The Mighty and Their Fall

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“Agnes first, Hengist second, Leah third!” said Lavinia Middleton, as her sisters and brother contested the access to the cloakroom in the hall. “And don’t be too long. Miss Starkie is waiting for you.”

“She told us to stay in the garden.”

“Only for half-an-hour. How long have you been?”

“Only three-quarters,” said Hengist, as if this was a reasonable difference.

“And we are to have the dining-room luncheon. So we don’t have to go upstairs.”

“Well, one of you should tell Miss Starkie,” said their sister, leaning back on the hall bench.

“I don’t want to, because I am the boy,” said Hengist. “It is not a real reason.”

“No one could want to for any reason,” said Leah.

“Miss Starkie may not want to wait for her luncheon,” said Agnes.

“She ought not to mind,” said Hengist. “She should be thinking of higher things.”

“Nothing could be higher than food,” said Leah. “Perhaps it is too high for her.”

They broke into mirth and continued their talk, a short, sturdy pair of eleven and ten, with broad, sallow faces, dark, deep-set eyes and an almost saturnine aspect. Something about them, when together, suggested the sympathy between them. Agnes was a mild-looking girl of fourteen, with blue eyes, narrower features and a placid but resolute expression.

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