and gathered brushes and bangles together
in triumph.

It was on the evening preceding the journey to London that Mr Bertrand
came upon his second daughter standing alone in the upstairs corridor,
which ran the whole length of the house, pressing her forehead against
the panes of the windows. Lettice had been unusually quiet during the
last few days, and her father was glad to have the opportunity of a
quiet talk.

"All alone, dear?" he asked, putting his arm round her waist and drawing
her towards him. "I was thinking about you only a few minutes ago. I
said on New Year's Day, you remember, that I wanted to give each of you
three girls some special little present. Well, Hilary is having this
trip with me, and Norah seems in a fair way of getting her wish in the
matter of lessons; but what about you? I'll take you with me next time
I go away; but in the meantime, is there any little thing you fancy that
I could bring back from London town?"

"No, thank you, father. I don't want anything."

"Quite sure? Or--or--anything I can do for you here, before I go?"

"No, thank you, father. Nothing at all."

The tone was dull and listless, and Mr Bertrand looked down at the fair
face nestled against his shoulder with anxious eyes.

"What is it, dear? What is the matter, my pretty one?"

He was almost startled by the transformation which passed over the
girl's face as he spoke the last few words. The colour rushed into the
cheeks, the lips trembled, and the beautiful eyes gazed meltingly into
his. Lettice put up her arm and flung it impetuously round his neck.

"Do you love me, father? Do you really love me?"

"Love you! My precious child! I love every one of you--dearly--dearly!
But you--" Mr Bertrand's voice broke off with an uncontrollable
tremble--"you know there are special reasons why you are dear to me,
Lettice. When I look at you I seem to see your mother again as I met
her first. Why do you ask such a question? You surely know that I love
you, without being told?"

"But I like being told," said Lettice plaintively. "I like people to
say nice things, and to be loving and demonstrative. Hilary laughs at
me if I am affectionate, and the boys tease. Sometimes I feel so
lonely!"

Mr Bertrand drew his breath in a short, stabbing sigh. He was
realising more keenly every day how difficult it was to bring up young
girls without a mother's tender care. Hilary, with the strain of
hardness and self