But it was not until the girls finally came home from school, that they felt the full weight
of Granny's dear old hand on their lives. Lucille was now nearly twenty–one, and Yvette
nineteen. They had been to a good girls' school, and had had a finishing year in Lausanne,
and were quite the usual thing, tall young creatures with fresh, sensitive faces and bobbed
hair and young–manly, deuce–take– it manners.
"What's so awfully BORING about Papplewick," said Yvette, as they stood on the
Channel boat watching the grey, grey cliffs of Dover draw near, "is that there are no MEN
about. Why doesn't Daddy have some good old sports for friends? As for Uncle Fred, he's
the limit!"
"Oh, you never know what will turn up," said Lucille, more philosophic.
"You jolly well know what to expect," said Yvette. "Choir on Sundays, and I hate mixed
choirs. Boys' voices are LOVELY, when there are no women. And Sunday School and
Girls' Friendly, and socials, all the dear old souls that enquire after Granny! Not a decent
young fellow for miles."
"Oh I don't know!" said Lucille. "There's always the Framleys. And you know Gerry
Somercotes ADORES you."
"Oh but I HATE fellows who adore me!" cried Yvette, turning up her sensitive nose.
"They BORE me. They hang on like lead."
"Well what DO you want, if you can't stand being adored? I think it's perfectly all right to
be adored. You know you'll never marry them, so why not let them go on adoring, if it
amuses them."
"Oh but I WANT to get married," cried Yvette.
"Well in that case, let them go on adoring you till you find one that you can POSSIBLY
marry."
"I never should, that way. Nothing puts me off like an adoring fellow. They BORE me so!
They make me feel beastly."
"Oh, so they do me, if they get pressing. But at a distance, I think they're rather nice."
"I should like to fall VIOLENTLY in love."
"Oh, very likely! I shouldn't! I should hate it. Probably so would you, if it actually
happened. After all, we've got to settle down a bit, before we know what we want."
"But don't you HATE going back to Papplewick?" cried Yvette, turning up her young
sensitive nose.
"No, not particularly. I suppose we shall be rather bored. I wish Daddy would get a car. I
suppose we shall have to drag the old bikes out. Wouldn't you like to get up to Tansy
Moor?"
"Oh, LOVE it! Though it's an awful strain, shoving an old push– bike up those hills."
The ship was nearing the grey cliffs. It was summer, but a grey day. The two girls wore
their coats with fur collars turned up, and little chic hats pulled down over their ears. Tall,
