Rosalys smiled up at her.  She loved her mother to speak so to her, but still her heart was sore for Biddy.

’I believe—­I know Biddy would be just as loving to you, mamma, if she knew how,’ she said.  ’But it is true that she’s very provoking.  Perhaps it would be different if she had brothers and sisters younger than herself—­then she’d have to feel herself big and—­as if it mattered what she did.’

‘Responsible, you mean,’ said Mrs. Vane.  ’Yes, that is the best training.  But we can’t provide small brothers and sisters ready-made for Biddy, and I am very well contented with the three I have got!  It might be a good thing if she had some companions nearer her own age, but even that has its difficulties.  Just think of the scrapes she got into that time I sent her to your aunt’s for a fortnight!  Why, she was sent home in disgrace for—­what was it for—­I forget?  Biddy’s scrapes are so many.’

’For taking the two smallest children to bathe in the pond before breakfast, wasn’t it?’ said Alie.

’Oh yes—­after having half killed their valuable Persian cat by feeding it with cheese-cakes, or something of the kind,’ added Mrs. Vane.

But she could not help smiling a little.  Alie had already seen that she was softening; whenever mamma called Bridget ‘Biddy,’ she knew it was a good sign.

‘There is one comfort,’ said the elder sister, in her motherly way, ’Biddy has a terribly kind heart.  She is never naughty out of—­out of naughtiness.  But oh, mamma, let us wait a minute; the sunset is beginning.’

And so indeed it was.  Over there—­far out, over the western sea, the cold, quiet, winter sea, the sun was growing red as he slowly sank, till he seemed to kiss the ocean, which glowed, blushing, in return.  It was all red and gray to-night—­red and gray only, though there were grandly splendid sunsets at Seacove sometimes, when every shade and colour which light can show to our eyes shone out as if a veil were drawn back from the mysterious glory we may but glimpse at.  But the red and gray were very beautiful in their way, and the unusual stillness, broken only by the soft monotonous lap, lap, of the wavelets as they rippled themselves into nothing on the sand, seemed to suit the gentle tones of the sky.  And some way off, nearer the sea, seeming farther away than they really were, as they stood right in the ruddy trail of light, were two little figures, both looking black by contrast, though in point of fact only one was so.  They were Bridget and Smut, both apparently absorbed in admiring the sunset.

‘Isn’t it beautiful, Smuttie?’ Biddy was saying.  ’It’s the sun going to bed, you know, dear.’

Smut wagged his tail.

‘It’s so pretty,’ she continued, ’that it makes me think I’d like to be good.  P’raps I’d better fix to try again after all—­what do you think, Smut?’

Repeated and more energetic tail-wagging, accompanied this time by a short sharp bark.  Smut has had enough of the sunset and standing still; he wants to be off again.  But Bride interprets his response in her own way.