"No, mother is quite nice, particularly nice," said Ethel, who had often explained to the young Carters what a trial her mother was. "Well, then, come and have a game," said Jim. "Come along, do, and forget all the worries. If it isn't the mother it can't be anything very serious." "Yes, but it is, and I cannot tell you," said Ethel. She looked so forlorn that everyone present pitied her. Her soft brown eyes filled with sudden tears and overflowed. "Oh, how my head is aching. I've been lying down all the afternoon. I just managed to come out to tell you, for I felt you must know." "Is it as bad as that? Then we had best make ourselves scarce," said Jim. "Come along, let us go away, we who are the unfavoured; we'll leave the select few to listen to confidences." A game of tennis was presently in active progress, Clara and Mabel, who both longed to join, did not feel too sympathetic. "Well," said Clara, "whatever is it? Do tell all. If you won't come to-night and you won't play, why--" "Oh, you mean me to go," said Ethel. "It's always like that--I might have expected it." "Oh, no; don't go," said Mabel, who was more good-natured than her sister, "that is," she corrected herself, "if we can do anything to help you." "I must tell you--I won't keep you more than a few minutes. You know Marcia--you have heard of her?" "Of your elder sister? Oh, how funny! There came a letter yesterday from Colonel St Just to father, and he said that his sister, Mrs Silchester, is coming to spend the holidays with them, and that she had mentioned your sister, Miss Marcia Aldworth. She said what a splendid girl she was. Colonel St Just told us to tell you--he thought you would be pleased." "Oh, she is deceived in her," said Ethel, her face getting redder than ever. "She is deceived in her. I wish she knew. Well, I'll tell you all about it. You know Marcia isn't our real sister--" "Oh, my dear, of course, that is no news," said Clara more crossly than ever. "But she is older--she is older than I am, and older than Molly. She is twenty." This was said with effect, and a long pause followed. "She will be twenty-one before long. You can't call that young, can you?" "Well, not as young as eighteen, of course." "But it isn't young at all," said Ethel, in a fretful tone. "Now I am only seventeen, and dear Molly is only eighteen; we are quite young." "And so are we, we are both eighteen, aren't we, darling old Clay?" said Mabel, patting her sister on the face. "Yes, but don't call me Clay--it does sound so earthy," said Clara. "But do go on, Ethel. Out with this trouble." "Well, it is this--father sent for Marcia." "What, from that delightful school where Mrs Silchester adores her so much?" "Yes, why not? She is his child, and he sent for her, and she came, and Horace approved of the plan." "I am always so frightened of that Horace of yours," said Mabel. "But do hurry up."