Serena grinned up at Emily. “Millie has not finished her French so you had better not come up before teatime.” There was a clatter of boots on the uncarpeted stairs behind them.

“I have finished; do not tell-tales, Serena. I did it just now.”

“I am delighted to hear it, Millie.” Emily kissed her sister and automatically rectified her appearance. “Must you always look so harem-scarem, my dear? If you travelled about the place a little more slowly I'm certain you would get less dishevelled.”

Amelia Gibson was at that stage when she appeared to be all legs and arms and flying hair. But even at thirteen her oval face, with its huge violet eyes, framed by tumbling nut-brown curls, gave promise that she would be a great beauty in years to come.

Millie shook her head, dislodging several more strands of hair from what was meant to be a tidy waist-length braid. “I like to run, Em; I would never have time enough to do all the things I wish to do in a day if I walked everywhere, as you do.”

“I'm a responsible adult of almost twenty years. I can hardly race about Glebe House. Mama would be scandalized.” They all knew their beloved mother scarcely noticed their existence but Emily liked to pretend things were as they should be. She would do anything to make life easier for Serena and Millie and her mother.

Mary, the girls nurse, appeared, a trifle breathless, from the narrow servants passageway.

“Goodness me, Miss Millie, you fare wear me out! I can scarce keep up with you.”

“Then don't try, Mary. We're quite content to wait for you.” Mary had nursed all three of the Gibson girls with love and devotion but was now, in her middle years, finding the energetic Millie a sore trial to her plump legs.