“I am going out,” he said. “Can you manage for yourselves till dinner? I have something to do--out.”
“Can’t we go with you, papa?” they both said in a breath.
There was a kind of embarrassment on his face. “Not to-day, I think. After--perhaps: I have a call to make.”
“Oh, it is about business!” said Milly, wondering, yet apologetic, looking at Grace.
“If it is not about business,” said Grace promptly, “you ought to take us with you, papa. It is the right thing in England. In England girls don’t go about by themselves; and then we want some friends, we want to know the people as well as the place.”
A half smile went over his face. “You shall get the benefit of all the introductions,” he said. “Don’t be afraid; but you must not expect to be taken much notice of in London, just on the edge of the season, you know. People are very busy here; and then there are so many to be looked after--people of more pretensions than you. You must not expect too much; but I am not going to deliver any of the letters. I am going--to see an--old friend.”
“Oh, then, bring him here--will you please bring him here? Do, papa, do! If it is an old friend, so much the more reason that we should know him. Is it a friend you had before you went to Canada? Why has he never come to see us? We have always wondered that you never had any old friends come to see you, papa.”
Yorke did not make any direct reply. He said only, “What will you do with yourselves while I am away?”
The two girls looked at each other somewhat blankly.
“We can’t stay in here,” cried Milly, while Grace drew herself up with youthful dignity.
“As for staying in every time you have any business to do or any calls to make,” she said, with serious emphasis, “you must see that is impossible, papa. English girls may stop in-doors if they please, but we cannot. We are Canadian girls; we are used to take care of ourselves. Milly and I can surely take care of each other wherever we go. It would be too humbling,” she cried, “in the country of Shakespeare, to think two girls couldn’t go out without--what was it, Milly?--unpleasantness. I don’t believe a word of it. Mrs Bidwell is only a vulgar Englishwoman. Unpleasantness! I don’t believe it; and even if I did believe it I shouldn’t allow it to be true.”