But her uncle seemed to have lost his voice as well as his colour, and Mrs. Gerard’s gloved fingers tightened on the lapels of his coat.

“Drina—­child—­” she faltered; but Drina, immersed in reflection, smiled dreamily; “So pretty,” she murmured; “I remember my Aunt Alixe—­”

“Drina!” repeated her mother sharply, “go and find Bridget this minute!”

Selwyn’s hesitating hand sought his moustache; he lifted his eyes—­the steady gray eyes, slightly bloodshot—­to his sister’s distressed face.

“I never dreamed—­” she began—­“the child has never spoken of—­of her from that time to this!  I never dreamed she could remember—­”

“I don’t understand what you are talking about, mother,” said Drina; but her pretty mother caught her by the shoulders, striving to speak lightly; “Where in the world is Bridget, child?  Where is Katie?  And what is all this I hear from Dawson?  It can’t be possible that you have been fox-hunting all over the house again!  Your nurses know perfectly well that you are not to hunt anywhere except in your own nursery.”

“I know it,” said Drina, “but Kit-Ki got out and ran downstairs.  We had to follow her, you know, until she went to earth.”

Selwyn quietly bent over toward Billy:  “’Ware wire, my friend,” he said under his breath; “you’d better cut upstairs and unlock that schoolroom.”

And while Mrs. Gerard turned her attention to the cluster of clamouring younger children, the boy vanished only to reappear a moment later, retreating before the vengeful exclamations of the lately imprisoned nurses who pursued him, caps and aprons flying, bewailing aloud their ignominious incarceration.

“Billy!” exclaimed his mother, “did you do that?  Bridget, Master William is to take supper by himself in the schoolroom—­and no marmalade!—­No, Billy, not one drop!”

“We all saw him lock the door,” said Drina honestly.

“And you let him?  Oh, Drina!—­And Ellen!  Katie!  No marmalade for Miss Drina—­none for any of the children.  Josie, mother feels dreadfully because you all have been so naughty.  Winthrop!—­your finger!  Instantly!  Clemence, baby, where on earth did you acquire all that grime on your face and fists?” And to her brother:  “Such a household, Phil!  Everybody incompetent—­including me; everything topsy-turvy; and all five dogs perfectly possessed to lie on that pink rug in the music room.—­Have they been there to-day, Drina?—­while you were practising?”

“Yes, and there are some new spots, mother.  I’m very sorry.”

“Take the children away!” said Mrs. Gerard.  But she bent over, kissing each culprit as the file passed out, convoyed by the amply revenged nurses.  “No marmalade, remember; and mother has a great mind not to come up at bedtime and lean over you.  Mother has no desire to lean over her babies to-night.”

To “lean over” the children was always expected of this mother; the direst punishment on the rather brief list was to omit this intimate evening ceremony.