And Mr Atheling, good man, was almost as much disturbed for the moment as his wife. At first he was incredulous--then he laughed, but the laugh was extremely unsteady in its sound--then he read over the paper with great care, steadily resisting the constant interruptions of Agnes and Marian, who persecuted him with their questions, “What do you think of it, papa?” before the excellent papa had time to think at all. Finally, Mr Atheling laughed again with more composure, and spread out upon the table the important “Memorandum of Agreement.” “Sign it, Agnes,” said Papa; “it seems all right, and quite business-like, so far as I can see. She’s not twenty-one, yet--I don’t suppose it’s legal--that child! Sign it, Agnes.” This was by no means what Papa was expected to say; yet Agnes, with excitement, got her blotting-book and her pen. This innocent family were as anxious that Agnes’s autograph should be _well written_ as if it had been intended for a specimen of caligraphy, instead of the signature to a legal document; nor was the young author herself less concerned; and she made sure of the pen, and steadied her hand conscientiously before she wrote that pretty “Agnes Atheling,” which put the other ugly printer-like handwriting completely to shame. And now it was done--there was a momentary pause of solemn silence, not disturbed even by Bell and Beau. “So this is the beginning of Agnes’s fortune,” said Mr Atheling. “Now Mary, and all of you, don’t be excited; every book does not succeed because it finds a publisher; and you must not place your expectations too high; for you know Agnes knows nothing of the world.” It was very good to say “don’t be excited,” when Mr Atheling himself was entirely oblivious of his newspaper, indifferent to his tea, and actually did not hear the familiar knock of Mr Foggo at the outer door. “And these half profits, papa, I wonder what they will be,” said Agnes, glad to take up something tangible in this vague delight. “Oh, something very considerable,” said Papa, forgetting his own caution. “I should not wonder if the publisher made a great deal of money by it: _they_ know what they’re about. Get up and get me my slippers, you little rascals. When Agnes comes into her fortune, what a paradise of toys for Bell and Beau!” But the door opened, and Mr Foggo came in like a big brown cloud. There was no concealing from him the printed paper--no hiding the overflowings of the family content. So Agnes and Marian hurried off for half an hour’s practising, and then put the twins to bed, and gossiped over the fire in the little nursery. What a pleasant night it was! CHAPTER XVI. FAMILY EXCITEMENT.