of the tree, and
you will grovel on the ground. You are too modest in your aspirations,
and they won't come to any good; but as for me--with a standard before
me of absolute perfection--"

"Who is talking of perfection? And where is the tea, and why are you
still in darkness, with none of the lamps lighted? It is five o'clock,
and I have been in my study waiting for the bell to ring for the last
half-hour. What are you all doing over there by the fire?" cried a
masculine voice, and a man's tall figure stood outlined in the doorway.

CHAPTER TWO.

HILARY IN LUCK.

There was a simultaneous exclamation of dismay as the three girls leapt
from their seats, and flew round the room in different directions.
Hilary lighted the lamps, Norah drew the curtains across the windows,
while Lettice first gave a peal to the bell, and then ran forward to
escort her father to a chair by the fire.

"Tea will be here in a moment, father; come and sit down. It's New
Year's Day, you know, and we have been so busy making good resolutions
that we have had no time for anything practical. Why didn't you come
down before? You are a regular old woman about afternoon tea; I believe
you would miss it more than any other meal."

"I believe I should. I never get on well with my writing in the first
part of the afternoon, and tea seems to give me a fresh start. So you
girls have been making good resolutions? That's good hearing. Tell me
about them." And Mr Bertrand leant back in his chair, clasping his
hands behind his head, and looking up at his young daughters with a
quizzical smile. A photographer would have been happy if he could have
taken a portrait at this moment, for Mr Bertrand was a well-known
author, and the books which were written in the study in Westmoreland
went far and wide over the world, and made his name a household word.
He had forgotten his beloved work at this moment, however, at the sight
of something dearer still--his three young daughters standing grouped
together facing him at the other side of the old-fashioned grate, their
faces flushed from the heat of the fire, their eyes dazzled by the
sudden light. How tall and womanlike they looked in their dark serge
dresses! Lettice's hair framed her face in a halo of mist-like curls;
Hilary held up her head in her dignified little fashion; mischievous
Norah smiled in the background. They were dearer to him than all his
heroines; but, alas, far less easy to ma