g and
illuminating. New visions of birthday presents dawned on her horizon,
and she intended to astonish the family at Christmas. Her only regret
was the very scant time which she had to devote to these delightful
occupations. Her position as head girl at The Gables permitted no
slacking in the way of lessons, and her mother had made an express
proviso that her work at the studio must not be allowed to interfere
with her school preparation.

"Lucky you!" wrote Lorraine to Rosemary. "You're able to spend your
whole day over the thing you love best. If I'd my choice, I'd never look
at maths, or chemistry again, I'd just paint, paint, paint, from morning
till night!"

CHAPTER VIII

Vivien Makes Terms

Mr. George Forrester and Mr. Barton Forrester were brothers, and
partners in the old-established firm of solicitors, Deane and Forrester.
The Barton Forresters lived at the opposite side of Porthkeverne, on the
road to St. Cyr, in an old-fashioned red brick Queen Anne house named
The Firs, with a Greek portico and iron balconies outside the windows.
The George Forresters always decided that the house was the exact
epitome of Aunt Carrie. It was stately, and stood on its dignity, making
you feel that it had a position to keep up, and extended hospitality as
in duty bound, but with no special enthusiasm. Houses are largely a
reflection of their owners, and five minutes in a drawing-room will
often suffice to give you the correct mental atmosphere of a family. If
the picturesque general disorder of Windy Howe suggested art run riot,
the well-kept but tasteless precision of The Firs expressed a totally
opposite temperament. No one could accuse Aunt Carrie of being artistic:
her rooms were handsome and spotlessly neat, but they gave you the sense
of being furnished, not arranged, and their lack of beauty struck a
chill to aesthetic souls.

Aunt Carrie herself was big, and bustling, and overbearing, with
well-cut features, a high colour, and a determined voice. She is
described first, because she was so decidedly the head of the family.
Uncle Barton only came in second. He was a gentle, pleasant little man,
with kindly wrinkles round his eyes, and a habit of whistling under his
breath when things grew stormy at home. In early days of matrimony he
made a struggle for his own way, but abandoned it later in favour of a
peace-at-any-price policy. He was a town councillor, and vicar's warden
at the parish church, as well