eyes weresparkling.
"Blanchie, Blanchie," said Herty, wavering for moment in his intention,"is it true? Will poor mamma have to pay a great lot of money if I eatmuch bread-and-butter?"
"No, no; of course not. Can't you see when Stasy's teasing you, yousilly boy?" said Blanche caressingly. "Why, you are eight years oldnow! You should laugh at her. Mamma has plenty of money to pay foreverything we need, though of course you mustn't be greedy."
"But hotels _are_ dear," persisted Stasy calmly.
"Well, we are not going to live at a hotel for ever," said Blanche.
"Nor for very long, I hope," added her mother. "I do look forward tobeing settled. Though, if the weather were pretty good, it would benice to be in London for a little. We must get to know some of theshops, for living in the country makes one rather dependent upon writingto London for things."
Blanche was silent for a few moments. Then she looked up suddenly.
"Have you no friends to go to see here, mamma? Is there nobody who cangive us a little advice how to set about our house-hunting?"
"I scarcely thought it would be necessary to have any," said MrsDerwent. "My plan was simply to go down with one or both of you toBlissmore for a day, and look about for ourselves. You see, I shallfeel quite at home once I am there, and it would be easy to ask at theinn or at the principal shop--old Ferris's--if any houses are vacant.They always used to have notice of things of the kind."
"But mamma, dear," said Blanche softly, "all that is more than twentyyears ago."
Mrs Derwent was giving Herty a second cup of tea, and did not seem tocatch the words.
CHAPTER THREE.
THEN AND NOW.
Negatively, the waiter's prediction was fulfilled the next morning.That is to say, the fog was gone; but as to the "quite bright"--well,opinions vary, no doubt, as to "quite brightness." Stasy stood at thewindow overlooking the street, when she felt a hand on her shoulder,and, glancing round, saw that it was her sister's.
"Well, dear," said Blanche, "it is an improvement on last night, isn'tit?"
"I don't know," said Stasy dubiously. "It's certainly better than fog,but then, fog isn't _always_ there; and this sort of dull grey look isthe regular thing in London, I suppose. I have often heard it was likethat, but I don't think I quite believed it before."
"But we are not going to live in London," said Blanche, "and the countryin some parts of England is very bright and cheerful. Of course, thisis the very dullest time of the year; we must remember that. Perhaps itis a good thing to begin at the worst; people say so, but I am not quitesure. There is a great deal in first impressions--bright ones leave anafter-glow."
Just then their mother came into the room.
"Isn't it nice that the fog has gone?" she said. "And to me there issomething quite exhilarating in the sight of a London street! Dear me,how it carries one back--"
She stood just behind the two girls, and as Blanche glanced round ather, she thought how very pretty her mother still was. Her eyes were sobright, and the slight flush on her cheeks made her look so young.
"You have slept well, mamma, haven't you?" she said affectionately."You seem quite fresh and energetic."
"Yes, I feel so; and hungry too. I always think London air makes mehungry, even though people abuse it so. Here comes breakfast.--You lookwell too, Blanchie.--But Stasy, have you not got over your fatigue yet?"
"I don't know," said Stasy. "Perhaps not; everything feels so strange.I don't think I like London, mamma."
Mrs Derwent laughed, but she seemed a little troubled too. Stasy, likeherself, was very impressionable, but less buoyant. She had been fullof enthusiastic delight at the thought of coming to England, and now sheseemed in danger of going to the other extreme.
Blanche darted a somewhat reproachful look at her sister.
"Mamma," she said, "are you going to make some sort of plans? It wouldbe as well to do so at once, don't you think? For if we are to besettled in a home of our own by Christmas, as we have always hoped,there is not much time to lose about finding a house. And if there wasnothing at Blissmore--"
"Oh, but there _must_ be something at Blissmore," said Mrs Derwentconfidently. "And I quite agree with you, Blanchie, about not losingtime. I wonder what is the best thing to do," she went on,consideringly.
The waiter just then entered the room.
"Can you let me see a railway guide?" she asked.
"A Bradshaw, ma'am, or a `Hay, B, C'?" said the man.
"A _what_?" enquired Mrs Derwent, perplexed.
"A `Hay, B, C,'" he repeated. "They are simpler, ma'am, more suited toladies, begging your pardon."
"Please let me see one, then.--It must be some new kind of guide sincemy time, I suppose," she added, turning to the others. "I must confess,Bradshaw would be a labyrinth to me. I want to see exactly how long ittakes to Blissmore, and if we could get back the same evening." And asthe waiter reappeared with the yellow-paper-covered guide in one hand,and the _Morning Post_ in the other, she exclaimed, as soon as she hadglanced at the former, "Oh, _what_ a nice guide! B--`Blackheath,'`Blendon'--yes, here it is, `Blissmore.'"
There was silence for a moment or two. Then Mrs Derwent spoke again:
"Yes, I think we can manage it in a day--the first time, at any rate.There is a train at--let me see.--Blanchie, do you hear?"
But Blanche was immersed in the newspaper. The outside column of housesto let had caught her eye.
"Mamma," she said suddenly, "is there more than one Blissmore?" And herfair face looked a little flushed. "If not, it is really a curiouscoincidence. Look here," and she held the paper for her mother to see,while she read aloud:
"Shire. Country residence to be let unfurnished, one mile fromBlissmore Station. Contains"--and then followed the number of rooms,stabling for three horses, ending up with "quaint and well-stockedgarden. Rent moderate. Apply to Messrs Otterson and Bewley,house-agents, Enneslie Street, Blissmore."
"Otterson and Bewley," Mrs Derwent repeated. "Who can they be? I don'tremember the name at all. Enneslie Street? Let me see; that was--"
"Never mind about that, mamma dear," said Stasy, who had brightened upwonderfully as she listened to her sister; "I do feel so excited aboutthis house. It seems the very thing for us. Shall we go down toBlissmore at once to see it? I do hope it won't be taken."
"That is not likely," said Blanche. "It is not everybody that has anypeculiar attraction to Blissmore. And just look at the list of housesto let!" she added, holding up the paper as she spoke. "But I do thinkit would be we
ll to write about it, don't you, mamma?"
"Certainly I will. And I am glad to know the name of a house-agent,though it seems strange that there should be such a person at a tinyplace like Blissmore. I can't even remember Enneslie Street, thoughthere seems--oh yes, that must be why the name seems familiar. Therewas a family called Enneslie at a pretty place a short way fromBlissmore--Barleymead--yes, that was it. The Enneslies must have beenbuilding some houses, I