me the honour to accept my hand. That is to say, child, I am married again, and my wife has two daughters who will also live with us for the future. You must try to like them for my sake.”
This piece of news was so much of a surprise to Ella that for a time she could not say a word. A stranger in her mother’s house, sitting in her mother’s chair, doing the things her mother used to do! The very thought made a big lump come into her throat.
“What are their names,” she said at last, “the girls’ names, I mean?”
“One is called Charlotte,” answered her father, “and the other Euphronia.”
“I like the name of Charlotte,” said Ella miserably. “Are they big girls or little ones?”
“Well, you see,” said her father, “correctly speaking, they are not girls at all. That is to say, child, they have—ahem—arrived at years of discretion. You must not expect them to play ball or anything like that, or run about the garden with you. They are— what shall we say?— a little sober in temperament; but excellent creatures, nevertheless— excellent creatures. You will get on very well together, I’m sure, with a little give and take on both sides.”
“Just a minute, father,” pleaded Ella. “Do tell me some more about my new sisters. I cannot understand all the big words you use. Do you mean that they are grown up?”
Her father nodded. “In point of fact, adult,” he said, and his tone was so gloomy that Ella had to smile.
