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around the world for a year now want love, and affection, someone who cares for their feelings...”
    He batted a languorous hand, dismissing my remarks as the ranting of a highly imaginative spinster. “It is the manner in which I was raised, and their father, and all our friends. Servants provide that personal attention you speak of. They will not be alone when they scrape a knee or see frightening shadows in the dark. My decision has been taken.”
    “Did Peter appoint you their guardian?” I asked.
    “He died intestate. I told him to make those arrangements before he left England. Of course the children had not been born then. He failed to take my advice, and has landed me a messy kettle of fish.”
    My dashed hopes revived immediately. “You are premature to speak of having taken your decision, then. It will be for the courts to decide who will have the children. I mean to apply for custody.”
    “Let us take our gloves off, ma’am,” he suggested, with a dangerous flash from his dark eyes. “You think because your sister coaxed Peter to the altar, I am equally biddable. It is your intention to upgrade your free domicile to something more magnificent, with me footing the bills. No doubt you envision a London residence as well, or a seaside resort in Brighton for holidays. I am not such a flat. You won’t get a penny out of me by these ruses. If the court is so blind as to turn the children over to your keeping, you will all stay here, with no help whatsoever from me. But they won’t. I wish you luck in your endeavor.”
    I was flattened by so many wrong charges. For full sixty seconds I sat like a witless woman, and when at last I could speak, I was hardly coherent. “Don’t think Hettie married Peter for his money. Much good it ever did her—dead before her time, and having to move to India with him. And don’t think it is your money I want either. I wouldn’t take a penny from you if I were starving. I want the children, and nothing else.”
    “You might as well want the moon.” He arose languidly, to turn his attention once more in passing to the fire irons. He shook his head angrily. “Will you be kind enough to convey my compliments to your mother, Miss Harris?” he said.
    “When are we to see the children? Will you bring them today?” I asked.
    “I will have them sent down immediately, if you like.”
    “Send them for tea,” I said.
    “Very well, but I want them home before dark.”
    He bowed gracefully, and headed into the hallway. Fearful lest he direct his eyes to the left, toward the stairs, I ran after him, taking care to approach his right side. I could think of absolutely nothing to say, but he looked at me with curiosity, so I had to invent something. After all his ill-bred and outrageous charges, what I said was, “I wish you will reconsider, about letting us have the children.”
    It served the purpose. He was so upset, he marched straight out the door. “Impossible. Good day.”
    Pudge had enough sense to have the front door open for him. After it was closed, I ran to tell my mother the news. Like myself she had grown weary from the long vigil, and gone up to her room. She probably knew Menrod was belowstairs, but she is shy of him, or dislikes him. He subjected her and Papa to a grueling interview at the time of Peter’s marriage to Hettie. She never told me what he said, but since that day, she walks a block to avoid even meeting him on the street.
    I knew how she felt. I had never met such a cold, ruthlessly determined man.
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Chapter 4
     
    Mr. Everett arrived at about three o’clock, not long after Menrod departed. He had been to the London house and learned the children had been brought home. I felt unpleasantly beholden to him, after the foolish errand I had sent him on.
    To begin payment, I invited him to take tea with us. I would much have preferred to have the children to myself, but some extraordinary civility was owing Mr. Everett. There was also the matter