Free My Sister Celia by Mary Burchell

smile.
    “Very,” said Mrs. Vanner, without a smile. And then Freda glanced at the clock and said she must be going.
    No one demurred. For one thing, it was getting late. And for another, even Celia must have felt that emotions had been played on sufficiently for one evening. What they all needed now was a chance to review the position and grow used to the extraordinary change which had taken place.
    “I ’ ll take you home.” Brian got to his feet.
    “Oh, you don ’ t need to,” Freda assured him. “I got here quite easily on my own, and I can get back the same way.”
    “I ’ m sure you can.” Brian stood smiling down at her. “But my sister ’ s sister seems to have spent a good deal of her life looking after herself. I think it won ’ t hurt her to be looked after a little now.”
    The suggestion was so firmly, and yet so charmingly, made that Freda could only think how happy she was that this member of the Vanner family, at any rate, seemed very well pleased to add her to their circle.
    “I ’ ve got my car back. It was out of commission the other night,” he explained as, after a round of good nights, Freda and he left the house.
    “What a good thing!” Freda exclaimed fervently. “That it was out of commission, I mean.”
    “Why?” he asked. “I found it remarkably awkward for a day or two, I can tell you.”
    “I ’ m sorry about that.” She smiled. “But, if you ’ d had your car, the other evening, you and Celia wouldn ’ t have travelled by Tube, and I ’ d never have seen you. Or her.”
    “That ’ s true enough,” he agreed, as he handed her into his restored car. “It ’ s a sobering thought, isn ’ t it? That we might never have met—and never made the discovery about you and Celia.”
    “I can ’ t bear the thought,” Freda said, quite seriously. “Not now that Celia has really been proved to be my sister. Your—your father was extremely kind about it all.”
    “He would be. Once he was convinced of the rightness of the situation. My mother will find it more difficult.”
    “I realize that. And I ’ ll try very hard not to impose on the position, or make her feel that she ’ s being rushed in any way. As a matter of fact,” Freda said diffidently, “You might try to keep your father from being o ver- generous to me. It will be easier for your mother—I think it will be easier for us all—if we go on for a while exactly as though I ’ m just a new friend that Celia has acquired.”
    “You ’ re probably right,” Brian agreed. “You seem to have a knack of being right, Freda.”
    “Oh, no!” She disclaimed such omniscience with some emphasis.
    “Well—so far as personal relationships are concerned, shall we say?”
    “Not even to that limited extent,” replied Freda, thinking of the scene over the cottage fence. “I don ’ t think I handled Mr. Clumber particularly well.”
    “Ah, yes—of course. Laurence Clumber,” repeated Brian in a thoughtful sort of tone. “Do you want any assistance in that direction?”
    “Assistance?” She looked surprised.
    “I mean—is he making himself unpleasant? Because, if so, let me know and I ’ ll tackle him for you.”
    “Oh, no! No, thank you very much,” Freda said hastily. “I think I can manage the situation. I couldn ’ t describe him as making himself unpleasant. In fact, he ’ s motoring me down to Crowmain on Saturday morning.”
    “But I thought you were at daggers drawn over this bit of property.”
    “We are,” Freda stated firmly.
    “And yet he ’ s giving you a friendly lift down to the scene of action. I don ’ t quite understand.”
    “Nor do I,” Freda said frankly. At which Brian laughed a good deal and glanced down at her curiously.
    “I think you ’ re a very clever girl,” he said, as he drew up the car outside her house.
    “I ’ m not, you know.” Freda smiled slightly. “Well, then—perhaps you ’ re just very nice,” he suggested. “That constitutes a force all