and pouring out the great news in words that would hardly come fast enough to please her.

He put his hands upon her shoulders and looked down—such a long way he had to look from his six feet two inches—at her glowing face.

“Why, Syd,” he said, “that’s first-rate, isn’t it? Well done!”

“Three cheers for Miss Lisle, the celebrated authoress!” yelled Tom, rising from his chair and waving his tea-cup. The toast was received with enthusiasm.

“Only I wish it were ‘Miss Chichester,’” said Ronald; “it’s so silly for old Syd to have a different name!”

“Oh, well, she can’t help that,” Tom contributed; “and her father and mother gave her to us, so it’s just the same.”

“Yes, she’s ours right enough,” said Hugh,[13] putting his arm round his “little sister,” as Sydney Lisle would have called herself.

[13]

And then, quite suddenly, Dr. Chichester’s voice was heard calling “Sydney! Sydney!”

“There’s father calling; mother must have told him!” Sydney cried, and, gathering together her precious cheque and letter, she rushed out like a whirlwind.

“The pater is in the drawing-room, Syd,” Hugh called after her; “he just took up his letters and went straight in there to mother,” he added, for the others’ benefit. Sydney was already out of hearing, and only echoes of her fresh young voice came floating back to them, as she ran down the long back passage and up the stairs through the hall to the drawing-room.

Mildred stooped to pick up the mending-basket which Sydney’s energetic movements had swept off her knee. “I wonder whether Sydney ever will grow up!” she said.

“Well, she’s right enough as she is,” said Hugh, at last beginning on his long-delayed tea.

Sydney’s merry voice was hushed as she came into the drawing-room, for mother did not like[14] boisterous ways, and father might be tired. But, though her feet moved soberly, her eyes were dancing as she held out the precious letter to the doctor, standing by the window.

[14]

He turned, and Sydney suddenly forgot the guinea.

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