There was a certain style about them both. They looked quite different from the ordinary Langdale girls. Florence held herself very well, and although she acknowledged herself to be a beauty, had no self-conscious airs. Brenda's sweet face appeared to see beyond the ordinary line of vision, as though she were always communing with thoughts deeper and more rare than those given to most. People turned and looked at the girls as they walked up the little High Street. Most people knew them, and were interested in them. They were the very charming young ladies who always spent their holidays with Mrs Fortescue. They were, of course, to be included in all the Christmas parties given at Langdale, and Mrs Fortescue would, as her custom was, give a party on Twelfth Night in their honour. That was the usual state of things. The girls did not seem in the mood, however, to greet their old friends beyond smiling and nodding to them. As they were returning home, Brenda said-- "We are more than half an hour late. I wonder if he has come." "Well, if he has, it is all right," said Florence. "Mrs Fortescue is dying to have a chat with him all by herself, and she will have managed to by this time. She will be rather glad, if the truth may be known, that we are not in to interrupt her. I can see that she is dying with curiosity." "I don't want her to live with us in the future," said Brenda. "But she has set her heart on it," said Florence. "I know," remarked Brenda; "but, all the same, our lives are our own, and I don't think we can do with Mrs Fortescue. I suppose Mr Timmins will tell us what he has decided. We are not of age yet, either of us. You have three years to wait, Flo, and I have two." "Well, we must do what he wishes," said Florence. "I intend to be married ages and ages before I am twenty-one; so that will be all right." While they were coming towards the house, an impatient, white-headed old lawyer was pacing up and down Mrs Fortescue's narrow drawing-room. Mrs Fortescue was sitting with him and doing her utmost to soothe his impatience. "Dear Mr Timmins, I am so sorry the girls are out. I quite thought they would have been back before now." "But they knew my train would be in by three o'clock," said Mr Timmins. He was a man of between fifty and sixty years of age, rather small, with rosy cheeks and irascible eyes. His hair was abundant and snow-white, white as milk. "I said three o'clock," he repeated. "Yes," said Mrs Fortescue, "but on Christmas Eve we made sure your train would be late." The lawyer took out his watch. "Not the special from London; that is never late," he remarked. "I want to catch the half-past four back; otherwise I shall have to go by one of those dreadful slow trains, and there's a good deal to talk over. I do think it is a little careless of those girls not to be at home when they are expecting me." Mrs Fortescue coughed, then she 'hemmed.