'You know, daddy, I have no real love for music,' said Hollyhock in a cross voice.
'Well, well, then, take a book, my child. Here 's a nice story I can recommend you--_Treasure Island_, by Louis Stevenson.'
'Well, I'm afraid I can't help you, dear. I'm frightfully busy, and shall not get to bed until past midnight. Taking up this new work means a great deal, and you know, my Flower Girl, your Dumpy Dad, as you like to call him, is the very last person in the world to do a thing by halves. If I have to sit up till morning, I must do so in order to be prepared for Dundree and Lord Ian to-morrow. Perhaps, dear, you had best kiss me and say good-night.'
'Sorry, my child; but I can't see why you should be. You have all the comforts that love and sympathy can bestow upon you.'
'No, no; I am alone,' half sobbed Hollyhock.
'Don't get hysterical, my child. That is really very bad for you; but, anyhow, I 've no time to waste now over a little girl who is surrounded by blessings.'
'If Daddy Dumps goes on much longer in that strain I shall absolutely begin to hate him,' thought the furious child. 'The bare idea of his _thinking_ of talking to me as he has done.--No, Curfew, _don't_! Put your cold nose away.'
Curfew heaved another heavy sigh and lay closer to Tocsin, and with a smaller portion of his tail on Hollyhock's dress.
Now the olden custom at The Garden and The Paddock--that lovely custom which had suddenly ceased--was music, dancing, games, fun, shrieks of laughter from Precious Stones and Flower Girls, the hearty peal of a man's voice when he was thoroughly enjoying himself, the gentle, restrained merriment of a lady. This lady was Mrs Constable, who was now going to be a kindergarten teacher, forsooth! And this man was Dumpy Dad, who was going to be an agent, indeed! No wonder the girl and the dogs felt lonely. The end of the happy evenings had arrived. One evening used to be spent at The Garden, the next at The Paddock; and then the delightful good-byes, the cheerful talk about the early meeting on the morrow, and if it was the evening for The Paddock, the lively and merry walk home with Daddy Dumps and the other Flower Girls.
Oh, how things were changed! What an unbearable woman Aunt Agnes was! What a horror was Mrs Macintyre! Had not those two between them simply swept four of the Flower Girls out of sight, and _all_ the Precious Stones; and, in addition, had not Dumpy Dad and Aunt Cecilia undertaken some kind of menial work with regard to Dundree and Ardshiel? It was solely and entirely because of Ardshiel that Dumpy Dad was going to be an agent. It was entirely on account of Ardshiel that Aunt Cecilia was going to stoop to be a sort of nursery-governess. Well and cleverly had those wicked women, Aunt Agnes and Mrs Macintyre, laid their plans. 'But the plans o' the de'il never prosper,' thought Hollyhock. 'They'll come to their senses yet; but meanwhile what am _I_ to do? How ever am I to stand this awful loneliness?' Hollyhock was not a specially clever child. She was passionate, fierce, and loving; but she was also rebellious and very determined. There was a great deal in her which might make her a fine woman by-and-by; but, on the other hand, there was much in her which showed that she could be, and might be, utterly ruined.