Chapter Seventeen.

Chapter Seventeen.The Sisters.Upon the first quiet opportunity Betty confided the history of her walk to her mother, who listened with the deepest interest and sympathy.“It was a great opportunity, dear, and you made the most of it. I am proud of my daughter,” she said. “I will join with you in praying that the poor fellow may be kept true to his pledge. It’s not the first step which costs in these struggles, whatever the proverb may say; the hardest part of the fight comes later on, when the first excitement is over, and progress seems so pitifully slow. So don’t let yourself grow weary in well-doing, dear Betty. Your poor friend will need your prayers more and more, not less and less.”“Oh no, I shall never grow tired,” said Betty confidently. Then her face clouded, and she sighed. “Mother, do you suppose I shall ever—see him again?”“It is very unlikely, dear. He is going so far away, and will have no money to spare for visits home. It must be a large sum which he has to repay, if the loss of it necessitated such a change in his friend’s household. With everything in his favour it would take a long time to earn.”“How long, mother?”“Dear child, what a question! It is impossible to say. It would be extraordinary, I should think, if he managed it in less than a dozen years.”“A dozen years! I should be thirty! I shall be hideous at thirty,” thought Betty ruefully, recalling the vision of the sweet, flushed face which had looked at her from the mirror the day before. Could it be possible that a dozen years—twelve whole years—could pass by without bringing her any tidings of “Ralph”? In the state of exaltation which had possessed her last night she had felt raised above the need of words, but already reaction had set in, and with it a strange sense of depression at the thought of the future.It was good to know that there was Cynthia to talk to—Cynthia, who might not be able to advise and strengthen as wisely as mother did, but who was a girl, and knew how girls felt—“up and down, and in and out, and—oh, and so topsy-turvy upside down!” thought poor Betty to herself.A breathless, “I want to speak to you; I have something dreadfully interesting to tell!” whispered in a chance encounter in the street, brought an immediate invitation to tea ‘in my own room, where we shan’t be bothered’; and under these happy auspices the adventure was once more related, while Cynthia’s grey eyes grew wide with excitement.“Dear Betty, how glorious for you!” she cried ecstatically. “What a wonderful thing to remember! You can never be blue again, and say that you are no use in the world. To have saved a man’s life, and started him on the right road—at eighteen—not eighteen! You are the most fortunate girl in the whole world! It’s so strange that this chance should have come to you on that particular day, because your brother and I had been talking about the different work of men and women as we walked over the Park to the Albert Hall, and he said that if it was men’s province to make the greatest things in the world, it was women’s work to make the men; and that was what you did, Betty dear. You helped God to make a man!”Betty raised her brows in a surprise which was not altogether agreeable.“Miles—Milessaid so! How extraordinary! He never talks like that to me, and he hardly knew you at all. However did you come to discuss such a subject?”“I asked him about his work, and envied him for being able to do something real. He is a nice boy. I like him very much,” said Cynthia placidly.Imagine being favoured with confidences from Miles, and remaining quite cool and unconcerned! For a good two moments Betty forgot all about her own affairs in sheer wonder at such an astonishing state of mind. Then remembrance came back, and she asked eagerly—“Cynthia, do you think I shall ever hear anything more about him? Mother says it will take years and years to save so much money. Do you think I shall ever know?”“Yes!” said Cynthia confidently. “Of course you will know. He will find some way of telling you. You told him your address, so it was the easiest thing in the world to find out your name. You will get something from him every year—perhaps on Christmas Day, perhaps in summer, perhaps on the anniversary of the night. It may be only a newspaper, it may be a letter, it may be just a flower—like the man inThe Prisoner of Zendasent to the princess, but it will besomething! He mayn’t sign his name or give his address, but he will want you to know—he will feel you ought to know that he is alive and remembering.”Oh, the beauty of a girl confidante! How truly she understands the art of comfort!“And shall I ever see him again?”“Yes—if you both live. He will want to see you again more than anything in the world, except paying off his debt. When that is done, he will rush straight off to you and say, ‘Here I am. I have worked hard and kept my promise. To-day I can look the whole world in the face, for I owe not any man. I have regained my friend and my position, and it is your doing.Yousaved me! All these years the thought of you has been my inspiration. I have lived in the thought of seeing your face again—’”“Oh, oh, oh!” cried Betty, gasping. “And I shall be hideous, Cynthia, hideous! Fancy, I may be thirty! What will he think, when he sees me so changed?”“He won’t mind a bit—they never do. He will say, ‘Though worn and haggard, you are still in my eyes the most beautiful woman in the world!’” cried Cynthia.And then, being only eighteen—nearly eighteen—each girl suddenly descended from her high horse, and went off into peal after peal of laughter, merry, heart-whole laughter, which floated to Mrs Alliot’s ears as she lay on her couch in the drawing-room, and brought a smile to her pale face. This new friendship was doing great things for her lonely girl!Towards the end of the Christmas holidays the great news circulated that Mrs Vanburgh was coming home, and bringing her two younger sisters for a few weeks’ shopping in town. Agatha and Christabel had just returned from two years’ sojourn abroad, and were presumably “finished” young ladies. Cynthia and Betty wondered how much finished, and whether finished enough to look down with contempt upon unfinished damsels still undergoing the thraldom of “classes!”It was a thrilling occasion when they were bidden to tea “to meet my sisters,” and Betty felt she would hardly have had courage to face the ordeal but for the fact of a new blouse and that fascinating buckle on her belt. She had a sensation of being all arms and legs—a horrible, almost forgotten remnant of schoolroom days—as she crossed Mrs Vanburgh’s drawing-room to be introduced to the two strange figures on the sofa.One was dark and one was fair; both possessed a wonderful wealth of beautiful glossy hair, gold in the one case, in the other brown, rolling back from the brow in upstanding pompadours, which were, however, more picturesque than stiff, and rolled into coil after coil at the back of the neck. Done-up hair—that was very “finished” indeed! Both were distinctly good-looking, and the younger, though the smaller of the two, possessed a personality which at once seemed to constitute her mistress of the ceremonies. Both were perfectly at ease, and so full of conversation that they talked both at the same time, emphasising every second or third word after a quaint fashion of their own which Betty found very amusing.They were fear-fully pleased to see her. They had heard suchreamsabout her from Nan. It was so charming for Nan to have girl friends. Nan wasdevotedto girls. It was suchsportto be staying with Nan. They had been simplydyingto live in town. My dear, they had not aragto wear! Nobody wore decent clothes in Germany. Frumps, my dear, per-fect frumps! They were on their own allowance. Was Betty on her own allowance? Lucky girl! It was simplyagonisingto have to buyeverythingyou needed on a quarter’s allowance. They had lain awake forhoursconsidering the problem. They were indespair! Nan had given them each a dress for Christmas. Nan was anangel! They wanted Nan to give a dance for them while they were in town.Betty’s heart leapt, but Mrs Vanburgh shook her head, and said—“Sorry, but Nan can’t! Mother wouldn’t like it, as you have only just left school, and are not properly out yet.”“Well, I shallleakout, then! I am not going to wait another year, if I know it. There’s a dance coming on at home in February, and I’m going to it, or my name is not Christabel Rendell. I’m going to buy a dress and all theet-ceteras, and then mother won’t have theheartto say No. Nan, if you won’t give us a dance, whatareyou going to do? You can’t be so mean as to providenoevening jollification!”“My dear, remembah! You were a girl yourself!” echoed Agatha, in deep-toned remonstrance, and then they began rattling out a list of suggestions.“Tableaux—”“Progressive games—”“Dinner-party. No old fogies! We will choose the guests.”“Music and conversation. You do the music, and we’ll converse.”“General frolic, and supper to finish up. If it develops into a dance, so much the better! It’s not coming out to dance on a carpet.”“Really, Nan, it’s piteous to think howstodgyyou have grown! Married sisters are a delusion. We used to imagine coming to stay, and doing whatever we liked, and eating all sorts of indigestible things that we mayn’t have at home. But now Maud can think of nothing but that baby, and you are so prim—too fearfully prim for words.”“Prim!” shouted Mrs Vanburgh. There is really no other word to express the outraged indignation of her tone. To hear her, one might have supposed it the greatest insult in the world to be accused of primness of demeanour. “You dare to sit there and call me names in my own house! If I am prim, you had better go home and leave me. I wouldn’t stay any longer, if I’m prim. I’m sorry I asked you, if I’m prim. If I’m prim, I wonder why you ever wanted to come. Prim, indeed! If it’s prim to know what is correct and what is not, it’s a pity you are not prim too! If I’m prim, I won’t give any party at all. You had better sit round the fire and knit stockings, and I’ll read aloudThe Old Helmet, as I’m so prim.”Christabel raised her hands to her ears in affected distraction.“Stop her, somebody—stop her for pity’s sake! When she is once wound up like this she will go on for hours! My dear, I crawl, Igrovelbefore you! You arenotprim! Nothing is further removed from your character. You are going to give us as many parties as we like.”“Humph!” said Mrs Vanburgh shortly. She was by no means appeased, and during the meal which followed ejaculations of “Prim—prim, indeed!” fell from her lips at intervals like so many minute-guns of indignation, while Christabel ate cakes and scones with undiminished zest, and smiled upon her with patronising indulgence.In relating the history of the afternoon to Jill, later on, Betty declared that she herself had not spoken a single sentence the whole afternoon. She had exclaimed, “Really!” “Fancy!” “Goodness!” “How killing!” each about a hundred times over, had laughed and smiled, nodded her head and said “Yes” to a dozen propositions, had been unceasingly amused and interested, but had never been allowed a breathing space in which to air her own opinions.It had been finally decided that “a general frolic” should be held on the following Thursday evening, Christabel proposing, seconding, and triumphantly carrying the resolution that each guest should come prepared to entertain the company for a period of at least five minutes on end. The protesting groans and denials of her companions beat in vain against the rock of her decision. She smiled graciously upon them, and cried—“Rubbish! Ofcourseyou can! Sing, play, dance, recite, read aloud, tell a story, show some new tricks; there’s noendto the things to choose from, my deah! If you begin by protesting and excusing as you are doing now, there will be no time left. It will be too lovelay forwords! A sit-down supper, Nan,—no light refreshments, please!—and, as a matter of precaution, as much furniture as possible moved out of the drawing-room. I can’t think why you did not have a parquet floor! People grow so selfish and inconsiderate when they are married.Piteous, I call it!”“Anything else?” queried Nan loftily. “Selfish, and inconsiderate, and prim, am I? Prim, indeed! I’ll tell Gervase the moment he comes in what a wretched wife he has married! He’d never find it out for himself.”

Upon the first quiet opportunity Betty confided the history of her walk to her mother, who listened with the deepest interest and sympathy.

“It was a great opportunity, dear, and you made the most of it. I am proud of my daughter,” she said. “I will join with you in praying that the poor fellow may be kept true to his pledge. It’s not the first step which costs in these struggles, whatever the proverb may say; the hardest part of the fight comes later on, when the first excitement is over, and progress seems so pitifully slow. So don’t let yourself grow weary in well-doing, dear Betty. Your poor friend will need your prayers more and more, not less and less.”

“Oh no, I shall never grow tired,” said Betty confidently. Then her face clouded, and she sighed. “Mother, do you suppose I shall ever—see him again?”

“It is very unlikely, dear. He is going so far away, and will have no money to spare for visits home. It must be a large sum which he has to repay, if the loss of it necessitated such a change in his friend’s household. With everything in his favour it would take a long time to earn.”

“How long, mother?”

“Dear child, what a question! It is impossible to say. It would be extraordinary, I should think, if he managed it in less than a dozen years.”

“A dozen years! I should be thirty! I shall be hideous at thirty,” thought Betty ruefully, recalling the vision of the sweet, flushed face which had looked at her from the mirror the day before. Could it be possible that a dozen years—twelve whole years—could pass by without bringing her any tidings of “Ralph”? In the state of exaltation which had possessed her last night she had felt raised above the need of words, but already reaction had set in, and with it a strange sense of depression at the thought of the future.

It was good to know that there was Cynthia to talk to—Cynthia, who might not be able to advise and strengthen as wisely as mother did, but who was a girl, and knew how girls felt—“up and down, and in and out, and—oh, and so topsy-turvy upside down!” thought poor Betty to herself.

A breathless, “I want to speak to you; I have something dreadfully interesting to tell!” whispered in a chance encounter in the street, brought an immediate invitation to tea ‘in my own room, where we shan’t be bothered’; and under these happy auspices the adventure was once more related, while Cynthia’s grey eyes grew wide with excitement.

“Dear Betty, how glorious for you!” she cried ecstatically. “What a wonderful thing to remember! You can never be blue again, and say that you are no use in the world. To have saved a man’s life, and started him on the right road—at eighteen—not eighteen! You are the most fortunate girl in the whole world! It’s so strange that this chance should have come to you on that particular day, because your brother and I had been talking about the different work of men and women as we walked over the Park to the Albert Hall, and he said that if it was men’s province to make the greatest things in the world, it was women’s work to make the men; and that was what you did, Betty dear. You helped God to make a man!”

Betty raised her brows in a surprise which was not altogether agreeable.

“Miles—Milessaid so! How extraordinary! He never talks like that to me, and he hardly knew you at all. However did you come to discuss such a subject?”

“I asked him about his work, and envied him for being able to do something real. He is a nice boy. I like him very much,” said Cynthia placidly.

Imagine being favoured with confidences from Miles, and remaining quite cool and unconcerned! For a good two moments Betty forgot all about her own affairs in sheer wonder at such an astonishing state of mind. Then remembrance came back, and she asked eagerly—

“Cynthia, do you think I shall ever hear anything more about him? Mother says it will take years and years to save so much money. Do you think I shall ever know?”

“Yes!” said Cynthia confidently. “Of course you will know. He will find some way of telling you. You told him your address, so it was the easiest thing in the world to find out your name. You will get something from him every year—perhaps on Christmas Day, perhaps in summer, perhaps on the anniversary of the night. It may be only a newspaper, it may be a letter, it may be just a flower—like the man inThe Prisoner of Zendasent to the princess, but it will besomething! He mayn’t sign his name or give his address, but he will want you to know—he will feel you ought to know that he is alive and remembering.”

Oh, the beauty of a girl confidante! How truly she understands the art of comfort!

“And shall I ever see him again?”

“Yes—if you both live. He will want to see you again more than anything in the world, except paying off his debt. When that is done, he will rush straight off to you and say, ‘Here I am. I have worked hard and kept my promise. To-day I can look the whole world in the face, for I owe not any man. I have regained my friend and my position, and it is your doing.Yousaved me! All these years the thought of you has been my inspiration. I have lived in the thought of seeing your face again—’”

“Oh, oh, oh!” cried Betty, gasping. “And I shall be hideous, Cynthia, hideous! Fancy, I may be thirty! What will he think, when he sees me so changed?”

“He won’t mind a bit—they never do. He will say, ‘Though worn and haggard, you are still in my eyes the most beautiful woman in the world!’” cried Cynthia.

And then, being only eighteen—nearly eighteen—each girl suddenly descended from her high horse, and went off into peal after peal of laughter, merry, heart-whole laughter, which floated to Mrs Alliot’s ears as she lay on her couch in the drawing-room, and brought a smile to her pale face. This new friendship was doing great things for her lonely girl!

Towards the end of the Christmas holidays the great news circulated that Mrs Vanburgh was coming home, and bringing her two younger sisters for a few weeks’ shopping in town. Agatha and Christabel had just returned from two years’ sojourn abroad, and were presumably “finished” young ladies. Cynthia and Betty wondered how much finished, and whether finished enough to look down with contempt upon unfinished damsels still undergoing the thraldom of “classes!”

It was a thrilling occasion when they were bidden to tea “to meet my sisters,” and Betty felt she would hardly have had courage to face the ordeal but for the fact of a new blouse and that fascinating buckle on her belt. She had a sensation of being all arms and legs—a horrible, almost forgotten remnant of schoolroom days—as she crossed Mrs Vanburgh’s drawing-room to be introduced to the two strange figures on the sofa.

One was dark and one was fair; both possessed a wonderful wealth of beautiful glossy hair, gold in the one case, in the other brown, rolling back from the brow in upstanding pompadours, which were, however, more picturesque than stiff, and rolled into coil after coil at the back of the neck. Done-up hair—that was very “finished” indeed! Both were distinctly good-looking, and the younger, though the smaller of the two, possessed a personality which at once seemed to constitute her mistress of the ceremonies. Both were perfectly at ease, and so full of conversation that they talked both at the same time, emphasising every second or third word after a quaint fashion of their own which Betty found very amusing.

They were fear-fully pleased to see her. They had heard suchreamsabout her from Nan. It was so charming for Nan to have girl friends. Nan wasdevotedto girls. It was suchsportto be staying with Nan. They had been simplydyingto live in town. My dear, they had not aragto wear! Nobody wore decent clothes in Germany. Frumps, my dear, per-fect frumps! They were on their own allowance. Was Betty on her own allowance? Lucky girl! It was simplyagonisingto have to buyeverythingyou needed on a quarter’s allowance. They had lain awake forhoursconsidering the problem. They were indespair! Nan had given them each a dress for Christmas. Nan was anangel! They wanted Nan to give a dance for them while they were in town.

Betty’s heart leapt, but Mrs Vanburgh shook her head, and said—

“Sorry, but Nan can’t! Mother wouldn’t like it, as you have only just left school, and are not properly out yet.”

“Well, I shallleakout, then! I am not going to wait another year, if I know it. There’s a dance coming on at home in February, and I’m going to it, or my name is not Christabel Rendell. I’m going to buy a dress and all theet-ceteras, and then mother won’t have theheartto say No. Nan, if you won’t give us a dance, whatareyou going to do? You can’t be so mean as to providenoevening jollification!”

“My dear, remembah! You were a girl yourself!” echoed Agatha, in deep-toned remonstrance, and then they began rattling out a list of suggestions.

“Tableaux—”

“Progressive games—”

“Dinner-party. No old fogies! We will choose the guests.”

“Music and conversation. You do the music, and we’ll converse.”

“General frolic, and supper to finish up. If it develops into a dance, so much the better! It’s not coming out to dance on a carpet.”

“Really, Nan, it’s piteous to think howstodgyyou have grown! Married sisters are a delusion. We used to imagine coming to stay, and doing whatever we liked, and eating all sorts of indigestible things that we mayn’t have at home. But now Maud can think of nothing but that baby, and you are so prim—too fearfully prim for words.”

“Prim!” shouted Mrs Vanburgh. There is really no other word to express the outraged indignation of her tone. To hear her, one might have supposed it the greatest insult in the world to be accused of primness of demeanour. “You dare to sit there and call me names in my own house! If I am prim, you had better go home and leave me. I wouldn’t stay any longer, if I’m prim. I’m sorry I asked you, if I’m prim. If I’m prim, I wonder why you ever wanted to come. Prim, indeed! If it’s prim to know what is correct and what is not, it’s a pity you are not prim too! If I’m prim, I won’t give any party at all. You had better sit round the fire and knit stockings, and I’ll read aloudThe Old Helmet, as I’m so prim.”

Christabel raised her hands to her ears in affected distraction.

“Stop her, somebody—stop her for pity’s sake! When she is once wound up like this she will go on for hours! My dear, I crawl, Igrovelbefore you! You arenotprim! Nothing is further removed from your character. You are going to give us as many parties as we like.”

“Humph!” said Mrs Vanburgh shortly. She was by no means appeased, and during the meal which followed ejaculations of “Prim—prim, indeed!” fell from her lips at intervals like so many minute-guns of indignation, while Christabel ate cakes and scones with undiminished zest, and smiled upon her with patronising indulgence.

In relating the history of the afternoon to Jill, later on, Betty declared that she herself had not spoken a single sentence the whole afternoon. She had exclaimed, “Really!” “Fancy!” “Goodness!” “How killing!” each about a hundred times over, had laughed and smiled, nodded her head and said “Yes” to a dozen propositions, had been unceasingly amused and interested, but had never been allowed a breathing space in which to air her own opinions.

It had been finally decided that “a general frolic” should be held on the following Thursday evening, Christabel proposing, seconding, and triumphantly carrying the resolution that each guest should come prepared to entertain the company for a period of at least five minutes on end. The protesting groans and denials of her companions beat in vain against the rock of her decision. She smiled graciously upon them, and cried—

“Rubbish! Ofcourseyou can! Sing, play, dance, recite, read aloud, tell a story, show some new tricks; there’s noendto the things to choose from, my deah! If you begin by protesting and excusing as you are doing now, there will be no time left. It will be too lovelay forwords! A sit-down supper, Nan,—no light refreshments, please!—and, as a matter of precaution, as much furniture as possible moved out of the drawing-room. I can’t think why you did not have a parquet floor! People grow so selfish and inconsiderate when they are married.Piteous, I call it!”

“Anything else?” queried Nan loftily. “Selfish, and inconsiderate, and prim, am I? Prim, indeed! I’ll tell Gervase the moment he comes in what a wretched wife he has married! He’d never find it out for himself.”

Chapter Eighteen.The Party.“She may request as much as she likes; I’m not going! I wouldn’t go if I were paid for it!” was Miles’ ungallant comment upon receipt of Mrs Vanburgh’s invitation; but before he had time to pen his refusal, Cynthia, in her new character of mentor, issued her regal decree that it should be turned into an acceptance. In vain he grumbled and protested; the silken chains never relaxed their hold.“Hate parties! Senseless waste of time.”“It would be kind of you to help to make it more profitable.”“I’ve no parlour tricks—and don’t see the fun of making a performing bear of myself among a lot of strangers.”“It would be bearish to refuse, and allow your sisters to go alone! I’ve always longed for a brother to take me about. A nice man is always considerate to girls.”Miles grunted.“If I did go, they wouldn’t speak to me all the evening! I never know what to say to strangers. I should have to sit in a corner by myself. There’ll be a crowd of girls—you, and Betty, and Mrs Vanburgh’s sisters, and who knows how many more?”Cynthia bowed her head in stately salute.“You would not be ungallant enough to insinuate that there could be too many! It will be your proud privilege to introduce a masculine element into the assembly.”“Humph!”“It likewise appears probable to me that Mrs Vanburgh may know a few nice men besides yourself.”Betty would have said “boys,” Cynthia knew better, and reaped her reward in Miles’ wavering air.“Couldn’t entertain a party for one minute, let alone ten.”“We will go into partnership then, and do it together! Ten minutes instead of five. We’ll be confederates, and show them tricks. I know a lovely one about telling the time from the position of a poker—no! How silly I am, I always give away the secret! You tell acard, not the hour. It’s quite easy. You have an imaginary clock face on the hearthrug; twelve o’clock is the fire, and you lay the poker on the rug with the point on the number you want—one, two, three and so on, up to queen. For king, you simply hold it in your hand, which puzzles them more than ever.”“What about the suits?”“Oh, that’s quite easy. When the person outside comes in, he must notice first of all how his confederate is looking; to the left means hearts; to the right, diamonds; upwards, clubs; downward, spades. It’s really a lovely trick. We’ll rehearse it, and I’m sure you must know many more.”“I know some balancing tips,—Georgia Magnet business. You might be the Magnetic Lady, and I’d be the showman.”“Oh, lovely, lovely! Could you teach me really? Could I lift up a table with two or three men sitting on it, like you see in the advertisements?” cried Cynthia fervently, and though Miles replied, “Rather not!” he condescended to state one or two less strenuous feats which she might safely accomplish, and even to put her through a preliminary drilling on the spot.The battle was won! For the next week Mrs Vanburgh’s party was the one subject of discussion with the Trevor sisters. Betty was agitated on the subject of her dress, and being denied a new sash, subsided into gloom for the space of ten minutes, when with a sudden turn of the wheel a mental picture was presented of a ship ploughing across the seas, bearing a lonely emigrant to his difficult task, when it became, all of a sudden, contemptible beyond words to fret oneself about—a ribbon! As she herself had said, having once come face to face with tragedy, her eyes were opened to the petty nature of her own trials. She ironed and pressed, and viewing the shabby bows and insufficient ends, said bravely: “Who cares? It will be all the same in a hundred years!”Jill wished to know exactly how late the party would be kept up, and if there was to be a sit-down supper. “I loathe ‘light refreshments’ like we have at breaks up. Bitter lemonade and sangwidges—who wants sangwidges? I like to sit down, and have courses, and stay as long as you like, and crackers, with things in them.” When asked how she proposed to amuse the company when her turn came round, she shrugged her shoulders, and replied, “Haven’t the faintest idea! Shall think of something, I suppose,” in true Jill-like, happy-go-lucky fashion.Pam sat glued to the window, and kept an unerring record of everything which entered the Vanburgh house for two days before the fray. Baskets from the fruiterer’s, trays from the confectioner’s; mysterious paper boxes from the Stores; flowers from the florist’s; they were all registered in her accurate little brain, and described at length to her sisters.“Couldn’t you bring me back somefing nice?” she pleaded wistfully. “Sweets—or a cracker—or a very pretty cake with icing on it?”—and though Betty proved adamant, Jill succumbed.“What are pouches for if you can’t carry things in them?” she demanded. “My party body has a huge pouch. I’ll bring you samples, Pam, and if there are enough, we’ll share them together!”When the great night arrived, Miles was decidedly short as to temper, but he looked so tall and imposing in his dress suit, that Cynthia’s designation of “man” seemed nothing but his due. Like all male beings, he seemed to regard the behaviour of his tie and shirt front as the only things of importance in the universe, and so completely engrossed was he thereby that he had only an absent, “Oh, all right!” to return to Betty’s anxious inquiries as to her own appearance.They crossed the road together, three ungainly-looking figures in ulsters and snow-shoes, and were admitted to the Vanburgh hall, which was instinct with the air of festivity. Flowers everywhere, plants banked up in the background, attentive servants to wave you forward; more servants to greet you at the head of the staircase, to help you to unwrap in the bedroom, and make you feel ashamed that your tweed coat was not an opera mantle, like the charming specimens displayed on the bed!In the drawing-room quite a number of guests were assembled, and Miles was relieved to discover that he was by no means the only member of his sex. Betty’s first shyness died away as Christabel smiled at her across the room, and patted the empty seat by her side with an inviting gesture. She looked very charming and imposing in her evening dress, but when Betty ventured to admire it she was informed that it was “A rag, my dear—a prehistoricrag!” and warned that at any moment the worn-out fabric might be expected to fly asunder, when “As you love me, fling yourself upon me, andhurlme from the room! My entertainment comes on last of all. I arranged it so for a special reason,” Christabel explained, with thegrande dameair which was one of her chief characteristics. “We are to draw lots for the rest, so that there shall be no favouritism.”Presently the lots were drawn, and who should draw number one but Jill, the casual and unprepared! Betty blushed for her, and felt a wild longing to creep beneath the grand piano, but Jill herself laughed, and went forward to seat herself on a chair facing the whole assembly with undisturbed composure.Everyone stared at her, and she stared back, dropping her head on one side, and screwing up her saucy nose with a transparent pretence of embarrassment, which aroused the first laugh of the evening. Everybody was amused and interested, and ready to be pleased, so that the announcement, “I’m going to ask riddles!” instead of falling flat, as might have been expected, was received with quite a burst of applause. And there she sat asking riddles—venerable old chestnuts for the most part, and the marvel of it was that it was a most lively performance, for the orthodox answers were mischievously replaced by newer and more amusing editions, and one person after another would cry, “That reminds me—do you know what is the difference,” etcetera, etcetera, so that presently everyone was asking riddles and catches, and really good ones into the bargain, and it was only after fifteen minutes had elapsed that Jill retired from her post beneath a hurricane of applause. Happy Jill, it was her birthright to charm! It seemed impossible that she should ever do the wrong thing.When it came to Betty’s turn she played conscientiously through the Sonata Pathetique, with which she had been wrestling for two hours a day for the last month. That very morning she had played it over without a single fault, and really and truly the runs had sounded quite professional; but when your head throbs, and your cheeks burn, and your heart pounds, and your feet grow cold, and your fingers are hot, and stick together, and refuse to do what they are told, it is wonderful how differently things sound! Poor Sonata! It reallywasrather pathetic, and it is to be feared that the audience was almost as much relieved as was Betty herself, when it came to an end.The Magnetic Lady performance was a great success, Miles as showman being an agreeable surprise to his relations, for if he were not discursive, he was at least perfectly composed and business-like, and the poker trick and balancing feats were alike marvellous and perplexing.Agatha recounted a story of a haunted castle, and of a ghost which was not a ghost at all, but simply a gentleman’s bath-gown hung on a nail. The plot was decidedly thin, but the audience found amusement in the quaint and truly Rendell-like phraseology in which it was presented, and in the lavish use of italics. Poor crushed Betty congratulated Agatha on her success, and Agatha rolled her eyes, and cried tragically—“My dear—I nearlyexpiredwith embarrassment! I waspurplewith agitation. As a candid friend, tell me truly—hasit spread to my nose?”Somebody recited; someone sang a song; somebody introduced a new game; somebody showed card tricks; a budding artist took lightning portraits of host and hostess and a few of the leading guests, and presently supper was announced before Christabel had had time for her turn.“Never mind! It will be even better afterwards! I intended it to be afterwards,” she said, smiling mysteriously, as she was led down to supper by the oldest and most important man in the room. Miles eagerly appropriated Cynthia, and Betty’s partner was one Mr Ned Rendell, the only brother of the houseful of girls, a somewhat lofty and self-satisfied gentleman, who let her see that he considered her a mere child more plainly than was altogether polite. Not being possessed of Jill’s youthful love of good things to eat, she was thankful when it was time to return to the drawing-room, where Christabel was already awaiting her turn, with an eagerness which had been lacking in any other performer.“Put your chairs against the wall, please—quite against the wall! I need all the room I can get,” she directed, waving her hands to right and left in masterful fashion. “That’s better! Move that table, please. I don’t want to knock it down. I shall want someone to help me. Mr Ross, will you be so kind? We must have a musical accompaniment, too. A little slow music—Agatha knows what I mean. Begin at once, please!”A meaning glance passed between the sisters as Agatha obediently seated herself on the piano-stool and struck up—a waltz tune! When, presto! Christabel and her partner were whirling round the room, while she laughed a merry defiance at Nan, and nodded to the assembled guests to follow her example.In a trice the floor was covered with dancers, and for the rest of the evening no other amusement had a chance. Christabel had her way after all! It was safe to predict that Christabel generallywouldget her own way.It was in the middle of the final Sir Roger, just as she was curtseying in the centre of the two long lines, that Jill’s pouch played her false, and a meringue, a sausage roll, and a couple of crackers fell on the ground in a sticky heap. Betty wished that the ground would open and swallow her up, and even Jill had the grace to blush, but Mrs Vanburgh came to the rescue with truly delightful understanding.“Oh—oh, what a pity! You were taking them home for the children—I always did!” she cried sympathetically. “Bring a shovel, Gervase, please, and take away the crumbs. You should have smuggled them into the bedroom, Jill—that’s howImanaged. Now then, partner!” and off she went, dancing down the line, and setting everybody else going, so that it was impossible to dwell any longer on the tragic discovery.Never since the creation of the world, Jill decided, had there lived anyone more deliciously suitable to play the part of hostess to an assembly of young people!

“She may request as much as she likes; I’m not going! I wouldn’t go if I were paid for it!” was Miles’ ungallant comment upon receipt of Mrs Vanburgh’s invitation; but before he had time to pen his refusal, Cynthia, in her new character of mentor, issued her regal decree that it should be turned into an acceptance. In vain he grumbled and protested; the silken chains never relaxed their hold.

“Hate parties! Senseless waste of time.”

“It would be kind of you to help to make it more profitable.”

“I’ve no parlour tricks—and don’t see the fun of making a performing bear of myself among a lot of strangers.”

“It would be bearish to refuse, and allow your sisters to go alone! I’ve always longed for a brother to take me about. A nice man is always considerate to girls.”

Miles grunted.

“If I did go, they wouldn’t speak to me all the evening! I never know what to say to strangers. I should have to sit in a corner by myself. There’ll be a crowd of girls—you, and Betty, and Mrs Vanburgh’s sisters, and who knows how many more?”

Cynthia bowed her head in stately salute.

“You would not be ungallant enough to insinuate that there could be too many! It will be your proud privilege to introduce a masculine element into the assembly.”

“Humph!”

“It likewise appears probable to me that Mrs Vanburgh may know a few nice men besides yourself.”

Betty would have said “boys,” Cynthia knew better, and reaped her reward in Miles’ wavering air.

“Couldn’t entertain a party for one minute, let alone ten.”

“We will go into partnership then, and do it together! Ten minutes instead of five. We’ll be confederates, and show them tricks. I know a lovely one about telling the time from the position of a poker—no! How silly I am, I always give away the secret! You tell acard, not the hour. It’s quite easy. You have an imaginary clock face on the hearthrug; twelve o’clock is the fire, and you lay the poker on the rug with the point on the number you want—one, two, three and so on, up to queen. For king, you simply hold it in your hand, which puzzles them more than ever.”

“What about the suits?”

“Oh, that’s quite easy. When the person outside comes in, he must notice first of all how his confederate is looking; to the left means hearts; to the right, diamonds; upwards, clubs; downward, spades. It’s really a lovely trick. We’ll rehearse it, and I’m sure you must know many more.”

“I know some balancing tips,—Georgia Magnet business. You might be the Magnetic Lady, and I’d be the showman.”

“Oh, lovely, lovely! Could you teach me really? Could I lift up a table with two or three men sitting on it, like you see in the advertisements?” cried Cynthia fervently, and though Miles replied, “Rather not!” he condescended to state one or two less strenuous feats which she might safely accomplish, and even to put her through a preliminary drilling on the spot.

The battle was won! For the next week Mrs Vanburgh’s party was the one subject of discussion with the Trevor sisters. Betty was agitated on the subject of her dress, and being denied a new sash, subsided into gloom for the space of ten minutes, when with a sudden turn of the wheel a mental picture was presented of a ship ploughing across the seas, bearing a lonely emigrant to his difficult task, when it became, all of a sudden, contemptible beyond words to fret oneself about—a ribbon! As she herself had said, having once come face to face with tragedy, her eyes were opened to the petty nature of her own trials. She ironed and pressed, and viewing the shabby bows and insufficient ends, said bravely: “Who cares? It will be all the same in a hundred years!”

Jill wished to know exactly how late the party would be kept up, and if there was to be a sit-down supper. “I loathe ‘light refreshments’ like we have at breaks up. Bitter lemonade and sangwidges—who wants sangwidges? I like to sit down, and have courses, and stay as long as you like, and crackers, with things in them.” When asked how she proposed to amuse the company when her turn came round, she shrugged her shoulders, and replied, “Haven’t the faintest idea! Shall think of something, I suppose,” in true Jill-like, happy-go-lucky fashion.

Pam sat glued to the window, and kept an unerring record of everything which entered the Vanburgh house for two days before the fray. Baskets from the fruiterer’s, trays from the confectioner’s; mysterious paper boxes from the Stores; flowers from the florist’s; they were all registered in her accurate little brain, and described at length to her sisters.

“Couldn’t you bring me back somefing nice?” she pleaded wistfully. “Sweets—or a cracker—or a very pretty cake with icing on it?”—and though Betty proved adamant, Jill succumbed.

“What are pouches for if you can’t carry things in them?” she demanded. “My party body has a huge pouch. I’ll bring you samples, Pam, and if there are enough, we’ll share them together!”

When the great night arrived, Miles was decidedly short as to temper, but he looked so tall and imposing in his dress suit, that Cynthia’s designation of “man” seemed nothing but his due. Like all male beings, he seemed to regard the behaviour of his tie and shirt front as the only things of importance in the universe, and so completely engrossed was he thereby that he had only an absent, “Oh, all right!” to return to Betty’s anxious inquiries as to her own appearance.

They crossed the road together, three ungainly-looking figures in ulsters and snow-shoes, and were admitted to the Vanburgh hall, which was instinct with the air of festivity. Flowers everywhere, plants banked up in the background, attentive servants to wave you forward; more servants to greet you at the head of the staircase, to help you to unwrap in the bedroom, and make you feel ashamed that your tweed coat was not an opera mantle, like the charming specimens displayed on the bed!

In the drawing-room quite a number of guests were assembled, and Miles was relieved to discover that he was by no means the only member of his sex. Betty’s first shyness died away as Christabel smiled at her across the room, and patted the empty seat by her side with an inviting gesture. She looked very charming and imposing in her evening dress, but when Betty ventured to admire it she was informed that it was “A rag, my dear—a prehistoricrag!” and warned that at any moment the worn-out fabric might be expected to fly asunder, when “As you love me, fling yourself upon me, andhurlme from the room! My entertainment comes on last of all. I arranged it so for a special reason,” Christabel explained, with thegrande dameair which was one of her chief characteristics. “We are to draw lots for the rest, so that there shall be no favouritism.”

Presently the lots were drawn, and who should draw number one but Jill, the casual and unprepared! Betty blushed for her, and felt a wild longing to creep beneath the grand piano, but Jill herself laughed, and went forward to seat herself on a chair facing the whole assembly with undisturbed composure.

Everyone stared at her, and she stared back, dropping her head on one side, and screwing up her saucy nose with a transparent pretence of embarrassment, which aroused the first laugh of the evening. Everybody was amused and interested, and ready to be pleased, so that the announcement, “I’m going to ask riddles!” instead of falling flat, as might have been expected, was received with quite a burst of applause. And there she sat asking riddles—venerable old chestnuts for the most part, and the marvel of it was that it was a most lively performance, for the orthodox answers were mischievously replaced by newer and more amusing editions, and one person after another would cry, “That reminds me—do you know what is the difference,” etcetera, etcetera, so that presently everyone was asking riddles and catches, and really good ones into the bargain, and it was only after fifteen minutes had elapsed that Jill retired from her post beneath a hurricane of applause. Happy Jill, it was her birthright to charm! It seemed impossible that she should ever do the wrong thing.

When it came to Betty’s turn she played conscientiously through the Sonata Pathetique, with which she had been wrestling for two hours a day for the last month. That very morning she had played it over without a single fault, and really and truly the runs had sounded quite professional; but when your head throbs, and your cheeks burn, and your heart pounds, and your feet grow cold, and your fingers are hot, and stick together, and refuse to do what they are told, it is wonderful how differently things sound! Poor Sonata! It reallywasrather pathetic, and it is to be feared that the audience was almost as much relieved as was Betty herself, when it came to an end.

The Magnetic Lady performance was a great success, Miles as showman being an agreeable surprise to his relations, for if he were not discursive, he was at least perfectly composed and business-like, and the poker trick and balancing feats were alike marvellous and perplexing.

Agatha recounted a story of a haunted castle, and of a ghost which was not a ghost at all, but simply a gentleman’s bath-gown hung on a nail. The plot was decidedly thin, but the audience found amusement in the quaint and truly Rendell-like phraseology in which it was presented, and in the lavish use of italics. Poor crushed Betty congratulated Agatha on her success, and Agatha rolled her eyes, and cried tragically—

“My dear—I nearlyexpiredwith embarrassment! I waspurplewith agitation. As a candid friend, tell me truly—hasit spread to my nose?”

Somebody recited; someone sang a song; somebody introduced a new game; somebody showed card tricks; a budding artist took lightning portraits of host and hostess and a few of the leading guests, and presently supper was announced before Christabel had had time for her turn.

“Never mind! It will be even better afterwards! I intended it to be afterwards,” she said, smiling mysteriously, as she was led down to supper by the oldest and most important man in the room. Miles eagerly appropriated Cynthia, and Betty’s partner was one Mr Ned Rendell, the only brother of the houseful of girls, a somewhat lofty and self-satisfied gentleman, who let her see that he considered her a mere child more plainly than was altogether polite. Not being possessed of Jill’s youthful love of good things to eat, she was thankful when it was time to return to the drawing-room, where Christabel was already awaiting her turn, with an eagerness which had been lacking in any other performer.

“Put your chairs against the wall, please—quite against the wall! I need all the room I can get,” she directed, waving her hands to right and left in masterful fashion. “That’s better! Move that table, please. I don’t want to knock it down. I shall want someone to help me. Mr Ross, will you be so kind? We must have a musical accompaniment, too. A little slow music—Agatha knows what I mean. Begin at once, please!”

A meaning glance passed between the sisters as Agatha obediently seated herself on the piano-stool and struck up—a waltz tune! When, presto! Christabel and her partner were whirling round the room, while she laughed a merry defiance at Nan, and nodded to the assembled guests to follow her example.

In a trice the floor was covered with dancers, and for the rest of the evening no other amusement had a chance. Christabel had her way after all! It was safe to predict that Christabel generallywouldget her own way.

It was in the middle of the final Sir Roger, just as she was curtseying in the centre of the two long lines, that Jill’s pouch played her false, and a meringue, a sausage roll, and a couple of crackers fell on the ground in a sticky heap. Betty wished that the ground would open and swallow her up, and even Jill had the grace to blush, but Mrs Vanburgh came to the rescue with truly delightful understanding.

“Oh—oh, what a pity! You were taking them home for the children—I always did!” she cried sympathetically. “Bring a shovel, Gervase, please, and take away the crumbs. You should have smuggled them into the bedroom, Jill—that’s howImanaged. Now then, partner!” and off she went, dancing down the line, and setting everybody else going, so that it was impossible to dwell any longer on the tragic discovery.

Never since the creation of the world, Jill decided, had there lived anyone more deliciously suitable to play the part of hostess to an assembly of young people!

Chapter Nineteen.A Strange Meeting.Time passes rapidly to the young and light-hearted, and winter fogs had given place to blue skies and flowering trees before—as Jill expressed it—one could say “Jack Robinson.”Miles was finishing his course of study, and had so distinguished himself above his fellows that there was little doubt that a good opening would be offered to him ere long. Dr Trevor was very proud of his clever son, but the mother’s face took on a wistful expression as she looked round the table at her assembled family, and realised that the time was close at hand for the stirring up of the nest. She was unusually indulgent during those spring months, as if she could not find it in her heart to deny any possible pleasure.“We shall not long be together. Miles will be going away, and after then—who knows?” she told herself sadly. “Once children begin to grow up and go out into the world, one can never be sure of meeting again as a complete family circle. Let them be happy while they may!”So those spring months saw an unusual succession of gaieties in the doctor’s shabby house, in the shape of merry, informal gatherings, which went far to cement newly-made friendships. Agatha and Christabel Rendell returned home, only to be succeeded by the remaining three sisters of the family, who proved quite as interesting in their various ways. Dear good Maud was as sweet and placid as her own fat baby, while Elsie was an intense young person, quite different from anyone else whom Betty and Cynthia had ever encountered. Her hair was parted in the middle and brushed smoothly over her ears; she wore quaintly unfashionable garments, and—thrilling item of interest!—was engaged to be married to a sub-editor of a magazine, who was reported to be even more intense than herself. Elsie disdained the ordinary sign of betrothal; a ring, she explained to the astonished girls, was a badge of servitude to which no self-respecting woman should submit, and she wore in its place a gold locket, bearing strange cabalistic signs, the meaning of which the beholders vainly yearned to discover.With regard to the future, Elsie and her editor announced their intention of living “the higher life”—a high-sounding phrase which was not a little impressive, until one heard the details thereof, which scarcely appealed to the ordinary imagination. They were going to subsist on a diet of bread and nuts, a regime which did away at one fell swoop with the need of such superfluities as cook and kitchen; they would have no curtains nor draperies, as woollens harbour microbes; no wall-papers, as papers exude poisons; no ornaments, since it was a sin to waste the precious hours in dusting what was of no use. What theyweregoing to have, soon became the question in the minds of the anxious hearers, while “Poor old Elsie!” cried Nan Vanburgh, laughing. “I give her a month before I am taken for a day’s hard shopping at Maple’s! She rides her hobbies so violently that they collapse of sheer exhaustion before she has time to put them into practice!”In the matter of conversation, Elsie swayed between the high-flown and the natural, sometimes chatting away in ordinary commonplace fashion, at other times confounding her hearers by weird and mysterious utterances.“Have you ever felt the intense meaning incolour?” she demanded one day, at the end of a silence during which she had been gazing into the heart of the fire. Betty stared aghast, but Cynthia, with finer humour, smiled demurely, and replied—“Of blues—yes! I feel it horribly at times,” whereupon, being a Rendell, Elsie descended promptly from her high horse, and chuckled with enjoyment.After Elsie appeared Lilias—a vision of beauty and elegance, but far too grown-up and superior to care for the society of chits in the schoolroom. Her visit was a round of gaiety, for she did not care for quiet home evenings, but she never seemed really satisfied nor pleased, and there was always a “but” or an “if” at the end of her description of the last day’s doings.Nan looked at her with troubled eyes, and her “Poor Lilias!” had a very different ring from the “Poor old Elsie!” which was after all only a pretence at pity.Cynthia’s prophecy had been fulfilled, for at the end of January Betty had received from America a copy of theNew York Herald, with the significant letter “R” printed on a corner of the wrapper. Her friend of the fog had evidently possessed himself of her full name and address before leaving town, and now wished her to know that he had safely reached the scene of his future labours. How carefully that wrapper was preserved! How diligently it was searched for further messages, long after it had been definitely concluded that no such message could exist! Betty considered the handwriting the most manly and distinctive that she had ever beheld; and Cynthia, without going so far, was still prepared to read in it all the desired meanings.“The letters are joined together; that means sequence of thought and mental ability. The line rises at the end; that shows proper ambition. There are power and success written in every stroke!”“Dear Cynthia!” sighed Betty ardently. “How clever you are! You are always right.”As for Jack, he was working, absolutely working hard, instead of playing with his tasks. The redoubtable Johnson was constrained to take a second place in the class as a permanency nowadays, and hopes of the scholarship grew apace in the parental heart. Jack did not appreciate home references to his newly-developed industry, and, so strange and unaccountable a thing is schoolboy nature, that when Betty injudiciously remarked on his “goodness,” he “slacked it” of intent for a whole week, just to have the satisfaction of telling her of his descent in the class. Not for all the riches in the world would he have explained the real reason for the change, but those three words, “the Captain’s orders!” rang in his ears like a battle-cry, and the voice within gave him no peace if he did less than his best. Poor General Digby! It seemed hard that he should be denied the exquisite satisfaction of knowing what good he had been the means of working; but, though Jack’s lips were sealed on this point, he showed an appreciation of that gentleman’s company and an affectionate forethought for his comfort which were very comforting to a lonely bachelor. It became a habit to drop in at the flat for a cup of tea and half an hour’s chat on the way home from school, and to accompany the General for a walk on Sunday afternoons. Dr and Mrs Trevor were pleased that the boy should be brought so much in contact with a man for whom their admiration and respect increased more and more with better acquaintance, for the General’s faults were all on the surface, and behind the loud voice and irascible mien were hidden a child-like faith and purity of heart.And then one day an extraordinary thing happened! Talk of story-books, as Betty said,—talk of three volume novels,—talk of a whole circulating library at once, and never, no never, could you think of anything more exciting or romantic!Mrs Trevor had invited Miss Beveridge to spend Sunday at Number 1, in response to a plaintive appeal from her eldest daughter.“She weighs on my mind like a lump of lead, for I know Mrs Vanburgh thinks I’m mean never to have asked her here, but I really can’t contend with her alone, she is so frightfully snubbing and superior. If you would let her come some Sunday when everyone is at home, and you are not busy all the time, we could take turns at entertaining her. I’d love you for ever and ever if you only would!”“Well—it’s a big bribe!” said Mrs Trevor, laughing. “Yes, by all means ask her to come. I shall be very glad to welcome her any Sunday, if she seems to enjoy coming.”“Oh, she won’t do that. She hasn’t any enjoying power left. It’s all taught out of her. I don’t believe she could feel anything if she tried,” quoth Miss Betty in her wisdom, and was fated to see the folly of her words.Mrs Trevor was pouring out tea in the drawing-room at a little table set almost beneath the shadow of Pam’s branching palm. Miss Beveridge was sitting bolt upright in an easy-chair, looking as if she were accustomed to be uncomfortable, and uncomfortable she was determined to be, in spite of all conspiracies to the contrary. She wore a severe black dress, and her iron-grey hair was brushed back from her face with almost painful neatness. Betty looked from one to the other as she handed round cakes and scones, and wondered if her mother was really years and years younger than Miss Beveridge, or if she only looked it because she was pretty and dainty, and happy at heart. Miss Beveridge had beautiful features, but the listless gloom of her expression spoiled what beauty she might still have possessed. Nan’s persistent efforts had to some extent thawed the icy barrier of reserve, but in a strange atmosphere it seemed to have frozen even harder than before, so that Mrs Trevor was devoutly thankful for the arrival of the tea-tray, and wondered no more at Betty’s unwillingness to tackle this silent visitor.And then the door opened, and Jack’s cheery voice was heard.“Hallo, mother, here’s a friend come to tea!” he announced, and the next moment the whole atmosphere of the room was changed, as the General’s big form hobbled forward, the big red face smiled its big kind smile, and the big voice boomed out a thunderous greeting.“Afternoon, madam! Afternoon, Lady Betty! This boy tempted me, and I fell. What’s this I hear about hot muffins and apricot jam? When I was a nipper there was no boy in the length of Ireland that could beat Terence Digby at a muffin struggle. Where’s my friend Jill? Plain Jill! Eh, what? No, my dear—I said to her—that, at least, you never can be. That’s taken out of your power! Where’s Miss Pussy Pam? I can’t see you all in this half light. Very picturesque for young eyes, madam, but when you get old like me you’ll be thankful for electricity. Eh! Who’s this?”He had caught a glimpse of the figure in the easy-chair, and, wheeling suddenly round, stared full at it. Stared, and grew silent. And Miss Beveridge stared back, and her eyes looked big, big, and oh! So dark and deep. And her lips worked as if she were going to speak, and a red spot came out on each cheek, and she was not Miss Beveridge any longer, but someone whom the onlookers had never seen before.The General’s figure seemed to stiffen, his bent shoulders straightened and broadened out. He stretched out his right hand.“Alice!” he said, and his voice was soft and breathless. One could hardly imagine it could be General Digby’s voice. “Alice! Is that you?”She put her hand in his, and nodded dumbly. Mrs Trevor rattled her teacups, questioned Jack volubly as to his walk—frowning at Betty to second her efforts, and so leave the two old friends undisturbed; but it was beyond girl nature to resist sly peeps, and if one’s ears were made sharp by nature, how could one help hearing odd scraps of conversation?“And you have been living in London for years? You are not—” a glance at the ringless hand—“not married then? I always thought you would marry. ... You will give me your address. I must not lose sight of you again.—A Governesses’ Home. Oh, Alice!...”General Digby had no appetite for muffins and apricot jam that afternoon. His fierce old face worked strangely as he sat with the untasted tea in his hands, his glassy eyes were for once moist and tender. As for Miss Beveridge, the flush died away from her cheeks, leaving her looking even more worn and grey than before, and Betty, looking at her, was conscious of a sudden tender outgoing of the heart, a longing to help and comfort, such as had inspired Nan Vanburgh months before, but after which she herself had striven in vain. This was evidently a meeting of old lovers parted by some untoward fate. Ah, poor soul, and it had come too late! Youth and health, and joy and beauty, had all paid toll to the long years as they passed. How shocked and pained the General must be, to meet his love in such a sadly different guise! It was not possible he could care for her any more. Better not to have met, and to have preserved the old illusion.“I’ll be nice to her! I thought she had been born old, but she has been young after all. I will be nice to her. I’ll try to make up!” said Betty pitifully to herself.

Time passes rapidly to the young and light-hearted, and winter fogs had given place to blue skies and flowering trees before—as Jill expressed it—one could say “Jack Robinson.”

Miles was finishing his course of study, and had so distinguished himself above his fellows that there was little doubt that a good opening would be offered to him ere long. Dr Trevor was very proud of his clever son, but the mother’s face took on a wistful expression as she looked round the table at her assembled family, and realised that the time was close at hand for the stirring up of the nest. She was unusually indulgent during those spring months, as if she could not find it in her heart to deny any possible pleasure.

“We shall not long be together. Miles will be going away, and after then—who knows?” she told herself sadly. “Once children begin to grow up and go out into the world, one can never be sure of meeting again as a complete family circle. Let them be happy while they may!”

So those spring months saw an unusual succession of gaieties in the doctor’s shabby house, in the shape of merry, informal gatherings, which went far to cement newly-made friendships. Agatha and Christabel Rendell returned home, only to be succeeded by the remaining three sisters of the family, who proved quite as interesting in their various ways. Dear good Maud was as sweet and placid as her own fat baby, while Elsie was an intense young person, quite different from anyone else whom Betty and Cynthia had ever encountered. Her hair was parted in the middle and brushed smoothly over her ears; she wore quaintly unfashionable garments, and—thrilling item of interest!—was engaged to be married to a sub-editor of a magazine, who was reported to be even more intense than herself. Elsie disdained the ordinary sign of betrothal; a ring, she explained to the astonished girls, was a badge of servitude to which no self-respecting woman should submit, and she wore in its place a gold locket, bearing strange cabalistic signs, the meaning of which the beholders vainly yearned to discover.

With regard to the future, Elsie and her editor announced their intention of living “the higher life”—a high-sounding phrase which was not a little impressive, until one heard the details thereof, which scarcely appealed to the ordinary imagination. They were going to subsist on a diet of bread and nuts, a regime which did away at one fell swoop with the need of such superfluities as cook and kitchen; they would have no curtains nor draperies, as woollens harbour microbes; no wall-papers, as papers exude poisons; no ornaments, since it was a sin to waste the precious hours in dusting what was of no use. What theyweregoing to have, soon became the question in the minds of the anxious hearers, while “Poor old Elsie!” cried Nan Vanburgh, laughing. “I give her a month before I am taken for a day’s hard shopping at Maple’s! She rides her hobbies so violently that they collapse of sheer exhaustion before she has time to put them into practice!”

In the matter of conversation, Elsie swayed between the high-flown and the natural, sometimes chatting away in ordinary commonplace fashion, at other times confounding her hearers by weird and mysterious utterances.

“Have you ever felt the intense meaning incolour?” she demanded one day, at the end of a silence during which she had been gazing into the heart of the fire. Betty stared aghast, but Cynthia, with finer humour, smiled demurely, and replied—

“Of blues—yes! I feel it horribly at times,” whereupon, being a Rendell, Elsie descended promptly from her high horse, and chuckled with enjoyment.

After Elsie appeared Lilias—a vision of beauty and elegance, but far too grown-up and superior to care for the society of chits in the schoolroom. Her visit was a round of gaiety, for she did not care for quiet home evenings, but she never seemed really satisfied nor pleased, and there was always a “but” or an “if” at the end of her description of the last day’s doings.

Nan looked at her with troubled eyes, and her “Poor Lilias!” had a very different ring from the “Poor old Elsie!” which was after all only a pretence at pity.

Cynthia’s prophecy had been fulfilled, for at the end of January Betty had received from America a copy of theNew York Herald, with the significant letter “R” printed on a corner of the wrapper. Her friend of the fog had evidently possessed himself of her full name and address before leaving town, and now wished her to know that he had safely reached the scene of his future labours. How carefully that wrapper was preserved! How diligently it was searched for further messages, long after it had been definitely concluded that no such message could exist! Betty considered the handwriting the most manly and distinctive that she had ever beheld; and Cynthia, without going so far, was still prepared to read in it all the desired meanings.

“The letters are joined together; that means sequence of thought and mental ability. The line rises at the end; that shows proper ambition. There are power and success written in every stroke!”

“Dear Cynthia!” sighed Betty ardently. “How clever you are! You are always right.”

As for Jack, he was working, absolutely working hard, instead of playing with his tasks. The redoubtable Johnson was constrained to take a second place in the class as a permanency nowadays, and hopes of the scholarship grew apace in the parental heart. Jack did not appreciate home references to his newly-developed industry, and, so strange and unaccountable a thing is schoolboy nature, that when Betty injudiciously remarked on his “goodness,” he “slacked it” of intent for a whole week, just to have the satisfaction of telling her of his descent in the class. Not for all the riches in the world would he have explained the real reason for the change, but those three words, “the Captain’s orders!” rang in his ears like a battle-cry, and the voice within gave him no peace if he did less than his best. Poor General Digby! It seemed hard that he should be denied the exquisite satisfaction of knowing what good he had been the means of working; but, though Jack’s lips were sealed on this point, he showed an appreciation of that gentleman’s company and an affectionate forethought for his comfort which were very comforting to a lonely bachelor. It became a habit to drop in at the flat for a cup of tea and half an hour’s chat on the way home from school, and to accompany the General for a walk on Sunday afternoons. Dr and Mrs Trevor were pleased that the boy should be brought so much in contact with a man for whom their admiration and respect increased more and more with better acquaintance, for the General’s faults were all on the surface, and behind the loud voice and irascible mien were hidden a child-like faith and purity of heart.

And then one day an extraordinary thing happened! Talk of story-books, as Betty said,—talk of three volume novels,—talk of a whole circulating library at once, and never, no never, could you think of anything more exciting or romantic!

Mrs Trevor had invited Miss Beveridge to spend Sunday at Number 1, in response to a plaintive appeal from her eldest daughter.

“She weighs on my mind like a lump of lead, for I know Mrs Vanburgh thinks I’m mean never to have asked her here, but I really can’t contend with her alone, she is so frightfully snubbing and superior. If you would let her come some Sunday when everyone is at home, and you are not busy all the time, we could take turns at entertaining her. I’d love you for ever and ever if you only would!”

“Well—it’s a big bribe!” said Mrs Trevor, laughing. “Yes, by all means ask her to come. I shall be very glad to welcome her any Sunday, if she seems to enjoy coming.”

“Oh, she won’t do that. She hasn’t any enjoying power left. It’s all taught out of her. I don’t believe she could feel anything if she tried,” quoth Miss Betty in her wisdom, and was fated to see the folly of her words.

Mrs Trevor was pouring out tea in the drawing-room at a little table set almost beneath the shadow of Pam’s branching palm. Miss Beveridge was sitting bolt upright in an easy-chair, looking as if she were accustomed to be uncomfortable, and uncomfortable she was determined to be, in spite of all conspiracies to the contrary. She wore a severe black dress, and her iron-grey hair was brushed back from her face with almost painful neatness. Betty looked from one to the other as she handed round cakes and scones, and wondered if her mother was really years and years younger than Miss Beveridge, or if she only looked it because she was pretty and dainty, and happy at heart. Miss Beveridge had beautiful features, but the listless gloom of her expression spoiled what beauty she might still have possessed. Nan’s persistent efforts had to some extent thawed the icy barrier of reserve, but in a strange atmosphere it seemed to have frozen even harder than before, so that Mrs Trevor was devoutly thankful for the arrival of the tea-tray, and wondered no more at Betty’s unwillingness to tackle this silent visitor.

And then the door opened, and Jack’s cheery voice was heard.

“Hallo, mother, here’s a friend come to tea!” he announced, and the next moment the whole atmosphere of the room was changed, as the General’s big form hobbled forward, the big red face smiled its big kind smile, and the big voice boomed out a thunderous greeting.

“Afternoon, madam! Afternoon, Lady Betty! This boy tempted me, and I fell. What’s this I hear about hot muffins and apricot jam? When I was a nipper there was no boy in the length of Ireland that could beat Terence Digby at a muffin struggle. Where’s my friend Jill? Plain Jill! Eh, what? No, my dear—I said to her—that, at least, you never can be. That’s taken out of your power! Where’s Miss Pussy Pam? I can’t see you all in this half light. Very picturesque for young eyes, madam, but when you get old like me you’ll be thankful for electricity. Eh! Who’s this?”

He had caught a glimpse of the figure in the easy-chair, and, wheeling suddenly round, stared full at it. Stared, and grew silent. And Miss Beveridge stared back, and her eyes looked big, big, and oh! So dark and deep. And her lips worked as if she were going to speak, and a red spot came out on each cheek, and she was not Miss Beveridge any longer, but someone whom the onlookers had never seen before.

The General’s figure seemed to stiffen, his bent shoulders straightened and broadened out. He stretched out his right hand.

“Alice!” he said, and his voice was soft and breathless. One could hardly imagine it could be General Digby’s voice. “Alice! Is that you?”

She put her hand in his, and nodded dumbly. Mrs Trevor rattled her teacups, questioned Jack volubly as to his walk—frowning at Betty to second her efforts, and so leave the two old friends undisturbed; but it was beyond girl nature to resist sly peeps, and if one’s ears were made sharp by nature, how could one help hearing odd scraps of conversation?

“And you have been living in London for years? You are not—” a glance at the ringless hand—“not married then? I always thought you would marry. ... You will give me your address. I must not lose sight of you again.—A Governesses’ Home. Oh, Alice!...”

General Digby had no appetite for muffins and apricot jam that afternoon. His fierce old face worked strangely as he sat with the untasted tea in his hands, his glassy eyes were for once moist and tender. As for Miss Beveridge, the flush died away from her cheeks, leaving her looking even more worn and grey than before, and Betty, looking at her, was conscious of a sudden tender outgoing of the heart, a longing to help and comfort, such as had inspired Nan Vanburgh months before, but after which she herself had striven in vain. This was evidently a meeting of old lovers parted by some untoward fate. Ah, poor soul, and it had come too late! Youth and health, and joy and beauty, had all paid toll to the long years as they passed. How shocked and pained the General must be, to meet his love in such a sadly different guise! It was not possible he could care for her any more. Better not to have met, and to have preserved the old illusion.

“I’ll be nice to her! I thought she had been born old, but she has been young after all. I will be nice to her. I’ll try to make up!” said Betty pitifully to herself.

Chapter Twenty.A Tète-à-Tète.Half an hour later, when Betty escorted the General to the door, he paused in the hall to lay his hand on her arm, and inquire in a voice unusually tremulous—“You have often spoken to me about your ‘Govies,’ as you call them. Was—wasSheone of the number?”Betty murmured an assent, guiltily conscious of the criticisms which had accompanied the references. Was he about to take her to task for all the scathing remarks she had made on the subject of his old love? But no—the grip tightened on her arm, and he said gently—“God bless you, my dear, for all your kindness! May it be meted out to you a hundred times over in your hour of need. A Governesses’ Home—Alice Beveridge! And Terence Digby living in the lap of luxury! Well, well! Twenty years, my dear, since we last met—I was over forty, but she was a mere girl. A beautiful girl,—I never saw her equal, and the years have not touched her. I should have known her anywhere. She is marvellously unchanged!”Betty gazed at him dumbly, and there came to her at that moment, for the first time in her life, a realisation of the deep, abiding love which sees beneath the surface, and knows neither change nor time. She had no inclination to laugh at the old man’s blindness; rather she felt towards him reverence and admiration. Happy Miss Beveridge! To one loyal heart at least she would remain always young, always beautiful. Happy Terence Digby, who had kept his ideal untouched!When Betty retraced her steps to the drawing-room a few minutes later, another surprise was in waiting, for behold, Miss Beveridge sobbing, with her hands over her face, while Mrs Trevor patted her tenderly on the shoulder. She looked across the room and shook her head at her young daughter.“Go away, Betty dear, please! Leave us alone,” she said gently, and Betty tottered across the hall and collapsed in a heap on the nearest chair, positively faint with excitement. The first real romance with which she had come in contact,—and behold! The leading characters were General Digby and Miss Beveridge! Wonders would never cease!The next afternoon the General appeared once more, and had a longtête-à-têtewith Mrs Trevor.“I am sorry to be such a trouble to you, madam, but you have no one to blame but yourself, for you have been so patient and forbearing with me during the last six months, that I feel as if there were no limits to your kindness. I went to that Governesses’ Home to-day—for that matter I passed it half a dozen times, but I could not screw up my courage to do any more. The look of the place daunted me, to begin with. To think of Alice Beveridge shut up there! Besides, I’m a soldier; my life has been spent among men; I haven’t the pluck to face a houseful of women. Be a good angel, and let us meet here once more! I was too much overcome yesterday to know what I was saying, but something must be done, and done quickly. I can’t go on living as I am, and think of her working for her living. Of course, you know what it all means. You are a woman, and women are quick enough at guessing these things. I never cared for another woman. I was a middle-aged man when we met, and it went very hard with me when she said Number 1 was not a boy, to forget at the sight of the next pretty face. I have tried to make the best of things, but it’s been lonely work. I went abroad immediately after she refused me, and heard no more about her. She was visiting a common friend when we met. I knew nothing of her family, so we simply passed out of each other’s lives. I always thought of her as happily married years ago; it never dawned upon me that there could have been any misunderstanding, but yesterday when we met there was something in her face, her manner— She seemed almost as much agitated as I was myself. I may be a conceited old idiot, but it seemed to me as if shehadcared after all,—as if there had been some mistake! Women talk to each other more openly than we do. If she told you anything about it, I think you ought to let me know. I have waited a long time!”There was a pathos in the sound of those last few words which went straight to Mrs Trevor’s heart, and she answered as frankly as he had spoken.“Yes, indeed, it has been a hard time for you both. Miss Beveridge quite broke down after you left last night, and I gathered from what she said that at the time of your proposal she was taken by surprise, and felt nervous and uncertain of herself, as girls often do. It was only after you had sailed, and she was at home again, that she realised what a blank your absence made, and knew that she had loved you all the time. She hoped you might write, or see her on your return.”“But she had not the courage to write herself, and acknowledge her mistake? Well, well! Women have their own code of honour, I suppose, but it would have been a gracious act. I remembered her always, but it did not seem to me the straight thing to force myself on a girl half my age, who had already refused me once, and so we have gone on misunderstanding all these years. Then I suppose trouble began? Her people were not rich, but she had a comfortable home, so far as I knew.”“The parents died, and she was obliged to earn her own living. She has been teaching music in London for the last fifteen years.”The General groaned.“I know! I know! Dragging about in all weathers, to earn a few shillings for hearing wretched brats strumming five-finger exercises. Beg pardon, ma’am—I should not have said that to you! You have children of your own.”“But I do not in the least envy their music-mistress!” cried Mrs Trevor, smiling. “It is a hard, hard life, especially when it is a case of going back to an Institution instead of a home. It is young Mrs Vanburgh, Betty’s friend, to whom you are really indebted for this meeting. It was her idea to welcome lonely gentlewomen to her home, and Miss Beveridge happened to be her first visitor.”“God bless her!” said the General reverently. He sat in silence for some minutes, gazing dreamily before him, a puzzled look on the red face. At last—“Now there’s the question of the future to consider!” he said anxiously. “I’m getting old—sixty-four next birthday, precious near the allotted span of life, but she is twenty years younger—she may have a long life before her still. It would break my heart to let her go on working, but she’d be too proud to take money from me, unless— unless— Mrs Trevor, you are a sensible woman! I can trust you to give me a candid answer. Would you consider me a madman if I asked the girl a second time to marry me, old as I am, gouty as I am? Is it too late, or can you imagine it possible that she might still care to take me in hand?”He looked across the room as he spoke with a pathetic eagerness in his glance, and Mrs Trevor’s answering smile was full of tenderness.“Indeed I can! I should not think you a madman at all, General, for I am old enough to know that the heart does not age with the body, and that the happiness which comes late in life is sometimes the sweetest of all. You are a hale man still, in spite of your gout, and with a wife to care for you, you might renew your youth. I hope and believe that all will go well this time, but let me advise you not to be in too great a hurry. Twenty years is a long time, and you and Miss Beveridge have led such very different lives that you may find that there is little sympathy left between you. It is only a ‘may,’ but I do think you would do well to see more of each other before speaking of anything so serious as marriage. You shall have plenty of opportunity of seeing each other, I promise you that! I will invite Miss Beveridge to spend as much of her time with us as is possible, and you shall be left alone to renew your acquaintance, and learn to know each other afresh. That will be the wisest plan, will it not?”“Um—um!” grunted the General vaguely. He frowned and looked crestfallen, for he retained enough of his youthful impetuosity to make anything like delay distinctly a trial. “Perhaps you are right, though I cannot believe that any number of years could change my feelings. Alice is—Alice! The one woman in the world I ever loved. That’s the beginning and the end of the matter, but perhaps for her sake I should not be hasty. Mustn’t frighten her again, poor girl! That’s arranged, then, ma’am—you let us meet in your house, and if we live, we’ll try to pay you back for your goodness, and I’ll wait—two or three weeks. You wouldn’t wish me to wait longer than two or three weeks?” He put up his hand and raked his grey locks into a fierce, upstanding crest, while a curious embarrassment flashed across his face. “A married man? Terence Digby married! There’s only one thing I’m afraid of—Johnson! What will Johnson say to a woman in possession?”Mrs Trevor laughed, but could give no reply, and presently the General took himself off, and left her to write an invitation for the next week-end to his old love, which was accepted in a grateful little note by return of post.For three nights running did the General dine at Dr Trevor’s table, while Miss Beveridge sat beside him, with pathetic little bows of lace pinned in the front of her shabby black silk, which somehow looked shabbier than ever for the attempt at decoration. At the beginning of the meal she was just Miss Beveridge, stiff, silent, colourless; but as time passed by and she talked to the General, and the General talked to her, attending to her little wants as if they were of all things in the world the most important, fussing about a draught that might possibly distress her, and violently kicking his opposite neighbour in his endeavours to provide her with a footstool, gradually, gradually the Miss Beveridge of the music-lessons and the Governesses’ Home disappeared from sight, and there appeared in her place an absolutely different woman, with a sweet smiling face, out of which the lines seemed to have been miraculously smoothed away, while a delicate colour in her cheeks gave to the once grey face something of the fragile beauty of an old pastel.For fifteen years she had fought a hand-to-hand battle with want; a lonely battle, with no one to care or to comfort, and now it was meat, and drink, and health, and sunshine, to find herself of a sudden the most precious object on earth to one faithful heart! Although the General had given a promise not to be too precipitate in his wooing, it was easy to prophesy how things would end; but before the “two or three weeks” had come to an end, another event happened of such supreme importance to the Trevor household as to put in the background every other subject, interesting and romantic though it might be.

Half an hour later, when Betty escorted the General to the door, he paused in the hall to lay his hand on her arm, and inquire in a voice unusually tremulous—

“You have often spoken to me about your ‘Govies,’ as you call them. Was—wasSheone of the number?”

Betty murmured an assent, guiltily conscious of the criticisms which had accompanied the references. Was he about to take her to task for all the scathing remarks she had made on the subject of his old love? But no—the grip tightened on her arm, and he said gently—

“God bless you, my dear, for all your kindness! May it be meted out to you a hundred times over in your hour of need. A Governesses’ Home—Alice Beveridge! And Terence Digby living in the lap of luxury! Well, well! Twenty years, my dear, since we last met—I was over forty, but she was a mere girl. A beautiful girl,—I never saw her equal, and the years have not touched her. I should have known her anywhere. She is marvellously unchanged!”

Betty gazed at him dumbly, and there came to her at that moment, for the first time in her life, a realisation of the deep, abiding love which sees beneath the surface, and knows neither change nor time. She had no inclination to laugh at the old man’s blindness; rather she felt towards him reverence and admiration. Happy Miss Beveridge! To one loyal heart at least she would remain always young, always beautiful. Happy Terence Digby, who had kept his ideal untouched!

When Betty retraced her steps to the drawing-room a few minutes later, another surprise was in waiting, for behold, Miss Beveridge sobbing, with her hands over her face, while Mrs Trevor patted her tenderly on the shoulder. She looked across the room and shook her head at her young daughter.

“Go away, Betty dear, please! Leave us alone,” she said gently, and Betty tottered across the hall and collapsed in a heap on the nearest chair, positively faint with excitement. The first real romance with which she had come in contact,—and behold! The leading characters were General Digby and Miss Beveridge! Wonders would never cease!

The next afternoon the General appeared once more, and had a longtête-à-têtewith Mrs Trevor.

“I am sorry to be such a trouble to you, madam, but you have no one to blame but yourself, for you have been so patient and forbearing with me during the last six months, that I feel as if there were no limits to your kindness. I went to that Governesses’ Home to-day—for that matter I passed it half a dozen times, but I could not screw up my courage to do any more. The look of the place daunted me, to begin with. To think of Alice Beveridge shut up there! Besides, I’m a soldier; my life has been spent among men; I haven’t the pluck to face a houseful of women. Be a good angel, and let us meet here once more! I was too much overcome yesterday to know what I was saying, but something must be done, and done quickly. I can’t go on living as I am, and think of her working for her living. Of course, you know what it all means. You are a woman, and women are quick enough at guessing these things. I never cared for another woman. I was a middle-aged man when we met, and it went very hard with me when she said Number 1 was not a boy, to forget at the sight of the next pretty face. I have tried to make the best of things, but it’s been lonely work. I went abroad immediately after she refused me, and heard no more about her. She was visiting a common friend when we met. I knew nothing of her family, so we simply passed out of each other’s lives. I always thought of her as happily married years ago; it never dawned upon me that there could have been any misunderstanding, but yesterday when we met there was something in her face, her manner— She seemed almost as much agitated as I was myself. I may be a conceited old idiot, but it seemed to me as if shehadcared after all,—as if there had been some mistake! Women talk to each other more openly than we do. If she told you anything about it, I think you ought to let me know. I have waited a long time!”

There was a pathos in the sound of those last few words which went straight to Mrs Trevor’s heart, and she answered as frankly as he had spoken.

“Yes, indeed, it has been a hard time for you both. Miss Beveridge quite broke down after you left last night, and I gathered from what she said that at the time of your proposal she was taken by surprise, and felt nervous and uncertain of herself, as girls often do. It was only after you had sailed, and she was at home again, that she realised what a blank your absence made, and knew that she had loved you all the time. She hoped you might write, or see her on your return.”

“But she had not the courage to write herself, and acknowledge her mistake? Well, well! Women have their own code of honour, I suppose, but it would have been a gracious act. I remembered her always, but it did not seem to me the straight thing to force myself on a girl half my age, who had already refused me once, and so we have gone on misunderstanding all these years. Then I suppose trouble began? Her people were not rich, but she had a comfortable home, so far as I knew.”

“The parents died, and she was obliged to earn her own living. She has been teaching music in London for the last fifteen years.”

The General groaned.

“I know! I know! Dragging about in all weathers, to earn a few shillings for hearing wretched brats strumming five-finger exercises. Beg pardon, ma’am—I should not have said that to you! You have children of your own.”

“But I do not in the least envy their music-mistress!” cried Mrs Trevor, smiling. “It is a hard, hard life, especially when it is a case of going back to an Institution instead of a home. It is young Mrs Vanburgh, Betty’s friend, to whom you are really indebted for this meeting. It was her idea to welcome lonely gentlewomen to her home, and Miss Beveridge happened to be her first visitor.”

“God bless her!” said the General reverently. He sat in silence for some minutes, gazing dreamily before him, a puzzled look on the red face. At last—“Now there’s the question of the future to consider!” he said anxiously. “I’m getting old—sixty-four next birthday, precious near the allotted span of life, but she is twenty years younger—she may have a long life before her still. It would break my heart to let her go on working, but she’d be too proud to take money from me, unless— unless— Mrs Trevor, you are a sensible woman! I can trust you to give me a candid answer. Would you consider me a madman if I asked the girl a second time to marry me, old as I am, gouty as I am? Is it too late, or can you imagine it possible that she might still care to take me in hand?”

He looked across the room as he spoke with a pathetic eagerness in his glance, and Mrs Trevor’s answering smile was full of tenderness.

“Indeed I can! I should not think you a madman at all, General, for I am old enough to know that the heart does not age with the body, and that the happiness which comes late in life is sometimes the sweetest of all. You are a hale man still, in spite of your gout, and with a wife to care for you, you might renew your youth. I hope and believe that all will go well this time, but let me advise you not to be in too great a hurry. Twenty years is a long time, and you and Miss Beveridge have led such very different lives that you may find that there is little sympathy left between you. It is only a ‘may,’ but I do think you would do well to see more of each other before speaking of anything so serious as marriage. You shall have plenty of opportunity of seeing each other, I promise you that! I will invite Miss Beveridge to spend as much of her time with us as is possible, and you shall be left alone to renew your acquaintance, and learn to know each other afresh. That will be the wisest plan, will it not?”

“Um—um!” grunted the General vaguely. He frowned and looked crestfallen, for he retained enough of his youthful impetuosity to make anything like delay distinctly a trial. “Perhaps you are right, though I cannot believe that any number of years could change my feelings. Alice is—Alice! The one woman in the world I ever loved. That’s the beginning and the end of the matter, but perhaps for her sake I should not be hasty. Mustn’t frighten her again, poor girl! That’s arranged, then, ma’am—you let us meet in your house, and if we live, we’ll try to pay you back for your goodness, and I’ll wait—two or three weeks. You wouldn’t wish me to wait longer than two or three weeks?” He put up his hand and raked his grey locks into a fierce, upstanding crest, while a curious embarrassment flashed across his face. “A married man? Terence Digby married! There’s only one thing I’m afraid of—Johnson! What will Johnson say to a woman in possession?”

Mrs Trevor laughed, but could give no reply, and presently the General took himself off, and left her to write an invitation for the next week-end to his old love, which was accepted in a grateful little note by return of post.

For three nights running did the General dine at Dr Trevor’s table, while Miss Beveridge sat beside him, with pathetic little bows of lace pinned in the front of her shabby black silk, which somehow looked shabbier than ever for the attempt at decoration. At the beginning of the meal she was just Miss Beveridge, stiff, silent, colourless; but as time passed by and she talked to the General, and the General talked to her, attending to her little wants as if they were of all things in the world the most important, fussing about a draught that might possibly distress her, and violently kicking his opposite neighbour in his endeavours to provide her with a footstool, gradually, gradually the Miss Beveridge of the music-lessons and the Governesses’ Home disappeared from sight, and there appeared in her place an absolutely different woman, with a sweet smiling face, out of which the lines seemed to have been miraculously smoothed away, while a delicate colour in her cheeks gave to the once grey face something of the fragile beauty of an old pastel.

For fifteen years she had fought a hand-to-hand battle with want; a lonely battle, with no one to care or to comfort, and now it was meat, and drink, and health, and sunshine, to find herself of a sudden the most precious object on earth to one faithful heart! Although the General had given a promise not to be too precipitate in his wooing, it was easy to prophesy how things would end; but before the “two or three weeks” had come to an end, another event happened of such supreme importance to the Trevor household as to put in the background every other subject, interesting and romantic though it might be.

Chapter Twenty One.Trying Days.One May afternoon Miles came home with the news that, through the influence of an engineering friend, he had been offered a post in connection with a new railway which the ever-increasing mining industry in Mexico had rendered necessary. The salary proposed was a handsome one for so young a man. He owed the offer entirely to Mr Owen’s good offices, and would be required to sail as soon as his outfit could be got together.Dr Trevor rejoiced in his son’s success, and warmly congratulated him on having had so short a time to wait for an opening. He took a man’s view of life, and felt that it was time that Miles faced the world on his own account; but the youth faded out of the mother’s face as she sat in her corner and listened to the conversation.“Luck!” They called it luck that Miles, her darling, should be sent to the other side of the world, to a wild, dare-devil country, the very name of which conjured up a dozen thrilling tales of adventure. “A five years’ appointment!” The words rang like a knell in her ears!Of course, she had known all along that a separation must come, but she had hoped against hope that an opening might be found somewhere within the borders of the United Kingdom, when she would still be able to feel within reach in case of need. Now it was indeed good-bye, since it must at best be a matter of years before she could hope for another meeting. Oh, this stirring up of the nest, how it tears the mother’s heart!Mrs Trevor looked across the room to where Miles stood, almost as tall and broad as the doctor himself, and her thoughts flew back to the time when he was a little curly-headed boy who vowed he would never leave his mother. “I won’t never get married,” he had announced one day. “You shall be my wife. You are daddy’s wife, and I don’t see why you shouldn’t be wife to both your darlin’s!” Another day—“I’ll stay with you all my life, and when you’re a nold, nold woman I’ll wheel you about in a Barf chair.” Later on had come the time when the first dawning of future responsibility began to weigh on the childish mind—“I can’t sink how I can ever make pennies like daddy does! I can’t write proper letters like grown-ups do, only the printed ones!” he had sighed, and she had bidden him be a good boy and do his best for the day, leaving the future in God’s hand. “God will give you your work!” she had told him; and how she and his father had rejoiced together when his absorption in a box of tools, and his ingenuity therewith, had pointed out a congenial career. She had prayed and trusted for guidance in bringing up this dear son, and that being so, she must now believe that the offered post was the right thing, and that the distant land was just the very spot of all others where God wished him to be.When Miles turned to his mother, she had a smile in readiness for him, and if it were rather tremulous, it was none the less sweet. She would not allow herself to break down, but threw herself heart and soul into a study of the Stores’ list, which could not be delayed another day, seeing that it was suggested that Miles should sail in a week’s time. A week! Only one week! Was it really possible that the following day was the last Sunday which would see a united family circle round the table?Every female member of the household shed tears on their pillows that evening, and Betty was convinced that she had lain awake all night long, because she had actually heard the clock strike one. Mrs Trevor’s vigil was real, not imaginary, and she was thankful when it was time to get up, and get ready for that quiet early service at church which would be her best preparation for the week. Her hard-worked husband was sleeping soundly, and she would not waken him, but a feeling of unusual sadness and loneliness oppressed her as she made her way through the silent house. She had depended so much on her big strong boy, had grown into the habit of consulting him on many matters, in which, by helping her, he could save his father trouble. That was all over now. She must learn to do without Miles’ aid! And then suddenly from behind the dining-room door a big figure stepped forward to meet her, and Miles’ voice said, in half-shamefaced tones—“I thought—I’d come too! I thought we’d go together!”“Oh, Miles!” cried his mother, and could say no more, but her heart leapt with thankfulness for all that that action meant—for this sign that her boy was anxious to dedicate himself afresh to Christ’s service at the beginning of his new life. She passed her hand through his arm, and they went out of the house together, unconscious of the presence of a third figure which had looked down at them from an upper landing.Betty had awakened to fresh tears, and, hearing her mother stirring, had hurried into her clothes, so as to accompany her to church; but in the very act of slipping downstairs Miles’ voice had arrested her, and she had drawn back into the shadow. The Betty of a year ago would have continued her course unabashed; the Betty of to-day divined with a new humility that her presence would mar the sacredness of that last Communion of mother and son, and turned back quietly to her own room.The days flew. The first mornings were spent at the Stores, choosing, ordering, and fitting; the afternoons in marking and packing the different possessions as they arrived. Then there were farewell visits to be paid, and to receive, and a score of letters and presents to acknowledge. Relations turned up trumps, and sent contributions towards the outfit in money and in kind; the General presented a handsome double-barrelled fowling-piece, which thrilled Miles with delight and his mother with horror. Miss Beveridge gave a “housewife” stocked with all sorts of mending materials—fancy Miles darning his own socks!—and Cynthia Alliot sent across a case containing one of the most perfect quarter-plate cameras that ever was seen.“When this you see,Send snaps to me!”was inscribed on the inner wrapping, which Miles quietly folded and put away in his pocket. He would not need the camera or any external aid to help him to remember his mentor of the golden hair and sweet grey eyes.Cynthia came over very often those last few days, and diffused a little fun into the gathering gloom by constituting herself Miles’ sewing-mistress, and sitting over him in sternest fashion while he fumbled clumsily at his task. Rumour had it that she even rapped his knuckles with the scissors when he took up half a dozen threads at once in his second darn; and even Mrs Trevor was obliged to laugh at her imitation of Miles’ grimaces when trying to thread a needle. In the end Pam was made happy by being commissioned to thread dozens of needles with long black and white threads, and then stick them in a special needle-book, with their tails twisted neatly round and round.As for Cynthia, she revelled in her position as instructress.“I’ve suffered so much myself, that it is simply lovely to turn the tables on someone else,” she announced. “I am going to see this business through in a proper and well-regulated fashion. Now that the technical course is finished, you are going to be put through avivâ voceexamination. Sit down in front of the work-basket, and answer without any shuffling or trying to escape. Now then! Distinguish between a darning-needle and a bodkin.” She nipped up Mrs Trevor’s spectacles from a side-table, as she spoke, perched them on the end of her nose, and stared over them with an assumption of great severity. Miles grinned complacently.“Easy enough. One pricks and the other doesn’t.”“A very superficial reply! To what separate and distinctive duties would you apply the two?”“Wouldn’t apply them at all if I had my way,” began the pupil daringly, but a flash of his mistress’s eye recalled him promptly to order, and he added hastily, “One you use to darn things up with, and the other to drag strings through tunnel sort of businesses, and bring them out at the other side.”“No engineering terms, please! Your matter is correct, but the manner leaves much to be desired. Question number two is—Which thread would you use to affix (a) a shirt, (b) a boot, (c) a waistcoat button?”“The first that came handy,” replied Miles recklessly, whereupon Pam squealed with dismay, and was for labelling all her needles forthwith, but Cynthia rapped sternly on the table, and would have each bobbin brought out in turn, and so carefully examined that its qualities could not easily be forgotten. Then, and only then, would she consent to pass on to the third question, which concerned itself with the vexed question of darning.“Three, State clearly, and in sequence, the steps necessary for repairing a hole in the sole of your sock.”Miles shrugged his shoulders with a despairing gesture.“Oh, if you mean how a woman does it,—drag the old thing tightly over your left arm, so that you have only one hand to work with, fill your needle with a silly stuff that breaks if you look at it, and begin see-sawing away half a mile from the scene of the accident. Stick at it until you have pulled off most of the skin on your fingers, and then turn it round and start the whole thing over again, the other way round. Then walk about and get a blister on your heel!”The audience sputtered with laughter at this eloquent description, but Cynthia gazed down her nose with an expression of contemptuous disgust.“And how many blisters would you have if you did not mend it, pray? May I suggest that you make the experiment and see? No marks at all for that answer! Question number four is, Work a buttonhole on the accompanying strip of linen.”But here Miles struck. No power on earth, he declared, would induce him to attempt to “festoon” a hole in the accepted fashion.“When I want one I’ll make it with the nearest implement that comes handy. There are always my teeth as a last resource. It’s silly nonsense cutting out a hole and immediately proceeding to sew it up! Time enough for that when it begins to split—”“Plucked! Hopelessly plucked!” cried Cynthia, rolling her eyes in dismay. Then the spectacles dropped off her nose, and she joined in the general laughter, and forgot her rôle of mentor for the rest of the evening.But it was not only in the matter of amusement that Cynthia made herself invaluable during those last trying days; she seemed ever on the watch for opportunities of service. If anything was overlooked or late in delivery, she was ready to drive to the shop, and bring it home. She invited Pam to lunch and tea, thereby setting her elders free and keeping the child happy and occupied, and she steadily refused to accompany Miles and Betty on any of their expeditions, thereby earning her friend’s undying gratitude, though perhaps Miles himself was less appreciative of her self-denial. Her turn for a quiet word came only on the last day of all, when Miles accompanied her for the few yards which intervened between the two houses, and stood on the doorstep to wish her farewell.His face was white, and his words came out with even more than the usual difficulty.“It’s been—a jolly good thing for me—knowing you for these last months. You’ve been—a help! If I ever turn out anything of a man—it will be a good deal—your doing!”Cynthia stared at him with her beautiful grave eyes.“Mine?” she cried in amazement. “Oh, why? What have I done?”“You’ve been yourself!” said Miles gruffly. “Good-bye!”He held out his big hand, and Cynthia’s little fingers closed tightly round it.“Good-bye, Miles! I won’t forget,” she said simply. And with those words ringing in his ears Miles Trevor sailed away to begin his new life.

One May afternoon Miles came home with the news that, through the influence of an engineering friend, he had been offered a post in connection with a new railway which the ever-increasing mining industry in Mexico had rendered necessary. The salary proposed was a handsome one for so young a man. He owed the offer entirely to Mr Owen’s good offices, and would be required to sail as soon as his outfit could be got together.

Dr Trevor rejoiced in his son’s success, and warmly congratulated him on having had so short a time to wait for an opening. He took a man’s view of life, and felt that it was time that Miles faced the world on his own account; but the youth faded out of the mother’s face as she sat in her corner and listened to the conversation.

“Luck!” They called it luck that Miles, her darling, should be sent to the other side of the world, to a wild, dare-devil country, the very name of which conjured up a dozen thrilling tales of adventure. “A five years’ appointment!” The words rang like a knell in her ears!

Of course, she had known all along that a separation must come, but she had hoped against hope that an opening might be found somewhere within the borders of the United Kingdom, when she would still be able to feel within reach in case of need. Now it was indeed good-bye, since it must at best be a matter of years before she could hope for another meeting. Oh, this stirring up of the nest, how it tears the mother’s heart!

Mrs Trevor looked across the room to where Miles stood, almost as tall and broad as the doctor himself, and her thoughts flew back to the time when he was a little curly-headed boy who vowed he would never leave his mother. “I won’t never get married,” he had announced one day. “You shall be my wife. You are daddy’s wife, and I don’t see why you shouldn’t be wife to both your darlin’s!” Another day—“I’ll stay with you all my life, and when you’re a nold, nold woman I’ll wheel you about in a Barf chair.” Later on had come the time when the first dawning of future responsibility began to weigh on the childish mind—“I can’t sink how I can ever make pennies like daddy does! I can’t write proper letters like grown-ups do, only the printed ones!” he had sighed, and she had bidden him be a good boy and do his best for the day, leaving the future in God’s hand. “God will give you your work!” she had told him; and how she and his father had rejoiced together when his absorption in a box of tools, and his ingenuity therewith, had pointed out a congenial career. She had prayed and trusted for guidance in bringing up this dear son, and that being so, she must now believe that the offered post was the right thing, and that the distant land was just the very spot of all others where God wished him to be.

When Miles turned to his mother, she had a smile in readiness for him, and if it were rather tremulous, it was none the less sweet. She would not allow herself to break down, but threw herself heart and soul into a study of the Stores’ list, which could not be delayed another day, seeing that it was suggested that Miles should sail in a week’s time. A week! Only one week! Was it really possible that the following day was the last Sunday which would see a united family circle round the table?

Every female member of the household shed tears on their pillows that evening, and Betty was convinced that she had lain awake all night long, because she had actually heard the clock strike one. Mrs Trevor’s vigil was real, not imaginary, and she was thankful when it was time to get up, and get ready for that quiet early service at church which would be her best preparation for the week. Her hard-worked husband was sleeping soundly, and she would not waken him, but a feeling of unusual sadness and loneliness oppressed her as she made her way through the silent house. She had depended so much on her big strong boy, had grown into the habit of consulting him on many matters, in which, by helping her, he could save his father trouble. That was all over now. She must learn to do without Miles’ aid! And then suddenly from behind the dining-room door a big figure stepped forward to meet her, and Miles’ voice said, in half-shamefaced tones—

“I thought—I’d come too! I thought we’d go together!”

“Oh, Miles!” cried his mother, and could say no more, but her heart leapt with thankfulness for all that that action meant—for this sign that her boy was anxious to dedicate himself afresh to Christ’s service at the beginning of his new life. She passed her hand through his arm, and they went out of the house together, unconscious of the presence of a third figure which had looked down at them from an upper landing.

Betty had awakened to fresh tears, and, hearing her mother stirring, had hurried into her clothes, so as to accompany her to church; but in the very act of slipping downstairs Miles’ voice had arrested her, and she had drawn back into the shadow. The Betty of a year ago would have continued her course unabashed; the Betty of to-day divined with a new humility that her presence would mar the sacredness of that last Communion of mother and son, and turned back quietly to her own room.

The days flew. The first mornings were spent at the Stores, choosing, ordering, and fitting; the afternoons in marking and packing the different possessions as they arrived. Then there were farewell visits to be paid, and to receive, and a score of letters and presents to acknowledge. Relations turned up trumps, and sent contributions towards the outfit in money and in kind; the General presented a handsome double-barrelled fowling-piece, which thrilled Miles with delight and his mother with horror. Miss Beveridge gave a “housewife” stocked with all sorts of mending materials—fancy Miles darning his own socks!—and Cynthia Alliot sent across a case containing one of the most perfect quarter-plate cameras that ever was seen.

“When this you see,Send snaps to me!”

“When this you see,Send snaps to me!”

was inscribed on the inner wrapping, which Miles quietly folded and put away in his pocket. He would not need the camera or any external aid to help him to remember his mentor of the golden hair and sweet grey eyes.

Cynthia came over very often those last few days, and diffused a little fun into the gathering gloom by constituting herself Miles’ sewing-mistress, and sitting over him in sternest fashion while he fumbled clumsily at his task. Rumour had it that she even rapped his knuckles with the scissors when he took up half a dozen threads at once in his second darn; and even Mrs Trevor was obliged to laugh at her imitation of Miles’ grimaces when trying to thread a needle. In the end Pam was made happy by being commissioned to thread dozens of needles with long black and white threads, and then stick them in a special needle-book, with their tails twisted neatly round and round.

As for Cynthia, she revelled in her position as instructress.

“I’ve suffered so much myself, that it is simply lovely to turn the tables on someone else,” she announced. “I am going to see this business through in a proper and well-regulated fashion. Now that the technical course is finished, you are going to be put through avivâ voceexamination. Sit down in front of the work-basket, and answer without any shuffling or trying to escape. Now then! Distinguish between a darning-needle and a bodkin.” She nipped up Mrs Trevor’s spectacles from a side-table, as she spoke, perched them on the end of her nose, and stared over them with an assumption of great severity. Miles grinned complacently.

“Easy enough. One pricks and the other doesn’t.”

“A very superficial reply! To what separate and distinctive duties would you apply the two?”

“Wouldn’t apply them at all if I had my way,” began the pupil daringly, but a flash of his mistress’s eye recalled him promptly to order, and he added hastily, “One you use to darn things up with, and the other to drag strings through tunnel sort of businesses, and bring them out at the other side.”

“No engineering terms, please! Your matter is correct, but the manner leaves much to be desired. Question number two is—Which thread would you use to affix (a) a shirt, (b) a boot, (c) a waistcoat button?”

“The first that came handy,” replied Miles recklessly, whereupon Pam squealed with dismay, and was for labelling all her needles forthwith, but Cynthia rapped sternly on the table, and would have each bobbin brought out in turn, and so carefully examined that its qualities could not easily be forgotten. Then, and only then, would she consent to pass on to the third question, which concerned itself with the vexed question of darning.

“Three, State clearly, and in sequence, the steps necessary for repairing a hole in the sole of your sock.”

Miles shrugged his shoulders with a despairing gesture.

“Oh, if you mean how a woman does it,—drag the old thing tightly over your left arm, so that you have only one hand to work with, fill your needle with a silly stuff that breaks if you look at it, and begin see-sawing away half a mile from the scene of the accident. Stick at it until you have pulled off most of the skin on your fingers, and then turn it round and start the whole thing over again, the other way round. Then walk about and get a blister on your heel!”

The audience sputtered with laughter at this eloquent description, but Cynthia gazed down her nose with an expression of contemptuous disgust.

“And how many blisters would you have if you did not mend it, pray? May I suggest that you make the experiment and see? No marks at all for that answer! Question number four is, Work a buttonhole on the accompanying strip of linen.”

But here Miles struck. No power on earth, he declared, would induce him to attempt to “festoon” a hole in the accepted fashion.

“When I want one I’ll make it with the nearest implement that comes handy. There are always my teeth as a last resource. It’s silly nonsense cutting out a hole and immediately proceeding to sew it up! Time enough for that when it begins to split—”

“Plucked! Hopelessly plucked!” cried Cynthia, rolling her eyes in dismay. Then the spectacles dropped off her nose, and she joined in the general laughter, and forgot her rôle of mentor for the rest of the evening.

But it was not only in the matter of amusement that Cynthia made herself invaluable during those last trying days; she seemed ever on the watch for opportunities of service. If anything was overlooked or late in delivery, she was ready to drive to the shop, and bring it home. She invited Pam to lunch and tea, thereby setting her elders free and keeping the child happy and occupied, and she steadily refused to accompany Miles and Betty on any of their expeditions, thereby earning her friend’s undying gratitude, though perhaps Miles himself was less appreciative of her self-denial. Her turn for a quiet word came only on the last day of all, when Miles accompanied her for the few yards which intervened between the two houses, and stood on the doorstep to wish her farewell.

His face was white, and his words came out with even more than the usual difficulty.

“It’s been—a jolly good thing for me—knowing you for these last months. You’ve been—a help! If I ever turn out anything of a man—it will be a good deal—your doing!”

Cynthia stared at him with her beautiful grave eyes.

“Mine?” she cried in amazement. “Oh, why? What have I done?”

“You’ve been yourself!” said Miles gruffly. “Good-bye!”

He held out his big hand, and Cynthia’s little fingers closed tightly round it.

“Good-bye, Miles! I won’t forget,” she said simply. And with those words ringing in his ears Miles Trevor sailed away to begin his new life.

Back to IndexNext