The Princess of the School | Page 5

all his future upon what should be left him by the
industry of others. All the same, in spite of his attitude of "top dog" in

the family, he was attractive, and inclined to be generous. Like most
boys of seventeen, he had reached the "swollen head" stage, and
imagined himself of vastly greater importance than he really was. The
sobriquet of "the young squire" pleased his fancy, and he meant to live
up to what he considered were the traditions of so distinguished a title.
CHAPTER II
A Stolen Joy-ride
Christmas passed over at Cheverley Chase in good old-fashioned
orthodox mode. The young Ingletons, with plenty of evergreens to
work upon, performed prodigies in the way of decorations at church
and home. They distributed presents at a Christmas-tree for the children
of tenants, and turned up in a body to occupy the front seats at the
annual New Year's concert in the village. When the usual festivities
were finished, however, time hung a little heavy on their hands, and
one particular morning found them lounging about the breakfast-room
in the especially aggravating situation of not quite knowing what to do
with themselves.
"It's too bad we can't have the horses to-day!" groused Dulcie. "I'd set
my heart on a ride, and I can't get on with my fancy work till I can go
to Balderton for some more silks."
"And I want some wool," proclaimed Lilias, stopping from a rather
unnecessary onslaught of poking at the fire. "There's never anything fit
to buy at this wretched little shop in the village!"
"Except bacon and kippers!" grinned Roland.
"I can't knit with kippers!"
"Fact is, we're all bored stiff!" drawled Everard from the sofa, flinging
away the book he was reading, and stretching his arms in the luxury of
a long-drawn yawn. "What should you say to a turn in the car?
Wouldn't it be rather sport, don't you think?"

"If Grandfather would spare Milner to take us!" said Lilias doubtfully.
"We don't want Milner. I'll drive you! I can manage a car as well as he
can, any day. Don't get excited, you kids! No, Bevis, I shall certainly
not allow you to try to drive! There's only going to be one man at that
job, and that's myself!"
"Shall we go and ask Grandfather?" suggested Dulcie.
"Right you are! No, not the whole of us," (as there was a general family
move). "Three's enough!"
So a deputation, consisting of Everard, Lilias, and Dulcie, promptly
presented themselves at the study door and tapped for admission. As
there was no reply to a second rap, they opened the door and walked
into the room. Grandfather was rather deaf, and sometimes, when he
had ignored a summons, he would say: "Well, why didn't you come
in?" He was generally to be found writing letters at this hour in the
morning, but to-day the revolving chair was empty. He had apparently
begun his usual correspondence, for his desk was littered with papers.
Leaning up against the ink-pot there was a photograph. The young
people, who had walked across the room towards the window, could
not fail to notice it, for it was tilted in such a prominent place that it at
once attracted their attention. It represented a very pretty dark-eyed
young lady, holding a baby on her lap, with a slight background of
Greek columns. The decidedly foreign look about it was justified by the
photographer's name in the corner: "Carlo Salviati, Palermo." Over the
top was written in ink, in a man's handwriting: "My wife and Leslie,
from Tristram."
"Who is it?" asked Everard, gazing at the portrait with curiosity. "She's
rather decent looking. Never seen her here, though, that I can
remember!"
"It's a ducky little baby! But who is Tristram?" said Dulcie.
"We had an Uncle Tristram once," answered Lilias doubtfully.

"Why, but he died years and years ago, when we were all kids!"
returned Everard.
"I know. He was the only Tristram in the family, though. I can't
imagine who these two can be. Leslie, too! Why, that's Grandfather's
name! Was the baby christened after him?"
"We'll ask Cousin Clare sometime," said Dulcie, so interested that she
could scarcely tear herself away. "I really want to know most fearfully
who they are."
"Oh, don't bother about photos at present! Let's find Grandfather!"
urged Everard. "Perhaps he's gone down to the stables, or he may be in
the gun-room."
On further inquiry, however, they ascertained that a telegram had
arrived for Mr. Ingleton, on the receipt of which he had consulted Miss
Clare, had ordered the smaller car, and they had both been driven away
by Milner, the chauffeur, and were not expected back until seven or
eight o'clock in the evening. This was news indeed. For a whole day the