A Popular Schoolgirl, Angela Brazil [big screen ebook reader txt] 📗

the family at the farmhouse rooms. What was to happen after the delirious joy of the holiday was over, Ingred did not know. She had several times mentioned to her mother the prospect of their return to Rotherwood, but Mrs. Saxon had always evaded the subject, saying: “Wait till Daddy comes back!” and the welcoming of their three heroes had seemed a matter of such paramount importance that in comparison with it even the question of their beloved Rotherwood might stand aside.

The Saxons were a particularly united family, tremendously proud of one another, and interested in each other’s doings. Their name bespoke their old English origin, which (except in the case of Ingred) was further vouched for by their blue eyes, fair skins, and flaxen hair. Egbert and Athelstane were strapping young fellows of six feet, and thirteen-year-old Hereward was taller already than Ingred. Quenrede, immensely proud of her quaint Saxon name, and not at all pleased that the family generally shortened it to Queenie, had just left school, and had turned up her long fair pigtail, put on a grownup and rather condescending manner, powdered the tip of her classic little nose, and was extremely particular about the cut of her skirts and the fit of her suède shoes. It was a grievance to Quenrede that, as she expressed it, she had “missed the war.” She had longed to go out to France and drive an ambulance, or to whirl over English roads on a motorcycle, buying up hay for the Government, or to assist in training horses, or to help in some other patriotic job of an equally interesting and exciting character.

“It’s too bad that just when I’m old enough all the jolly things are closed to women!” she groused. “If Mother had only let me leave school a year ago, I’d at least have had three months’ fun. Life’s going to be very slow now. There’s nothing sporty to do at all!”

Ingred, the youngest but one, and fifteen on her last birthday, was the only dark member of the fair Saxon family. At present she was not nearly so good-looking as pretty Quenrede; her mouth was a trifle heavy and her cheeks lacked color; but her eyes had depths that were not seen in her sister’s, and her thick brown hair fell far below her waist. She would gladly have exchanged it for the lintwhite locks of Hereward.

“Queenie was always chosen for a fairy at school plays,” she grumbled, “and they never would have me, though her dresses would have come in for me so beautifully. I don’t see why some fairies shouldn’t have dark hair! And it was just as bad when we acted The Merchant of Venice. Miss Carter gave ‘Portia’ to Francie Hall, and made me take ‘Jessica,’ and Francie was a perfect stick, and spoilt the whole thing! Next time, I declare I’ll bargain to wear a golden wig, and see what happens.”

Ingred had been educated at Grovebury College since the morning when, a fat little person of five, she had taken her place in the Kindergarten. She and Quenrede had always been favorites in the school. In prewar days they had been allowed to give delightful parties at Rotherwood to their form-mates, and though that had not been possible during the last five years, everybody knew that their beautiful home had been lent to the Red Cross, and admired their patriotism in thus giving it for the service of the nation. From Avis’s remarks that afternoon it was evident that the girls at the college expected the Saxons to return immediately to Rotherwood, and were looking forward to being invited to entertainments there during the coming autumn and winter. Ingred had contrived to parry her friend’s interested questions, but she felt the time had come when she must be prepared to give some definite answer to those who inquired about their future plans. She managed to catch her mother alone next morning for a quiet chat.

“Mumsie, dear,” she began. “I’ve been wanting to ask you this⁠—are we going back to Rotherwood after the holidays?”

Mrs. Saxon folded up her sewing, put her thimble and scissors away in her workbasket, and leaned her elbow on the arm of the garden seat as if prepared for conversation.

“And I’ve been wanting to talk to you about this, Ingred. Shall you be very disappointed when I tell you ‘No’?”

“Oh, Muvvie!” Ingred’s tone was agonized.

“It can’t be helped, little woman! It can’t indeed! I think you’re old enough now to understand if I explain. You know this war has hit a great many people very hard. There has been a sort of general financial seesaw; some have made large fortunes, but others have lost them. We come in the latter list. When your father went out to France, he had to leave his profession to take care of itself, and other architects have stepped in and gained the commissions that used to come to his office. It may take him a long while to pull his connection together again, and the time of waiting will be one of much anxiety for him. Then, most of our investments, which used to pay such good dividends, are worth hardly anything now, and only bring us in a pittance compared with former years. Instead of being rich people, we shall have to be very careful indeed to make ends meet. To return to Rotherwood is utterly out of the question, and with the price of everything doubled and trebled, and our income in the inverse ratio, it is impossible to keep up so big an establishment nowadays.”

“Where are we going to live, then?” asked Ingred in a strangled voice.

“At the bungalow that Daddy built on the moors. Fortunately the tenant was leaving, and we had not let it to anyone else. In present circumstances it will suit us very well. Athelstane is to be entered in the medical school at Birkshaw; he can ride over every day on the motor-bicycle. We had