But her young daughters did not inherit this cheery serenity. They had no intelligent teaching, no growing enthusiasms to occupy their minds, and they were inconceivably ignorant and _bornees_. They were entirely unprincipled, using the word in a negative sense, and they had not their mother's steady health. They had knocked about, abroad and at home, with careless servants, and foreign teachers. They had been to children's balls, and had been produced in picturesque costumes at grown-up entertainments; till, lacking their mother's spirit, they were apt to look on cynically, while she devised fresh schemes of amusement. "Lady Haredale is so fresh!" Una had once remarked, to the intense amusement of her partner, at one of those "children's parties," which are given that grown-up people may admire the children, and amuse themselves. These three children, in the afternoon in Easter week on which Amethyst was expected, had grouped themselves into the bow-window of the drawing-room, looking with their long hair, black legs, and fashionable frocks, like a contemporary picture in Punch. "Dismal place this!" said Una, yawning and looking out at the garden. "Oh," said Kattern, as the next girl, Katherine, was usually called, "my lady will have all the old set here soon." They often called their mother "my lady," after the manner of their half-brother and sister. "Yes," said Victoria, the youngest, in a slow, high-toned drawl. "It's quite six weeks since we've seen Tony. He'll be coming soon, and Frank Chichester, I dare say. Frank'll give you a chance, Una." "Frank Chichester! I don't value boys; they have no conversation. You and Kattern may pull caps for him." "Tory's too rude," said Kattern. "He never forgave her for saying, when he asked her to dance, that she must watch him to see how he moved." "I thought that was _chic_," said Tory; "some men like it, and coax you." "He's too young for it," said the experienced Una; "not _my_ style at all." "Ah, we know _your_ style--dear Tony." "Be quiet," interposed Una, angrily, and with scarlet cheeks; "what's my style to such little chits as you?" "Little chits indeed!" said Tory. "_You_ might be glad to be a little chit. You're getting to the awkward age, and you won't have a little girl's privileges much longer. You'd better look out. And besides, we shall none of us wear as well as my lady." "There'll be Amethyst," said Kattern. "If she's so awfully pretty, we shall be out of the running." "She's sure to be bread-and-butterish and goody; that won't pay," said Tory. "Now be quiet, I want to finish my book before she comes." "What's it about?" asked Kattern. "She married the wrong man, and the hero wants her to run away with him, but I suppose the husband will die, so it will all come right!" said Tory, drawing up her black legs into a comfortable attitude, and burying herself in her book.