while he stayed there!" impulsively spoke Tom. "Wretchedly selfish we
have been, to dwell on our disappointments, by the side of papa's. I
wish I was older."

Constance was standing against the window. She was of middle height,
thoroughly ladylike and graceful; her features fair and beautiful, and
her dark-blue eyes and smooth white brow wonderfully like Arthur's. She
wore a muslin dress with a delicate pink sprig upon it, the lace of its
open sleeves falling on her pretty white hands, which were playing
unconsciously with a spray of jessamine, while she listened to her
brothers as each spoke.

"Tom," she interposed, in answer to the last remark, "it is of no use
wishing for impossibilities. We must look steadfastly at things as they
exist, and see what is the best that can be made of them. All that you
and Charles can do is to work well on at your studies--Annabel the
same; and it is to be hoped this blow will take some of her
thoughtlessness out of her. Hamish, and Arthur, and I, must try and be
more active than we have been."

"You!" echoed Arthur. "Why, what can you do, Constance?"

A soft blush rose to her cheeks. "I tell you that I have seemed to
anticipate this," she said, "and my mind has busied itself with plans
and projects. I shall look out for a situation as daily governess."

A groan of anger burst from Tom. His quick temper, and Arthur's pride,
alike rose up and resented the words. "A daily governess! It is only
another name for a servant. Fine, that would be, for Miss Channing!"