The Third Miss St Quentin

by Mrs. Molesworth

night, didn't you think so? Ermine especially, Madelene lookedrather solemn--does that child worry her much, do you think, Granny?"

  "If she does, it is Maddie's own fault," Lady Cheynes replied sharply."At least hers to some extent, and perhaps partly her father's. I findElla as reasonable as one could wish. I'm sure when she is alone withme--" but here she suddenly checked herself.

  "Is she ever alone with you? Do you have her here? Upon my word,Granny, it's most self-sacrificing of you. But--you're not going tohave her here any more, I hope, not now I've come back?"

  "How unselfish you are!" said his grandmother, with a smile, however,that somewhat belied the satire of her words. "She is my god-daughter;I have duties and responsibilities with regard to her."

  Philip murmured something inaudible. But Lady Cheynes took no notice.

  "You shouldn't keep the horse waiting, Phil," she said. "It is bitinglycold."

  "Good-bye then, till--dinner-time, I suppose?" he said as he went off.

  He felt slightly dissatisfied. "Granny" had not seemed as pleased tosee him as she usually was after an absence; she had asked him nothingabout matters at Grimswell, where he had really been working hard, and"going into things,"--the rectifying of abuses, the setting a-foot newbenevolent schemes, and so on--with fervour and energy which he hadscarcely known he possessed. He could and would of course talk it allover with Granny when he got her to himself, that very evening probably,but still--no, she had not been quite herself that morning, she was"carried" and constrained. Perhaps there were troubles at Coombesthorpewhich he had not heard of; his grandmother had spoken rather snappishlyof Madelene.

  "I do believe it's all that child," was the conclusion at which theyoung man finally arrived. "I must get it all out of Granny and help tosmooth things a little if I can. I wonder,"--was his next thought--"Iwonder if Maddie noticed that girl or knew who she was."

  He found the lawyer at home, but somewhat surprised to see him. SirPhilip explained to him his unexpected return. Mr Brander, who hadknown him from his infancy, pricked up his ears at the prospect of alittle local gossip.

  "So you were in time for the Manor dance, Sir Philip. A very successfulaffair I hear. My nephew,"--Mr Brander had a brother who ranked amongthe small squirearchy--"my nephew looked in this morning on his wayhome; he slept at his sister's--and he was full of it. He was tellingme all the details. I was delighted to hear that Lady Cheyneschaperoned her nieces herself, though sorry to hear of the Colonel'sillness."

  Philip looked surprised.

  "Oh no," he said, "my cousins were staying in the house. What put itinto my lady's head to go I'm sure I don't know, but it was not aschaperone to any one."

  "Indeed," said his companion, "I must have misunderstood Fred then. Buthe was quite clear about it--said that the youngest Miss St Quentin wastremendously admired, bids fair in fact to, so to speak, outshine hersisters. Of course there is the charm of novelty in her case; she isquite a stranger in this neighbourhood."

  Philip's brow contracted. Old Brander meant no harm, but his remarksstruck the young man as slightly free. Besides--what utter nonsense hewas talking!

  "There is some absurd mistake," he remarked rather stiffly. "I don'tsuppose you misunderstood your nephew, but he has got hold of somenonsense. The youngest Miss St Quentin is still to all intents andpurposes a child; there could have been no question of her being at theManor last night."

  In his turn Mr Brander looked surprised.

  "Fred must be more exact in his statements," he said; "he must havemistaken some one else."

  And then as Philip proceeded to lay before him the papers andexplanations with which Lady Cheynes had furnished him, the conversationtook the turn of business and no more was said about Mrs Belvoir'sdance.

  But a feeling of increasing mystification was left in Philip's mind.

  "I cannot understand my grandmother's sudden freak last night," hethought. "It is sure to make people gossip, especially if any onenoticed that she and I were never together the whole evening. The nextreport will be that she and I have quarrelled--it would be no moreabsurd than that Fred Brander's story about Ella St Quentin having beenthe belle of the Manor ball!"

  Ella was at that moment dressing as quickly as she could, having slepttill long after her usual breakfast hour and only awakened to be toldthat as her godmother wished to drive over to Coombesthorpe forluncheon, she had no time to spare. So her thick grey linsey frock wasdonned again, and the fluffy masses of white tulle, slightly "tashed,"as the Scotch say, but snowily pretty still, reconsigned by Jones'scareful hands to the tray of Ella's large basket trunk.

  "It's very little the worse," said the maid. "If you just get Millannieto iron it out the next time you want to wear it, Miss, it'll be as goodas ever. It is Millannie to do it, I suppose? You haven't a maid ofyour own yet."

  "No indeed," Ella replied. "Hester looks after me a little, andStevens, the second housemaid, mends my things. Melanie never does athing for me; she's always busy for my sisters."

  "Never mind, Miss. It'll be different when you come to be counted quitea grown-up young lady, which will be soon now, you'll see. And you didenjoy yourself last night?"

  "Oh indeed I did. It was--heavenly," said Ella with fervour. "And I dothank you so much for getting my frock ready so beautifully, Jones. NowI must run off, I suppose."

  There was only one thing on her mind as she flew down stairs to hergodmother, but it was rather a big thing! A most extraordinary accidenthad befallen her on leaving the Manor the night before. She had lost ashoe! One of _the_ shoes. Clarice's shoes--which Lady Cheynes had keptenveloped in silver paper for more years than twice Ella's whole lifecould count, and only with much thought and hesitation had confided toher little god-daughter for one evening. It was really dreadful. YetElla could scarcely take blame to herself.

  "They were much too big--especially that left foot one," she said toherself. "I shall always think myself wonderfully clever for keepingthem on while I was dancing. And the buckles are not real. I am gladof it, though I am afraid godmother will mind quite as much as if theywere."

  Should she tell of the loss at once? She hesitated. She was notcowardly, but she was very reluctant to cause pain to the old lady, andit was perhaps needless to do so, as there seemed every probability thatthe slipper would be found. If her godmother did not ask about them,Ella decided that she would not speak of the shoes, and as soon aspossible she would find some way of making inquiry at the Manor.

  "If Madelene and Ermine are not cross about my having been there," shethought, "I'll get them to help me. They can't blame me when I tellthem exactly how it happened--it must have been just as I was gettinginto the carriage. I remember one of the horses started a little andgodmother told me to be quick."

  Lady Cheynes seemed to have forgotten all about the precious loan. Shewas in a fidget to be off, congratulating herself on her cleverness inhaving prevented her grandson and god-daughter meeting, or indeed havingany suspicion of each other's vicinity. For she had entered into thespirit of the mystification thoroughly, as Ermine had said, and quiteagreed with her that it would be most amusing to witness Sir Philip'sastonishment when he should be presented to the little lady, of whom hehad so mistaken an idea.

  "Don't let them meet, if you can possibly help it, auntie, till Philcomes over to us," Ermine had said, to which Lady Cheynes had agreed.

  "He is very prejudiced against her, I warn you," she had added. "Idoubt if he would ever have let himself even admire her if they had metfirst in an ordinary way."

  "That's just why," Ermine replied enigmatically, but Lady Cheynes askedfor no explanation.

  Not much was said during the drive to Ella's home. The girl was still alittle sleepy, and rather nervous too when she thought of the shoe. Andher godmother seemed pre-occupied and slightly absent. Only once justbefore they reached the Coombesthorpe lodge, she turned somewhatabruptly to Ella.

  "Then you did enjoy last night,
my dear? It was worth the trouble?"

  "Godmother," said Ella earnestly, "I enjoyed myself, _tremendously_. Ishall always thank you for having taken me, always, more than I cansay," and she held up her pretty face for a kiss. "I do hope," sheadded after a moment's silence, "I do hope Madelene will not be vexedabout it. She surely won't be when she hears how it all was."

  Lady Cheynes caught her up sharply.

  "_Madelene_ vexed," she said. "My dear child what are you saying? Why,how