The Abbey was ready for occupation early in April. Caroline, Barbara, and Miss Waterhouse went down on Monday. Grafton followed on Friday for the week-end and took Beatrix with him. She had announced that the dear boy couldn't be left by himself in London, or he'd probably get into mischief, and she was going to stay and look after him. As she had thought of it first, she had her way. Beatrix generally did get her way, though she never made herself unpleasant about it. Nor did she ever wheedle, when a decision went against her, though she could wheedle beautifully. If any one of the three girls could be said to be spoilt, it was Beatrix. She had been frail as a child, with a delicate loveliness that had put even Caroline's beauty into the shade, although Caroline, with her sweet grey eyes and her glowing health, had been a child of whom any parents might have been inordinately proud. The young mother had never quite admitted her second child to share in the adoration she felt for her first-born, but Beatrix had twined herself round her father's heart, and had always kept first place in it, though not so much as to make his slight preference apparent. As a small child, she was more clinging than the other two, and flattered his love and sense of protection. As she grew older she developed an unlooked-for capriciousness. When she was inclined to be sweet and loving she was more so than ever; but sometimes she would hardly suffer even a kiss, and had no caresses for anybody. She often hurt her father in this way, especially in the early days of his bereavement, but he was so equable by nature that he would dismiss her contrariety with a smile, and turn to Caroline, who always gave him what he wanted. As the children grew older he learnt to protect himself against Beatrix's inequalities of behaviour by a less caressing manner with them. It was for them to come to him for the signs and tokens of love, and it was all the sweeter to him when they did so. Even now, when she was grown up, it thrilled him when Beatrix was in one of her affectionate moods. She was not the constant invariable companion to him that Caroline was, and their minds did not flow together as his and Caroline's did. But he loved her approaches, and felt more pleased when she offered him companionship than with any other of his children. Thus, those who advance and withdraw have an unfair advantage over those who never change. Caroline and Barbara met them in the big car which had been bought for station work at Abington. It was a wild wet evening, but they were snug enough inside, Caroline and Barbara sitting on either side of their father, and Beatrix on one of the let-down seats. Beatrix was never selfish; although she liked to have her own way she seldom took it at the expense of others. She had had her father's sole companionship, and it was only fair that she should yield her place to her younger sister. So she did so of her own accord.