Betsy, brooding over her wrongs, found nothing to admire in either sister, and was weighing the advantage of cosseting from old Nurse against the possibility of being called upon to amuse Baby Jack, were she to remove herself to the nursery, when the door burst open, and a stout boy of eleven years, in nankeens and a frilled shirt, and with a mop of curly hair, precipitated himself into the room, exclaiming loudly: “Hallo! Such a kick-up! Mama is with Papa in the study, but I know what it’s all about!”

“Why, what has happened?” exclaimed Sophia.

“Don’t you wish you knew!” said Harry, drawing a piece of twine from his pocket, and beginning to tie it into a complicated knot. “Watch me tie this one, Meg! I know six of the chief knots now, and if Uncle James does not get Captain Bolton to take me on his next commission it will be the most infamous, swindling thing I ever heard of!”

“But you didn’t come to tell us that!” said Arabella. “What is it?”

“Nothing but one of Harry’s hums!” said Margaret.

“No such thing!” retorted her brother. “Joseph Eccles has been down to the White Hart, and brought back the post with him.” He perceived that he had succeeded in riveting his sisters’ attention on himself, and grinned at them. “Ay, you may stare! There’s a letter from London, for Mama. Franked by some lord, too: I saw it.”

Margaret’s book slipped from her fingers to the floor; Sophia gave a gasp; and Arabella flew up out of her chair. “Harry! Not—oh, not from my godmother?”

“Oh, ain’t it?” said Harry.

“If it comes from London, it must be from Lady Bridlington!” declared Sophia. “Arabella, I do believe our fortunes are in a way to being made!”

“I dare not suppose it to be possible!” said Arabella, quite faintly. “Depend upon it, she has written to say she cannot invite me!”