Daddy's Girl Part 19

"I'll try to be quiet, mother; it's only 'cos I'm so incited."

"Oh, dear," said Mrs. Ogilvie to herself, "what an awful evening I am likely to have! When the silly child really finds out that her father has gone, she will burst into hysterics, or do something else absurd.

I really wish it had been my luck to marry a husband with a grain of sense. I wonder if I had better tell her now. No, I really cannot.

Miss Winstead must do it. Miss Winstead has been having a nice holiday, with no fuss or worry of any sort, and it is quite fair that she should bear the burden of this. But why it should be regarded as a burden or a trial is a puzzle. Philip goes on a sort of pleasure expedition to Queensland, and the affair is treated almost as if--as if it were a death. It is positively uncanny."

Sibyl noticed that her mother was silent, and that she looked worried.

Presently she stretched out her hand and stroked her mother's.

"What are you doing that for?"

"'Cos I thought I'd rub you the right way," said Sibyl. "You are like a poor cat when it is rubbed the wrong way, aren't you, just now, mother?"

"Don't be so ridiculous." Mrs. Ogilvie s.n.a.t.c.hed her hand away.

They soon reached the house. The footman, Watson, sprang down and lowered the steps. Sibyl bounded out and flew into the hall.

"Father, father!" she called. "I'm back. Are you in, father? Here I are--Sibyl. I'm home again, father. The Angel is home again, father."

She did not often call herself the Angel, the name seemed to have more or less slipped out of sight, but she did on this occasion, and she threw back her pretty head and looked up the wide staircase, as if any moment she might see her father hurrying down to meet her.

Mrs. Ogilvie turned to one of the servants, who was watching the child in astonishment.

"She does not know yet," whispered Mrs. Ogilvie. "I am going into the library; don't tell her anything, pray, but send Miss Winstead to me immediately."

Mrs. Ogilvie entered the library. Sibyl danced in after her.

"I can't see father anywhere," she said: "I 'spect he's not back yet."

"Of course he is not back so early. Now run upstairs and ask Nurse to make you ready for tea. Leave me, I have something to say to Miss Winstead."

Miss Winstead appeared at that moment. She had enjoyed her holiday, and looked the better for it. Though she understood Sibyl very little, yet at this moment she gazed at the child almost with alarm, for Mrs.

Ogilvie had written to her telling her that Mr. Ogilvie's absence had not been alluded to in the child's presence.

Sibyl rushed to her and kissed her.

"I am back, and I am going to be good," she said. "I really, truly am; aren't you glad to see me?"

"Yes, Sibyl."

"Go upstairs now, Sibyl," said her mother. Sibyl obeyed somewhat unwillingly, some of the laughter went out of her eyes, and a little of the excitement faded from her heart. She went up the wide stairs slowly, very slowly. Even now she hoped that it might be possible for her father to appear, turning the angle of the winding stairs, coming out of one of the rooms. He always had such a bright face, there was an eagerness about it. He was tall and rather slender, and that bright look in his eyes always caused the child's heart to leap; then his mouth could wear such a beautiful smile. It did not smile for many people, but it always did for Sibyl. She wanted to see him, oh, so badly, so badly.

"Well, never mind," she said to herself, "he can't help it, the darling; but he'll be back soon," and she tripped into her nursery and sat down; but she did not ask Nurse any questions, she was too busy with her own thoughts.

CHAPTER IX.

"Miss Winstead," said Mrs. Ogilvie, "this is all most unpleasant."

"What do you mean?" asked the governess.

"Why, this whim of my husband's. He has been away for over a week, and the child imagines that he is still in London, that he will return at any instant and spoil her, after his usual injudicious fashion."

"Oh, I don't quite think that Mr. Ogilvie spoils your little Sibyl,"

said Miss Winstead; "he has peculiar ideas, that's all."

"We need not discuss that point," said Mrs. Ogilvie in an irritated tone. "We are back later than I thought, and I have to dine out to-night. I want you, Miss Winstead, to break the tidings to the child that her father has gone to Queensland."

"I?" said Miss Winstead; "I would really rather----"

"I fear your likes or dislikes with regard to the matter cannot be considered. I cannot tell her, because I should not do it properly; and also, a more serious reason, I really have not the time. You can give Sibyl a treat, if you like, afterwards. Take her out for a walk in the Park after tea, she always likes that; and you can take her to a shop and buy her a new toy--any toy she fancies. Here's a sovereign; you can go as far as that, you ought to get her something quite handsome for that; and you might ask the little Leicesters next door to come to tea to-morrow. There are a hundred ways in which the mind of a child can be diverted."

"Not the mind of Sibyl with regard to her father," interrupted Miss Winstead.

"Well, for goodness' sake, don't make too much of it. You know how peculiar he is, and how peculiar she is. Just tell her that he has gone away for a couple of months--that he has gone on an expedition which means money, and that _I_ am pleased about it, that he has done it for my sake and for her sake. Tell her he'll be back before the summer is over. You can put it any way you like, only do it, Miss Winstead--do it!"

"When?" asked Miss Winstead. She turned very pale, and leant one hand on the table.

"Oh, when you please, only don't worry me. You had better take her off my hands at once. Just tell her that I am tired and have a headache, and won't see her until the morning; I really must lie down, and Hortense must bathe my forehead. If I don't I shall look a perfect wreck to-night, and it is going to be a big dinner; I have been anxious for some time to go. And afterwards there is a reception at the Chinese Emba.s.sy; I am going there also. Please ask Watson, on your way through the hall, to have tea sent to my boudoir. And now you quite understand?"

"But, please, say exactly what I am to tell your little girl."

"Don't you know? Say that her father has gone--oh, by the way, there's a letter for her. I really don't know that she ought to have it. Her father is sure to have said something terribly injudicious, but perhaps you had better give it to her. You might give it to her when you are telling her, and tell her to read it by-and-by, and not to be silly, but to be sensible. That is my message to her. Now pray go, Miss Winstead. Are you better? Have you had a nice time while we were away?"

"I still suffer very badly with my head," said Miss Winstead, "but the quiet has done me good. Yes, I will try and do my best. I saw Mr.

Ogilvie the day he left; he did not look well, and seemed sorrowful.

He asked me to be kind to Sibyl."

"I sincerely trust you are kind to the child; if I thought you did not treat her with sympathy and understanding I should be obliged----"

"Oh, you need not go on," said Miss Winstead, coloring, and looking annoyed. "I know my duty. I am not a woman with very large sympathies, or perhaps very wide views, but I try to do my duty; I shall certainly do my utmost for your dear little daughter. There is something very lovable about her, although sometimes I fear I do not quite understand her."

"No one seems to understand Sibyl, and yet everyone thinks her lovable," said the mother. "Well, give her my love; tell her I will ride with her in the morning. She has had a present of a pony, quite a ridiculous present; Lord Grayleigh was determined to give it to her.

He took an immense fancy to the child, and put the gift in such a way that it would not have been wise to refuse. Don't forget, when you see Watson, to tell him to bring tea to my boudoir."

Miss Winstead slowly left the room. She was a very quiet woman, about thirty-five years of age. She had a stolid manner, and, as she said herself, was a little narrow and a little old-fashioned, but she was troubled now. She did not like the task set her. As she went upstairs she muttered a solitary word.

"Coward!" she said, under her breath.

"I wish I was well out of this," thought the governess. "The child is not an ordinary one, and the love she bears her father is not an ordinary love."

Miss Winstead's schoolroom looked its brightest and best. The days were growing quite long now, and flowers were plentiful. A large basket of flowers had been sent from Grayleigh Manor that morning, and Miss Winstead had secured some of the prettiest for her schoolroom.

She had decorated the tea-table and the mantelpiece, but with a pain at her heart, for she was all the time wondering if Sibyl knew or did not know. She could not quite understand from Ogilvie's manner whether she knew or not. He was very reserved about her just at the last, he evidently did not like to talk of her.

Miss Winstead entered the schoolroom. She sat down for a moment near the open window. The day was still in its prime. She looked at the clock. The under-housemaid, who had the charge of the schoolroom tea, now came in with the tray. She laid the cloth and spread the tea-things. There was a plate of little queen-cakes for Sibyl.