"Is it?" Celia questioned, innocently.
"A very good thing sometimes," he repeated; "but there are occasions when it is useless, quite useless. What good is it to me—a poor old man who has lost his all?"
"But you do good with it," Celia reminded him, gently. "Miss Mary was telling us only yesterday how kind you have been to the poor widow of that farm labourer who died suddenly last week. And see what you have done for us!"
"You are a grateful little soul, Celia," he told her, with a tender inflection in his voice. "You are like your dear mother."
Joy heard no more, for she hastily rose and retreated into the house. She was full of indignation against her sister. What could have induced Celia to utter such a falsehood as to say she did not in the least care for money, when all her life she had bemoaned her poverty, and longed for wealth?
Later in the evening, when the sisters were preparing for bed, Joy taxed Celia with having told Sir Jasper an untruth. For a moment the elder girl was confused, then broke into a laugh as she exclaimed: "Oh, Joy, you surely don't imagine I would be as silly as you, and tell Uncle Jasper I cared for money, do you?"
"But you do care for money, Celia!"
"Of course I do, but it wouldn't be wise to let Uncle Jasper know it."
"Why not? He said himself that money is a very good thing sometimes."
"Yes, I know, but—well—I can hardly explain what I mean, but I want him to think we like him for himself, and not his money. We ought to try to please him."
"Why, so we do; but it's never right to tell a lie. It's a sin, you know it is as well as I do," Joy declared, bluntly. "Mother wouldn't have liked you to be deceitful, and say what wasn't true, even to please Uncle Jasper."
"Well, you needn't make such a fuss about a trifle. There's no reason why you should work yourself into a passion. And why should you dictate to me when I am so much older than you? I don't like it. Do you mean to get me into trouble with mother?"
"Of course not!" Joy flashed out, angrily, resentful at the suggestion.
Celia looked relieved. She proceeded undress in silence, casting side glances at Joy meanwhile.
By-and-by Joy's indignation commenced to cool; she began to wonder whether she might not have misjudged her sister, and to doubt if she had intended to tell a deliberate falsehood. Celia was so kind-hearted, so desirous of pleasing! Joy looked at her as she stood brushing her hair in front of dressing-table, and hoped she had misjudged her, for it pained her deeply to think her dearly loved sister, whom she admired more than any one else in the world, was not truthful.
"Don't let us quarrel!" she said at length.
"Oh, I don't want to quarrel," Celia replied, smiling; "but I thought you wanted to fall out with me. Don't be cross any longer, Joy. Here have I been giving up my spare time this evening to amusing Uncle Jasper, because mother has been busy letter-writing, and for my pains you accuse me of story-telling! I declare it's too bad of when I've only been doing my best to please him. You know mother wants us to make him happier, if we can."
There was a ring of reproach in Celia's voice. Joy went up to her, and putting her arms around her neck gave her an affectionate hug, and a kiss which was warmly returned. Thus did the sisters make their peace.
Mrs. Wallis and her daughters had now been at the Moat House several weeks, and already the absence of small worries was having a beneficial effect on the former's health, whilst the Devonshire air was bringing faint roses to Joy's pale cheeks, and Celia's fair face was more blooming than ever.
Mrs. Wallis was perfectly satisfied with her children's governess; and Miss Mary Pring considered herself a most fortune young woman to have obtained such a comfortable situation. She had been told that her engagement at the Moat House might be only for a year's duration; but she was of a naturally hopeful disposition, and trusted it would prove otherwise.
"Sir Jasper is growing so attached to the children," she remarked to her aunt one evening when, the work of the day over, they sat dawdling over the tea-table at Home Vale. "Of Celia he is especially fond; nor is it any wonder, for she is always ready to drop whatever she is doing to wait upon him, and her manner to him is particularly nice. She is a wonderfully thoughtful child for her age, and so kind-hearted!"
"Is she?" Miss Pring asked, a trifle dubiously, or so her niece thought.
"Indeed she is! I don't believe she would willingly hurt anyone's feelings for the world. She always tries to please."
"That is not a sure proof of a kind heart, my dear Mary. It may mean only a desire to stand well in other people's sight. However, you have good opportunities for forming a correct estimate of her character, no doubt you have judged her rightly."
"She works most conscientiously and attends to all my instructions. She is evidently desirous of learning all she can. I never had a better pupil."
"And what about the other sister?" Pring inquired.
"She is not so attentive as Celia in the general way, but she has a real talent for music. Sir Jasper gets her to play to him occasionally, and she has learnt a favorite piece of his—'The Last Rose of Summer.' I often wonder, Aunt Esther, what he means to do for those children in the future."
"So do I," Miss Pring answered, soberly. "I think he ought to make his intentions known. I've a great mind to tell him so the next time we meet."
"Oh, you won't do that, surely, Aunt Esther!" Mary cried, looking quite shocked, for she stood rather in awe of Sir Jasper.
"I shall be guided by circumstances," Miss Pring replied, meditatively; "but don't be alarmed, Mary, you may trust me not to give offence."
CHAPTER VI. THE LAWYER'S DAUGHTER.
"I AM expecting visitors this afternoon," Sir Jasper announced at the breakfast-table one Saturday morning. "Tillotson is coming to see me on business, and I have asked him to stay till Monday, and bring his daughter with him. She is an only child," he explained, putting down the letter he had been reading from his lawyer, and addressing Mrs. Wallis; "she will be a rich woman, some day, for her father's a prosperous man, and more business is transacted in his offices at T— in one day than in the other lawyers' offices in the town in a week."
"Is Miss Tillotson grown up?" Mrs. Wallis inquired.
"No, she's about the age of Celia, I fancy. Tillotson has brought her here by my invitation on several occasions. He's devoted to her, and spoils her, I've little doubt. She's not a pretty girl, but I suppose she's what people call stylish." Sir Jasper gave a little chuckle of amusement as he spoke. "I daresay she'll prove a congenial companion for Celia and Joy," he concluded.
"What is she called, Uncle Jasper?" Celia asked, much interested.
"Her name is Lucinda, but her father calls her Lulu. She will be your guest, remember children, so try to make her short visit a happy one."
"Oh, yes!" the little girls replied, readily.
"Is there no Mrs. Tillotson?" Mrs. Wallis questioned.
"Tillotson is a widower. His wife died soon after the birth of her child. He is a silent, reserved sort of man, but he was as deeply attached to his wife as he is now attached to his daughter, for whom he thinks nothing too good. He simply grants her every wish."
"But that cannot be well for her," Mrs. Wallis said, beginning to wonder if this spoilt child would prove a very desirable companion for her own daughters.
"No, of course it is not," Sir Jasper agreed. "I've no doubt she thinks that all the world was made for her; but she'll find out her mistake some day. I've a great respect for Tillotson, but he doesn't know how to rear up a girl. Miss Lulu is practically the mistress of her father's house, although he keeps a housekeeper who is supposed to manage everything."
Saturday was a whole holiday for the young people at the Moat House. In the afternoon Sir Jasper generally ordered the carriage, and Mrs. Wallis and the children went for a long drive; but to-day they remained at home to welcome Sir Jasper's guests. It was nearly four o'clock when the visitors arrived, and were shown into the drawing-room, where their host was awaiting them with his niece and her two daughters.
"I am very glad to meet you again, Mr. Tillotson," said Mrs. Wallis, as she shook hands with the lawyer. "And this is your daughter? I am pleased to make your acquaintance, my dear. These are my little girls—Celia and Joy."
Having shaken hands with Sir Jasper, who greeted her very cordially, Lulu turned her attention to the others. She glanced at Mrs. Wallis carelessly, but meeting a very kindly smile, gave her a second and more interested look. Then her eyes wandered to Joy, from Joy to Celia, upon whom they rested in rather an ill-bred stare, though their owner had evidently no intention of being rude.
Lulu Tillotson was a tall, slight girl of about fourteen, with a freckled complexion, light, somewhat sandy hair, and pale blue eyes. She was most fashionably dressed in a pink frock much befrilled, and trimmed with expensive lace; her fingers—she had removed her gloves—were laden with rings; and she wore an exceedingly handsome long gold chain, twined around her neck, and fastened to the watch in her waist-band. Her manner was self-satisfied and assured; the expression of her face complacent and rather good-humoured. After shaking hands with Celia and Joy, she seated herself in a chair by Mrs. Wallis's side, whilst Sir Jasper immediately bore Mr. Tillotson off to the library to talk on business matters.
"Did you have a pleasant drive from T—?" Mrs. Wallis asked.
"Oh, yes, pleasant enough," Lulu answered carelessly; "but father drives so slowly and carefully—he always does, you know—that he allowed several carriages to pass us on the road, the consequence being that we were almost smothered with dust, and that made me cross. I told father I wished I had refused to come, and that the dust was simply ruining my new hat, but he wouldn't drive faster."
Mrs. Wallis glanced at the hat in question—pink, to match Lulu's frock, with a bunch of white ostrich feathers as trimming—and wondered who had purchased it for her, or if it was her own taste.
"Would you like to go up to your room my dear," she enquired, "or will you stay where you are and talk to me? Tea is at half-past five."
"Oh, I'll stay where I am, please."
"Then you had better remove your hat. Joy will take it upstairs for you, won't you, Joy?"
"Oh, yes," Joy answered, coming forward and receiving the wonderful article of millinery, which Lulu handed to her without a word of thanks. She carried it gingerly out of the room, whilst Celia drew nearer to the visitor and joined in the conversation.
By the time Joy came back her sister and Lulu were doing most of the talking, whilst Mrs. Wallis was listening, a faint smile of amusement upon her lips. Lulu had been giving them a graphic description of her music-master at school, and though she had ridiculed his peculiarities, it had not been unkindly done.
"You have Miss Pring's niece for a governess, don't you?" she said. Receiving an affirmative answer she rattled on: "I know old Miss Pring—father knew her years ago, when she was a rich woman—and I can't bear her. Such an interfering old creature she is! Father will take me to see her sometimes—I never wish to go!—and to-day he insisted on calling at Home Vale on his way here, and the very first words Miss Pring said, when she saw me, were: 'Bless the child, she looks like a cockatoo!' I never felt angrier in my life."
There was a general laugh at this, for Lulu looked so aggrieved; her listeners guessed, with truth, that Miss Pring's observation had been directed at the feathers in her hat. Celia was the only one who had an answer ready.
"It was very rude of her," she said.
"Yes, indeed!" Lulu agreed. "She certainly apologised afterwards, and said the remark had been surprised out of her, whatever she may have meant by that. I call her a spiteful old woman! If she can't afford nice clothing herself she shouldn't be envious of others."
"Oh, you misjudge her there!" Mrs. Wallis exclaimed, in accents of gentle reproof. "I am sure Miss Pring is much too good and kind to be envious, though perhaps she is a little too outspoken, sometimes."
"A great deal too outspoken, I think!" Lulu cried, tossing her head, for she still felt very angry.
"Yes, indeed," Celia assented, earnestly.
Lulu regarded Celia with growing favour; but she took no notice of Joy, and when later she rose to go to her room to prepare for tea, it was the elder sister she asked to accompany her.
"Mother, what do you think of her?" Joy asked, the minute she and her mother were alone together.
"Poor child, she is much to be pitied," was the answer she received in tones of deep compassion.
"Oh, mother! Why?"
"Because she has no one to correct her faults, my dear; no one to tell her what a self-centered little girl she is, so wrapped up in her own affairs and so vain of her dress. I do not like the way she speaks of her father, it is not a respectful way. I am glad she is only going to stay till Monday, for I should not care for you to be very friendly with her."
"I am not likely to be that," Joy said, soberly, for she could not help feeling a little hurt that Lulu had taken no notice of her, though she was not in the least jealous of her sister. "She has scarcely spoken to me yet."
"Never mind, my dear."
"Oh, mother, I don't mind, or at least, not much," she amended, truthfully; "but she never even said 'thank you' when I carried her hat upstairs for her."
"I noticed that, but I do not think her rudeness was intentional. You must try to judge people by their intentions, my dear, and not by their acts. Don't take a dislike to this motherless little girl. I have no doubt she has her good qualities, which we shall discover by-and-by."
