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Certainly, my dear; but I never knew before that you had a voice.
I have only a little voice; but I have made the most of my opportunities. I wont sing if you would rather not.
On the contrary, dear; I should like to hear you.
A ballad, I suppose? said Letitia.
Yes; I am fond of ballads. What do you know?
All the usual ones, I think, replied Letitia. I will sing Robin Adair if that will suit you.
I am fond of Robin Adair, said the widow; but few people can render those beautiful words to satisfaction.
Letitia volunteered to try. She sat down to the piano; her accompaniment was fresh and rippling, her voice clear, not particularly strong, but wonderfully true. It had a note of sympathy in it too, which rang through the old room.
Mrs. Chetwynd put down her knitting with a sigh of pleasure. The two girls sat with their hands lying idly in their laps, and gazed at their cousin.
When the old ballad came to an end, Mrs. Chetwynd felt tears not far from her eyes.
Oh, if only Eileen and Marjorie were like Letitia!
Marjorie suddenly jumped to her feet.
Are you crying, mother? she said, going up to her mother. Oh, its just like that wicked Lettie. To hear her sing you would suppose that she was the most sentimental creature in the world: but dont you believe a word of it, mammy. She has not one scrap of sentiment in her composition; she is the most worldly-wise little soul that I have ever come across. Now, Lettie, dont be a humbug; sing something in which your real feelings appear a modern love-song, for instance, or something about fine dress, or nothing to wear, or anything else in your real style. Its positively wrong of you to deceive mother in the way you are doing.
Letitia looked gently reproachful. She said she did not know any song about nothing to wear, nor any song either about dress; but she would sing Shadowland if Mrs. Chetwynd wished it.
This song again brought the widow to the verge of tears. Lettie then rose and shut the piano.
You at least, my dear, have derived benefit from your education, she said. How I wish your dear father and my dear husband were alive to hear you.
Father could always see through humbugs, said Eileen to Marjorie.
Yes, replied Marjorie; but dont you see whatever mother is she is not a humbug?
Only we dont want Lettie to twist her round her little finger, do we? said Eileen.
No; not that it greatly matters. Poor mother. I expect Lettie will do very much what we do; but Im not sure. We must only wait and see.
The girls retired to bed; but Mrs. Chetwynd sat up late, wishing much that she had Mrs. Acheson to consult with.
What was to be done if Marjorie and Eileen went on in this peculiar manner which they had done that evening? Really, when everything was considered, they were very little better than Belle, and Belle happened to be Mrs. Chetwynds bête noire.
If only pretty, graceful, accomplished Letitia were my own daughter! She is a dear child, and yet I cannot quite cordially take to her, thought the widow. I dont know what is the matter with her. I have no fault whatever to find. I suppose it is because she is not my own. Now Marjorie and Eileen rub me the wrong way every time they open their lips, and yet I love them with all my heart and soul. How handsome they are too! Anything could be done with them if only they would submit to the ordinary regulations of polite society. What terrible times these modern days are! Mothers have little or no influence over their own children. The children take the upper hand and keep it. But I just vow that Marjorie and Eileen shall submit to me in my own house. Poor darlings, they are as loving as possible; but they have been under some dreadful pernicious influence. I could never guess that a school so highly recommended as Miss Marchlands was would send back girls in the condition Marjorie and Eileen are in. No manners, disgraceful in appearance, and no accomplishments. What agony I went through while Marjorie was playing that fugue! She must never attempt to play in public. Eileen, who really had a taste for music, will not cultivate it, because, forsooth, she is not a genius. The two girls mean to be merely useful merely useful, with eyes like those, and lips and teeth. My dear, dear, ridiculous children, society will soon knock all that nonsense out of your heads. Yes, I must present them both as soon as possible. I shall order their court dresses to-morrow.
But that terrible cropped hair straight too, not a scrap of curl in it. Oh dear, what is to be done; and they are both on such a large scale? They would make handsome boys. What a pity they are not boys. Dear me, I am an unhappy woman. If Letitia were my daughter, it would be plain sailing, but as it is I am at my wits end.
By and by Mrs. Chetwynd went upstairs. She hesitated on the second landing, where her own room was. On the next floor were the girls rooms, luxuriously and beautifully furnished. It occurred to her to go up and look at her darlings asleep. She did so, opening the door of Marjories room first. Marjorie was in bed, curled up as her fashion was, with the bedclothes tucked tightly round her. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, and the long black lashes looked particularly handsome as they lay against her rosy cheeks. But what a condition the room was in! What was the good of a maid when girls went to bed in such a state of untidiness? Clothes tossed helter-skelter everywhere; one little shoe near the fireplace, one near the wardrobe; petticoats flopped on the nearest chair; the shabby serge dress, which Mrs. Chetwynd considered only to be fit for the next bag sent from the Kilburn Society, hanging on the brass knob of the bed.