Evelyn did not get up to breakfast the following morning. Breakfast at the Castle was a rather stately affair. A loud, musical gong sounded to assemble the family at a quarter to nine; then all those who were not really ill were expected to appear in the small chapel¹, where the Squire² read prayers morning after morning before the assembled household. After prayers, visitors and family alike trooped into the comfortable breakfast-room, where a merry and hearty³ meal ensued. To be absent from breakfast was to insure Lady Frances’s displeasure; she had no patience with lazy people. And as to lazy girls, her horror of them was so great that Audrey would rather bear the worst cold possible than announce to her mother that she was too ill to appear. Evelyn’s absence, therefore, was commented on with a very grave expression of face by both the Squire and his wife.  
“I must speak to her,” said Lady Frances. “It is the first morning, and she does not understand our ways, but it must not occur again.”
 
“You will not be too hard on the child, dear,” said her husband. “Remember she has never had the advantage of your training.” 44
“Poor little creature!” said Lady Frances. “That, indeed, my dear Edward, is plain to be seen.”
 
She bridled⁴ very slightly. Lady Frances knew that there was not a more correct trainer of youth in the length and breadth of the county than herself. Audrey, who looked very bright and handsome that morning, ventured to glance at her mother.
 
“Perhaps Evelyn is dressed and does not know that we are at breakfast,” she said. “May I go to her room and find out?”
 
“No, Audrey, not this morning. I shall go to see Evelyn presently. By the way, I hope you are ready for your visitors?”
 
“I suppose so, mother. I don’t really quite know who are coming.”
 
“The Jervices, of course—Henrietta, Juliet, and their brothers; there are also the Claverings, Mary and Sophie. I think those are the only young people, but with six in addition to you and Evelyn, you will have your hands full, Audrey.”
 
“Oh, I don’t mind,” replied Audrey. “It will be fun.—You will help me all you can, won’t you, Jenny?”
 
“Certainly, dear,” replied Miss Sinclair.
 
“It is the greatest possible comfort to me to have you in the house, Miss Sinclair,” said Lady Frances, now turning to the pretty young governess. “You have not yet had an interview with Evelyn, have you?”
 
“I talked to her a little last night,” replied Miss 45 Sinclair. “She seems to me to be a child with a good deal of character.”
 
“She is like no child I ever met before,” said Lady Frances, with a shudder⁵. “I must frankly⁶ say I never looked forward with any pleasure to her arrival, but my worst fears did not picture so thoroughly⁷ objectionable a little girl.”
 
“Oh, come, Frances—come!” said her husband.
 
“My dear Edward, I do not give myself away as a rule; but it is just as well that Miss Sinclair should see how much depends on her guidance of the poor little girl, and that Audrey should know how objectionable she is, and how necessary it is for us all to do what we can to alter her ways. The first step, of course, is to get rid of that terrible woman whom she calls Jasper.”
 
“But, mother,” said Audrey, “that would hurt Evelyn’s feelings very much—she is so devoted⁸ to Jasper.”
 
“You must leave the matter to me, Audrey,” said Lady Frances, rising. “You may be sure that I will do nothing really cruel or unkind. But, my dear, it is as well that you should learn sooner or later that spoiling a person is never true kindness.”
 
Lady Frances left the room as she spoke⁹; and Audrey, turning to her governess, said a few words to her, and they also went slowly in the direction of the conservatory¹⁰.
 
“What do you think of her, Jenny?” asked the girl.
 
“Just what I said, dear. The child is full of originality¹¹ 46 and strong feelings, but of course, brought up as she has been, she will be a trial to your mother.”
 
“That is just it. Mother has never seen any one in the least like Evelyn. She won’t understand her; and if she does not there will be mischief¹².”
 
“Evelyn must learn to subdue¹³ her will to that of Lady Frances,” said Miss Sinclair. “You and I, Audrey, will try to be very patient with her; we will put up with her small impertinences, knowing that she scarcely means them; and we will try to make things as happy for her as we can.”
 
“I don’t know about that,” said Audrey. “I cannot see why she should be rude and chuff and disagreeable. I don’t altogether dislike her. She certainly amuses me. But she will not have a very happy time at the Castle until she knows her place.”
 
“That is it,” said Miss Sinclair. “She has evidently been spoken to most injudiciously—told that she is practically mistress of the place, and that she may do as she likes here. Hence the result. But at the worst, Audrey, I am certain of one thing.”
 
“What is that, Jenny? How wise you look, and how kind!”
 
“I believe your father will be able to manage her, whoever else fails. Did you not notice how her eyes followed him round the room last night, and how, whenever he spoke to her, her voice softened¹⁵ and she always replied in a gentle tone?”
 
“No, I did not,” answered Audrey. “Oh dear! it is very puzzling, and I feel rather cross myself. I 47 cannot imagine why that horrid¹⁶ little girl should ever own this lovely place. It is not that I am jealous of her—I assure you I am anything but that—but it hurts me to think that one who can appreciate things so little should come in for our lovely property.”
 
“Well, darling, let us hope she will be quite a middle-aged¹⁷ woman before she possesses Castle Wynford,” said the governess. “And now, what about your young friends?”
 
Audrey slipped her hand inside Miss Sinclair’s arm, and the two paced the conservatory, talking long and earnestly.
 
Meanwhile Evelyn, having partaken of a rich and unwholesome breakfast of pastry¹⁸, game-pie, and chocolate, condescended¹⁹ slowly to rise. Jasper waited on her hand and foot. A large fire burned in the grate; no servant had been allowed into the apartment since Evelyn had taken possession of it the night before, and it already presented an untidy and run-to-seed appearance. White ashes were piled high in the untidy grate; dust had collected on the polished steel of the fire-irons; dust had also mounted to the white marble mantelpiece covered with velvet²¹ of turquoise-blue, but neither Evelyn nor Jasper minded these things in the least.
 
“And now, pet,” said the maid, “what dress will you wear?”
 
“I had better assert myself as soon as possible,” said Evelyn. “Mothery told me I must. So I had better put on something striking. I saw that horrid 48 Audrey walking past just now with her governess; she had on a plain, dark-blue serge. Why, any dairymaid might dress like that. Don’t you agree with me, Jasper?”
 
“There is your crimson²² velvet,” said Jasper. “I bought it for you in Paris. You look very handsome in it.”
 
“Oh, come, Jasper,” said her little mistress, “you said I was squat²³ last night.”
 
“The rich velvet shows up your complexion,” persisted Jasper. “Put it on, dear; you must make a good impression.”
 
Accordingly Evelyn allowed herself to be arrayed in a dress of a curious shade between red and crimson. Jasper encircled her waist with a red silk sash; and being further decked with numerous rows of colored beads²⁴, varying in hue²⁵ from the palest green to the deepest rose, the heiress pronounced herself ready to descend²⁰.
 
“And where will you go first, dear?” said Jasper.
 
“I am going straight to find my Uncle Edward. I have a good deal to say to him. And there is mother’s note; I think it is all about you. I will give it to Uncle Edward to give to my Aunt Frances. I don’t like my Aunt Frances at all, so I will see Uncle Edward first.”
 
Accordingly Evelyn, in her heavy red dress, her feet encased in black shoes and white stockings, ran down-stairs, and having inquired in very haughty²⁶ tones of a footman where the Squire was likely to 49 be found, presently opened the door of his private sanctum and peeped in.
 
Even Lady Frances seldom cared to disturb the Squire when he was in his den¹⁴, as he called it. When he raised his eyes, therefore, and saw Evelyn’s pale face, her light flaxen hair falling in thin strands²⁷ about her ears, her big, somewhat light-brown eyes staring at him, he could not help giving a start of annoyance²⁸.
 
“Oh, Uncle Ned, you are not going to be cross too?” said the little girl. She skipped gaily²⁹ into the room, ran up to him, put one arm round his neck, and kissed him.
 
The Squire looked in a puzzled way at the queer little figure. Like most men, he knew little or nothing of the details of dress; he was only aware that his own wife always looked perfect, that Audrey was the soul of grace, and that Miss Sinclair presented a very pretty appearance. He was now, therefore, only uncomfortable in Evelyn’s presence, not in the least aware of what was wrong with her, but being quite certain that Lady Frances would not approve of her at all.
 
“I have come first to you, Uncle Edward,” said Evelyn, “because we must transact³⁰ some business together.”
 
“Transact some business!” repeated her uncle. “What long words you use, little girl!”
 
“I have heard my dear mothery talk about transacting³¹ business, so I have picked up the phrase,” replied Evelyn in thoughtful tones. “Well, Uncle 50 Edward, shall we transact? It is best to have things on a business footing; don’t you think so—eh?”
 
“I think that you are a very strange little person,” said her uncle. “You are too young to know anything of business matters; you must leave those things to your aunt and to me.”
 
“But I am your heiress, don’t forget. This room will be mine, and all that big estate outside, and the whole of this gloomy old house when you die. Is not that so?”
 
“It is so, my child.” The Squire could not help wincing³² when Evelyn pronounced his house gloomy. “But at the same time, my dear Evelyn, things of that sort are not spoken about—at least not in England.”
 
“Mothery and I spoke a lot about it; we used to sit for whole evenings by the fireside and discuss the time when I should come in for my property. I mean to make changes when my time comes. You don’t mind my saying so, do you?”
 
“I object to the subject altogether, Evelyn.” The Squire rose and faced his small heiress. “In England we don’t talk of these things, and now that you have come to England you must do as an English girl and a lady would. On your father’s side you are a lady, and you must allow your aunt and me to train you in the observances which constitute true ladyhood in England.”
 
Evelyn’s brown eyes flashed a very angry fire.
 
“I don’t wish to be different from my mother,” she said. “My mother was one of the most splendid 51 women on earth. I wish to be exactly like her. I will not be a fine lady—not for anybody.”
 
“Well, dear, I respect you for being fond of your mother.”
 
“Fond of her!” said Evelyn; and a strange and intensely tragic³³ look crossed the queer little face.
 
She was quite silent for nearly a minute, and Edward Wynford watched her with curiosity and pain mingled³⁴ in his face. Her eyes reminded him of the brother whom he had so truly loved; in every other respect Evelyn was her mother over again.
 
“I suppose,” she said after a pause, “although I may not speak about what lies before me in the future, and you must die some time, Uncle Edward, that I may at least ask you to supply me with the needful?”
 
“The what, dear?”
 
“The needful. Chink, you know—chink.”
 
Squire Wynford sank slowly back again into his chair.
 
“You might ask me to sit down,” said Evelyn, “seeing that the room and all it contains will be——” Here she broke off abruptly³⁵. “I beg your pardon,” she continued. “I really and truly do not want you to die a minute before your rightful hour. We all have our hour—at least mothery said so—and then go we must, whether we like it or not; so, as you must go some day, and I must——Oh dear! I am always being drawn³⁶ up now by that horrid wish of yours that I should try to be an English 52 girl. I will try to be when I am in your presence, for I happen to like you; but as for the others, well, we shall see. But, Uncle Ned, what about the chink? Perhaps you call it money; anyhow, it means money. How much may I have out of what is to be all my own some day to spend now exactly as I like?”
 
“You can have a fair sum, Evelyn. But, first of all, tell me what you want it for and how you mean to spend it.”
 
“I have all kinds of wants,” began Evelyn. “Jasper had plenty of money to spend on me until I came here. She manages very well indeed, does Jasper. We bought lots of things in Paris—this dress, for instance. How do you like my dress, Uncle Ned?”
 
“I am not capable of giving an opinion.”
 
“Aren’t you really? I expect you are about stunned³⁷. You never thought a girl like me could dress with such taste. Do you mind my speaking to Audrey, Uncle Ned, about her dress? It does not seem to me to be correct.”
 
“What is wrong with it?” asked the Squire.
 
“It is so awfully³⁸ dowdy³⁹; it is not what a lady ought to wear. Ladies ought to dress in silks and satins and brocades and rich embroidered⁴⁰ robes. Mothery always said so, and mothery surely knew. But there, I am idling you, and I suppose you are busy directing the management of your estates, which are to be——Oh, there! I am pulled up again. I want my money for Jasper, for one thing. 53 Jasper has got some poor relations, and she and I between us support them.”
 
“She and you between you,” said the Squire, “support your maid’s relations!”
 
“Oh dear me, Uncle Ned, how stiffly you speak! But surely it does not matter; I can do what I like with my own.”
 
“Listen to me, Evelyn,” said her uncle. “You are only a very young girl; your mind may in some ways be older than your body, but you are nothing more than a child.”
 
“I am not such a child as I look. I was sixteen a month ago. I am sixteen, and that is not very young.”
 
“We must agree to differ,” said her uncle. “You are young and you are not wise; and although there is some money which is absolutely your own coming from the ranch⁴¹ in Tasmania, yet I have the charge of it until you come of age.”
 
“When I come of age I suppose I shall be very, very rich?”
 
“Not at all. You will be my care, and I will allow you what is proper, but as long as I live you will only have the small sum which will come to you yearly from the rent of the ranch. As the ranch may possibly be sold some day, we may be able to realize a nice little capital for you; but you are too young to know much of these things at present. The matter in hand, therefore, is all-sufficient. I will allow you as pocket-money five pounds a quarter. I give precisely⁴² the same sum to Audrey. 54 Your aunt will buy your clothes, and you will live here and be treated in all respects as my daughter. Now, that is my side of the bargain.”
 
Evelyn’s face turned white.
 
“Five pounds a quarter!” she said. “Why, that is downright penury⁴³!”
 
“No, dear; for the use you require it for it is downright riches. But, be it riches or be it penury, you get no more.”
 
Evelyn looked full at her uncle; her uncle looked back at her.
 
“Come here, little girl,” he said.
 
Her heart was beating with furious anger, but there was something in his tone which subdued⁴⁴ her. She went slowly to him, and he put his arm round her waist.
 
“Your eyes are like—very like—one whom I loved best on earth.”
 
“You mean my father,” said the girl.
 
“Your father. He left you to me to care for, and to love and to train—to train for a high position eventually.”
 
“He left me to mothery; you are quite mistaken there. Mothery has trained me; father left me to her. She often and often and often told me so.”
 
“That is true, dear. While your mother lived she had the prior claim over you, but now you belong to me.”
 
“Yes,” said Evelyn. She felt fascinated. She snuggled comfortably inside her uncle’s arm; her strange brown eyes were fixed⁴⁵ on his face. 55
“I give you,” he continued, “the love and care of a father, but I expect a return.”
 
“What? I don’t mind. I have two diamonds—beauties. You shall have them to make into studs; you shall, because I—yes, I love you.”
 
“I don’t want your diamonds, my little girl, but I want other things—your love and your obedience⁴⁶. I want you, if you like me, and if you like your Aunt Frances, and if you like your cousin, to follow in our steps, for we have been brought up to approve of courteous⁴⁷ manners and quiet dress and gentle speech; and I want that brain of yours, Evelyn, to be educated to high and lofty thoughts. I want you to be a grand woman, worthy⁴⁸ of your father, and I expect this return from you for all that I am going to do for you.”
 
“Are you going to teach me your own self?” asked Evelyn.
 
“You can come to me sometimes for a talk, but it is impossible for me to be your instructor⁴⁹. You will have a suitable governess.”
 
“Jasper knows a lot of things. Perhaps she could teach both Audrey and me. She might if you paid her well. She has got some awfully poor relations; she must have lots of money, poor Jasper must.”
 
“Well, dear, leave me now. We will talk of your education and who is to instruct you, and all about Jasper too, within a few days. You have got to see the place and to make Audrey’s acquaintance; and there are some young friends coming to the 56 Castle for a week. Altogether, you have arrived at a gay time. Now run away, find your cousin, and make yourself happy.”
 
Squire Wynford rose as he spoke, and taking Evelyn’s hand, he led her to the door. He opened the door wide for her, and saw her go out, and then he kissed his hand to her and closed the door again.
 
“Poor little mite⁵⁰!” he said to himself. “As strange a child as I ever saw, but with Frank’s eyes.”