Part 2, Chapter I.The New Order of Things.Of course, my step-mother made a great change in the house. I cannot exactly describe how things were gradually altered, and how the desolate old mansion became a habitable and cheerful home. But it certainly was completely metamorphosed. The old régime with regard to fires was the first change. Mrs Grant said that such a big, empty, rambling place must be kept thoroughly warmed in winter. Accordingly, in the dining-room a fire always blazed, and was kept well piled up with solid lumps of shining black coal of the very best Silkstone, which Hannah would never dream of affording in the old days. Then into my bedroom and into the boys’ bedroom were introduced wonderful new gas-stoves, which gave not the slightest smell, but which could be lit at a moment’s notice, and would make the bedrooms thoroughly warm and comfortable.But I no longer slept in my attic. I had struggled hard against Mrs Grant’s wish to move me into another part of the house, but in the end I yielded, and now I had a pretty room, brightly papered and nicely furnished, on the floor just above the drawing-room.“Why,” said my step-mother, “we do not need to use those desolate attics at all. This room will do for Alex, this for Charley, and this for Dumps; and this, when we have visitors, for the spare room. Hannah and the other servants can sleep upstairs. For you, children, this ought to be your floor, and it shall be,” continued the little lady, speaking with that spirit which always characterised her.As to the boys, they were delighted with their new rooms. They were furnished exceedingly simply; indeed, they looked quite bare enough to make most people consider them somewhat hermit-like sort of sleeping apartments; but then those people had never visited the attics where Alex and Charley used to sleep.“These rooms are quite good enough for boys; you mustn’t pamper boys, whatever happens,” said Mrs Grant. “Girls are different; girls need softer treatment.”But her most delightful innovation was the introduction into the house of two excellent servants to help Hannah. There had been, I have not the slightest doubt of it, a very terrible scene in the kitchen when Mrs Grant interviewed Hannah. Hannah was not visible at all for the rest of the day, and my step-mother and I went out for our meals.On the next day Hannah came upstairs and said she wished to speak to Mrs Grant. They had a long conference, and when Hannah came out of her presence, the eyes of that good woman were very red, but she succumbed without a word.A new range was now put into the kitchen, a boy came every morning to help Hannah with the heaviest part of her work, an excellent housemaid attended to the bedrooms, and a first-rate parlour-maid opened the hall door and served up our meals. In short, we were a new family.The drawing-room, however, had not yet been touched. I wondered what Mrs Grant would make of the drawing-room. I did not like to question her. I was quite good—outwardly good, I mean—all this time to my step-mother, but we did not come a bit nearer to each other. The little trunk with the letters R.G. on the cover seemed to stand between my heart and her heart. Nevertheless, we chatted together all day long, and planned how we would meet this contingency and the other, and what surprises we would give to father, and how we could manage things.One day about six weeks after father’s second marriage Mrs Grant came to me. She had a pleased and delighted expression on her face.“Rachel, my dear child,” she said, “how old are you?”“I shall be sixteen on my birthday, and my birthday comes in May. It is a long way off yet.”Then I gave a sigh, and felt a sudden contraction of my heart.“Well, anyhow, dear, this is Quarter Day, the 21st of December. I have been speaking to your father, and he means to give you a dress allowance.”“A what?” I said.“A dress allowance, dear. You must, you know, have clothes suitable to your father’s daughter. Here is the first quarter’s money.”She put two crisp Bank of England notes, worth five pounds each, into my hand. I started; I coloured crimson; I looked at the money.“But I—I don’t know what to do with this,” I said.“Oh yes, you will know very well what to do with it. Now the question is, would you like me to help you to choose some pretty dresses, or would you rather manage the whole affair yourself?”Again there was that pathetic expression in her eyes which I had seen for a minute or two before. She was looking at me very earnestly. I was about to say, “Oh, will you help me to choose, for I don’t know anything about dress?” when I remembered the pretty dark-blue dress with the grey fur. That dress, which I always felt had been given me under false pretences, seemed to rise up now to slay the feeling of kindness which, in spite of everything, I could not help entertaining for my step-mother in my heart. “If you don’t greatly mind,” I said, “perhaps this first time I had better choose my own dresses.”“As you like, dear, of course; but you mustn’t go alone. You might ask one of your schoolfellows to go with you. And, Dumps dear, ask as many of your friends in to tea as you like on Wednesday afternoons and Saturday afternoons; those are your half-holidays, and you can go to visit those whom I like you to know also on those days. I want you to have a very pleasant life, my dear child.”“Thank you,” I answered.“You understand, Rachel, that my wish is to make you happy.”“I am sure of it,” I said.“And you are happy?”“I am comfortable,” I said.I folded the money up.“I will thank father when I see him. It is exceedingly kind of him,” I said.“I wouldn’t worry him,” said Mrs Grant. She looked at me a little anxiously.“But why not?”“He has forgotten all about it by now. It is unfair to disturb a man of his nature with these trivial details.”I slipped the notes into my pocket. “Have you no purse, dear?”“Upstairs,” I said.“Well, be careful of the money. Don’t lose it.”“I’ll be very careful; thank you so much.”I went out into the hall. Charley was there.“I say, Dumps!”“What is it, Charley?”“Von Marlo and I have been talking about the new mamma.”“You are not to call her that.”“But I say she is, you know; and Von and I, we say—”“I don’t want to hear.”“But you shall—you must! We say she isawfullyjolly—just A1, A1—and that—”But I rushed past. There was a choking lump in my throat; in another minute I should have burst into tears.I managed to reach my own pretty new bedroom without disgracing myself. I shut and locked the door and stood in the centre of the room. The crisp five-pound notes rustled in my pocket, but I, Dumps—in other words, Rachel Grant—stamped my foot. I was in an absolute passion. I did not know why I felt so thoroughly angry.What unreasonable creatures girls are! Three months ago I would have given anything for my present surroundings and my present prospects: I, who hardly ever had a penny of my own; I, who was only half-fed and only half-clothed, who was desolate, without a real friend in the world; for my father—my dear old father—lived for ever and ever in Wonderland, and no one could bring him bock from that strange country, where he dwelt with other geniuses of his kind, and I and the boys had to suffer; and Hannah, notwithstanding her protestations, neglected us so shamefully that the wonder was we were not ill. All of a sudden, however, “Open sesame!” and behold a new order of things! The old order had given way to the new. We were clothed; we were fed; we were considered; we were treated with kindness; our wants were attended to, our little trials sympathised with. In short, love in the true sense of the word had come into the house; the genius of Wonderment had taken to himself the genius of Order and Motherly Kindness, and this latter genius had made the whole house home-like and happy.But I, at least, was not prepared to take into my heart this good fairy whom the good queen of all the fairies had sent to us. I stood in my pretty room which my step-mother had arranged for me, and felt as angry and as bitter as girl could feel.By-and-by there came a cheerful sound on the stairs. My step-mother knocked at the door.“Augusta Moore is downstairs and would like to see you, Dumps,” she said. “It is a beautiful, sunshiny morning, and you may as well go out with her.”I suddenly remembered that I had neglected Augusta a good deal of late; that she had often come to the house and I had hardly spoken to her. I further remembered that, this being the 21st of December, the holidays had begun. Our big school had broken up on the 20th, but the boys’ college would break up to-morrow. Christmas would be with us in no time, and Christmas was to be spent in Hedgerow House.That was the treat of all treats which was turning the heads of both the boys. I was to go, Alex was to go, Charley was to go, and Von Marlo was to go. He was alone at the school, and Mrs Grant, with her kind and open-hearted hospitality, had invited him.“It is to be my Christmas present to you all, to have you in my house,” she said. “I am sure you will enjoy yourselves vastly.”Now surely, with such a prospect in view, any girl would be a perfect goose if she were not happy, and I do not think many girls will sympathise with Rachel Grant at this moment. I was making a martyr of myself because I thought it not right to my mother’s memory to receive this new mamma in her place; and yet, if the truth must be told, although I had often pined for my mother, there were days and months, and perhaps even years, when I had forgotten her very existence. She was out of the world before I had time to remember her face. That was my position with regard to my real mother in the past, but from the hour when I had heard that father was about to bring a new wife to the old house, and after he had given me my mother’s miniature, I worshipped her, I kept her always in my memory, and I felt that the more I withdrew my heart from the “new mamma,” to quote Von Marlo’s hideous phrase, the more I showed my love and tenderness for the real mother. Perhaps there are other girls made like that; if so, I should like to show them once for all how exceedingly silly, how exceedingly unpractical and ungrateful, I was. For this story would be worthless if it were not told truthfully.I got over my passion after a time. I kept repeating to myself, “Odious fellow, Von Marlo! The new mamma A1 indeed! A1!” I wished he would not talk to Charley and corrupt him with his wrong ideas.Then I slipped the ten pounds which my step-mother had given me into my purse, and put the purse into my pocket. I dressed myself in the warm clothes which I now had to wear—and which my father, of course, had given me—and I went slowly downstairs.Augusta was waiting in the drawing-room. She was sitting near the fire; she was talking to my step-mother. As I entered the room I heard my step-mother say, “I think it can be managed, Augusta. It would be a great pleasure for you, and if it is really the case that your mother would like to spend Christmas with your uncle Charles, why— Oh, here you are, Dumps!”“Yes; what is it?” I asked.Augusta’s sallow face was lit up with a gleam of red on each of her cheeks. This red tint improved her appearance vastly.“Oh,” said Augusta, “I don’t for a moment suppose you’ll do it.”“I don’t see why,” I replied. “I’m not in the habit of making myself unamiable.”“Well, it’s this,” said Mrs Grant; “Augusta would greatly like to come with us to Hedgerow House for Christmas. It will be a little difficult to squeeze her in, but if you, Dumps, would not mind having her in your room—”“I’d take a very tiny bit of the bed. I can make myself quite accommodating,” said Augusta.“She would like it very much indeed,” said Mrs Grant.“Of course you must come if my step-mother invites you,” I said.Mrs Grant coloured; then she got up, walked to the table, and took up some plain sewing which she was doing, and began a long seam. She was making some clothes for the poor; she was never idle for a minute of her time.“You can come, Augusta, as far as I am concerned,” I said.“Of course you can; you needn’t share the same bed,” said Mrs Grant. “I think I can manage better for you than that, but I cannot give you a room apiece. If you will share the same room, that is all that is required.”“Oh, it is too wonderful!” said Augusta.“Come out, Augusta, or I shall be late,” I said.We found ourselves in the street.“Oh!” said Augusta. She walked on, not noticing me in the least. After a time she said, “To wake in the morning and to feel that you will breakfast with him, that you will dine with him, and that you will sup with him! To think that occasionally he may even look at you, and perhaps once or twice speak to you; and to know that this will go on for seven days—seven whole days, for I have been asked for a week! Dumps, do you think it is true? Do you think it is only a vision? I often have visions; they’re beautiful, some of them, but none of them equals this. To be in the house with him, and to hang on his words for a week!”“I don’t think, to tell the truth,” I said, “that any one else will hang on his words; you will have him all to yourself.”“Oh,” said Augusta, “if you only wouldn’t!”“Wouldn’t what?”“Wouldn’t try to deprecate him. It seems wicked—it seems as though God would punish you.”“Why, what do you mean?” I said.“You ought to be so happy and so pleased,” said Augusta. “And you have got such a beautiful, commonplace step-mother. I admit that she is commonplace, but I never met so charming a woman. If only my mother were like her!”“Your mother is excellent,” I said—“quite as nice as my step-mother; and then she is your own. I think it is very wicked of you to run down your mother. If you hadn’t a mother you’d know the difference.”“But you have.”“I haven’t. How dare you!”“Dumps, I can’t help thinking that you—but oh, perhaps you’d rather not share your room with me?”“How can I help it?” I replied. “Is the room mine? Doesn’t it belong to Mrs Grant—I mean to my step-mother? How can I question any of her wishes? You come to our house, and you snuggle into her good favour; you worm yourself in, and you have got yourself invited, and I suppose—oh dear, I wish I wasn’t so cross!”“If it were not such a very great thing I would take offence at your words, Rachel,” said Augusta, “and not come with you; but being such a magnificent thing, and so all-important to me, I will not take offence, even though you do compare me to a snuggler (I don’t quite know what the creature is), and even to a worm. I will come with you on the 24th to Hedgerow House, and when you look at my face you will perhaps realise that you are looking at perfect happiness—yes, Perfect Happiness; spell the words with capitals, for I have attained to that great height.”“This is the Twopenny Tube,” I said. “Perhaps you would like to go back to your mother and make arrangements?”“But where are you going?”“I’m going to meet the Swan girls; they said they would be round the corner waiting for me.”Augusta looked at me rather longingly, but I would not reply to her look.“Good-bye,” I said. “I’ll try not to do anything to interfere with your bliss.” I left her. When I looked back she was already standing as one in a dream. I doubted if she would catch the next train in the Twopenny Tube, but I concluded that in the course of hours she would return to her commonplace mother.
Of course, my step-mother made a great change in the house. I cannot exactly describe how things were gradually altered, and how the desolate old mansion became a habitable and cheerful home. But it certainly was completely metamorphosed. The old régime with regard to fires was the first change. Mrs Grant said that such a big, empty, rambling place must be kept thoroughly warmed in winter. Accordingly, in the dining-room a fire always blazed, and was kept well piled up with solid lumps of shining black coal of the very best Silkstone, which Hannah would never dream of affording in the old days. Then into my bedroom and into the boys’ bedroom were introduced wonderful new gas-stoves, which gave not the slightest smell, but which could be lit at a moment’s notice, and would make the bedrooms thoroughly warm and comfortable.
But I no longer slept in my attic. I had struggled hard against Mrs Grant’s wish to move me into another part of the house, but in the end I yielded, and now I had a pretty room, brightly papered and nicely furnished, on the floor just above the drawing-room.
“Why,” said my step-mother, “we do not need to use those desolate attics at all. This room will do for Alex, this for Charley, and this for Dumps; and this, when we have visitors, for the spare room. Hannah and the other servants can sleep upstairs. For you, children, this ought to be your floor, and it shall be,” continued the little lady, speaking with that spirit which always characterised her.
As to the boys, they were delighted with their new rooms. They were furnished exceedingly simply; indeed, they looked quite bare enough to make most people consider them somewhat hermit-like sort of sleeping apartments; but then those people had never visited the attics where Alex and Charley used to sleep.
“These rooms are quite good enough for boys; you mustn’t pamper boys, whatever happens,” said Mrs Grant. “Girls are different; girls need softer treatment.”
But her most delightful innovation was the introduction into the house of two excellent servants to help Hannah. There had been, I have not the slightest doubt of it, a very terrible scene in the kitchen when Mrs Grant interviewed Hannah. Hannah was not visible at all for the rest of the day, and my step-mother and I went out for our meals.
On the next day Hannah came upstairs and said she wished to speak to Mrs Grant. They had a long conference, and when Hannah came out of her presence, the eyes of that good woman were very red, but she succumbed without a word.
A new range was now put into the kitchen, a boy came every morning to help Hannah with the heaviest part of her work, an excellent housemaid attended to the bedrooms, and a first-rate parlour-maid opened the hall door and served up our meals. In short, we were a new family.
The drawing-room, however, had not yet been touched. I wondered what Mrs Grant would make of the drawing-room. I did not like to question her. I was quite good—outwardly good, I mean—all this time to my step-mother, but we did not come a bit nearer to each other. The little trunk with the letters R.G. on the cover seemed to stand between my heart and her heart. Nevertheless, we chatted together all day long, and planned how we would meet this contingency and the other, and what surprises we would give to father, and how we could manage things.
One day about six weeks after father’s second marriage Mrs Grant came to me. She had a pleased and delighted expression on her face.
“Rachel, my dear child,” she said, “how old are you?”
“I shall be sixteen on my birthday, and my birthday comes in May. It is a long way off yet.”
Then I gave a sigh, and felt a sudden contraction of my heart.
“Well, anyhow, dear, this is Quarter Day, the 21st of December. I have been speaking to your father, and he means to give you a dress allowance.”
“A what?” I said.
“A dress allowance, dear. You must, you know, have clothes suitable to your father’s daughter. Here is the first quarter’s money.”
She put two crisp Bank of England notes, worth five pounds each, into my hand. I started; I coloured crimson; I looked at the money.
“But I—I don’t know what to do with this,” I said.
“Oh yes, you will know very well what to do with it. Now the question is, would you like me to help you to choose some pretty dresses, or would you rather manage the whole affair yourself?”
Again there was that pathetic expression in her eyes which I had seen for a minute or two before. She was looking at me very earnestly. I was about to say, “Oh, will you help me to choose, for I don’t know anything about dress?” when I remembered the pretty dark-blue dress with the grey fur. That dress, which I always felt had been given me under false pretences, seemed to rise up now to slay the feeling of kindness which, in spite of everything, I could not help entertaining for my step-mother in my heart. “If you don’t greatly mind,” I said, “perhaps this first time I had better choose my own dresses.”
“As you like, dear, of course; but you mustn’t go alone. You might ask one of your schoolfellows to go with you. And, Dumps dear, ask as many of your friends in to tea as you like on Wednesday afternoons and Saturday afternoons; those are your half-holidays, and you can go to visit those whom I like you to know also on those days. I want you to have a very pleasant life, my dear child.”
“Thank you,” I answered.
“You understand, Rachel, that my wish is to make you happy.”
“I am sure of it,” I said.
“And you are happy?”
“I am comfortable,” I said.
I folded the money up.
“I will thank father when I see him. It is exceedingly kind of him,” I said.
“I wouldn’t worry him,” said Mrs Grant. She looked at me a little anxiously.
“But why not?”
“He has forgotten all about it by now. It is unfair to disturb a man of his nature with these trivial details.”
I slipped the notes into my pocket. “Have you no purse, dear?”
“Upstairs,” I said.
“Well, be careful of the money. Don’t lose it.”
“I’ll be very careful; thank you so much.”
I went out into the hall. Charley was there.
“I say, Dumps!”
“What is it, Charley?”
“Von Marlo and I have been talking about the new mamma.”
“You are not to call her that.”
“But I say she is, you know; and Von and I, we say—”
“I don’t want to hear.”
“But you shall—you must! We say she isawfullyjolly—just A1, A1—and that—”
But I rushed past. There was a choking lump in my throat; in another minute I should have burst into tears.
I managed to reach my own pretty new bedroom without disgracing myself. I shut and locked the door and stood in the centre of the room. The crisp five-pound notes rustled in my pocket, but I, Dumps—in other words, Rachel Grant—stamped my foot. I was in an absolute passion. I did not know why I felt so thoroughly angry.
What unreasonable creatures girls are! Three months ago I would have given anything for my present surroundings and my present prospects: I, who hardly ever had a penny of my own; I, who was only half-fed and only half-clothed, who was desolate, without a real friend in the world; for my father—my dear old father—lived for ever and ever in Wonderland, and no one could bring him bock from that strange country, where he dwelt with other geniuses of his kind, and I and the boys had to suffer; and Hannah, notwithstanding her protestations, neglected us so shamefully that the wonder was we were not ill. All of a sudden, however, “Open sesame!” and behold a new order of things! The old order had given way to the new. We were clothed; we were fed; we were considered; we were treated with kindness; our wants were attended to, our little trials sympathised with. In short, love in the true sense of the word had come into the house; the genius of Wonderment had taken to himself the genius of Order and Motherly Kindness, and this latter genius had made the whole house home-like and happy.
But I, at least, was not prepared to take into my heart this good fairy whom the good queen of all the fairies had sent to us. I stood in my pretty room which my step-mother had arranged for me, and felt as angry and as bitter as girl could feel.
By-and-by there came a cheerful sound on the stairs. My step-mother knocked at the door.
“Augusta Moore is downstairs and would like to see you, Dumps,” she said. “It is a beautiful, sunshiny morning, and you may as well go out with her.”
I suddenly remembered that I had neglected Augusta a good deal of late; that she had often come to the house and I had hardly spoken to her. I further remembered that, this being the 21st of December, the holidays had begun. Our big school had broken up on the 20th, but the boys’ college would break up to-morrow. Christmas would be with us in no time, and Christmas was to be spent in Hedgerow House.
That was the treat of all treats which was turning the heads of both the boys. I was to go, Alex was to go, Charley was to go, and Von Marlo was to go. He was alone at the school, and Mrs Grant, with her kind and open-hearted hospitality, had invited him.
“It is to be my Christmas present to you all, to have you in my house,” she said. “I am sure you will enjoy yourselves vastly.”
Now surely, with such a prospect in view, any girl would be a perfect goose if she were not happy, and I do not think many girls will sympathise with Rachel Grant at this moment. I was making a martyr of myself because I thought it not right to my mother’s memory to receive this new mamma in her place; and yet, if the truth must be told, although I had often pined for my mother, there were days and months, and perhaps even years, when I had forgotten her very existence. She was out of the world before I had time to remember her face. That was my position with regard to my real mother in the past, but from the hour when I had heard that father was about to bring a new wife to the old house, and after he had given me my mother’s miniature, I worshipped her, I kept her always in my memory, and I felt that the more I withdrew my heart from the “new mamma,” to quote Von Marlo’s hideous phrase, the more I showed my love and tenderness for the real mother. Perhaps there are other girls made like that; if so, I should like to show them once for all how exceedingly silly, how exceedingly unpractical and ungrateful, I was. For this story would be worthless if it were not told truthfully.
I got over my passion after a time. I kept repeating to myself, “Odious fellow, Von Marlo! The new mamma A1 indeed! A1!” I wished he would not talk to Charley and corrupt him with his wrong ideas.
Then I slipped the ten pounds which my step-mother had given me into my purse, and put the purse into my pocket. I dressed myself in the warm clothes which I now had to wear—and which my father, of course, had given me—and I went slowly downstairs.
Augusta was waiting in the drawing-room. She was sitting near the fire; she was talking to my step-mother. As I entered the room I heard my step-mother say, “I think it can be managed, Augusta. It would be a great pleasure for you, and if it is really the case that your mother would like to spend Christmas with your uncle Charles, why— Oh, here you are, Dumps!”
“Yes; what is it?” I asked.
Augusta’s sallow face was lit up with a gleam of red on each of her cheeks. This red tint improved her appearance vastly.
“Oh,” said Augusta, “I don’t for a moment suppose you’ll do it.”
“I don’t see why,” I replied. “I’m not in the habit of making myself unamiable.”
“Well, it’s this,” said Mrs Grant; “Augusta would greatly like to come with us to Hedgerow House for Christmas. It will be a little difficult to squeeze her in, but if you, Dumps, would not mind having her in your room—”
“I’d take a very tiny bit of the bed. I can make myself quite accommodating,” said Augusta.
“She would like it very much indeed,” said Mrs Grant.
“Of course you must come if my step-mother invites you,” I said.
Mrs Grant coloured; then she got up, walked to the table, and took up some plain sewing which she was doing, and began a long seam. She was making some clothes for the poor; she was never idle for a minute of her time.
“You can come, Augusta, as far as I am concerned,” I said.
“Of course you can; you needn’t share the same bed,” said Mrs Grant. “I think I can manage better for you than that, but I cannot give you a room apiece. If you will share the same room, that is all that is required.”
“Oh, it is too wonderful!” said Augusta.
“Come out, Augusta, or I shall be late,” I said.
We found ourselves in the street.
“Oh!” said Augusta. She walked on, not noticing me in the least. After a time she said, “To wake in the morning and to feel that you will breakfast with him, that you will dine with him, and that you will sup with him! To think that occasionally he may even look at you, and perhaps once or twice speak to you; and to know that this will go on for seven days—seven whole days, for I have been asked for a week! Dumps, do you think it is true? Do you think it is only a vision? I often have visions; they’re beautiful, some of them, but none of them equals this. To be in the house with him, and to hang on his words for a week!”
“I don’t think, to tell the truth,” I said, “that any one else will hang on his words; you will have him all to yourself.”
“Oh,” said Augusta, “if you only wouldn’t!”
“Wouldn’t what?”
“Wouldn’t try to deprecate him. It seems wicked—it seems as though God would punish you.”
“Why, what do you mean?” I said.
“You ought to be so happy and so pleased,” said Augusta. “And you have got such a beautiful, commonplace step-mother. I admit that she is commonplace, but I never met so charming a woman. If only my mother were like her!”
“Your mother is excellent,” I said—“quite as nice as my step-mother; and then she is your own. I think it is very wicked of you to run down your mother. If you hadn’t a mother you’d know the difference.”
“But you have.”
“I haven’t. How dare you!”
“Dumps, I can’t help thinking that you—but oh, perhaps you’d rather not share your room with me?”
“How can I help it?” I replied. “Is the room mine? Doesn’t it belong to Mrs Grant—I mean to my step-mother? How can I question any of her wishes? You come to our house, and you snuggle into her good favour; you worm yourself in, and you have got yourself invited, and I suppose—oh dear, I wish I wasn’t so cross!”
“If it were not such a very great thing I would take offence at your words, Rachel,” said Augusta, “and not come with you; but being such a magnificent thing, and so all-important to me, I will not take offence, even though you do compare me to a snuggler (I don’t quite know what the creature is), and even to a worm. I will come with you on the 24th to Hedgerow House, and when you look at my face you will perhaps realise that you are looking at perfect happiness—yes, Perfect Happiness; spell the words with capitals, for I have attained to that great height.”
“This is the Twopenny Tube,” I said. “Perhaps you would like to go back to your mother and make arrangements?”
“But where are you going?”
“I’m going to meet the Swan girls; they said they would be round the corner waiting for me.”
Augusta looked at me rather longingly, but I would not reply to her look.
“Good-bye,” I said. “I’ll try not to do anything to interfere with your bliss.” I left her. When I looked back she was already standing as one in a dream. I doubted if she would catch the next train in the Twopenny Tube, but I concluded that in the course of hours she would return to her commonplace mother.
Part 2, Chapter II.A Quarterly Allowance.Rita Swan and Agnes had both been exceedingly interested with regard to my conduct at the time of my father’s second marriage. My absence from school had caused their wonder. I was not blamed for that absence, and I often wondered why the form mistress and the head-mistress said nothing whatever to me on the subject.I went back to school on the Monday after my father’s marriage, and the girls had tittered and laughed and made remarks. I had been quite silent and gone stoically through my lessons. Now this marriage was an old story, but still Rita and Agnes were never tired of expatiating on the great change for the better which had taken place in my circumstances. I told them that my step-mother had a great deal of common-sense (I had not the slightest idea of giving her away to strangers); I said that father had now been told what was necessary to the well bringing up of his children, and accordingly things were altered in our home.The girls were in great spirits on this occasion, and when I met them I suddenly resolved to enjoy myself.“What do you think has happened to me?” I said.“What can it be?” said Rita. “Oh, dear me! Rachel, you look very nice.”In the old days they did not pet me much, and they often told me I looked very ugly, and I was not elated by the compliment.“Never mind my looks,” I said. “I am quite a proud girl to-day. I am, in fact, almost grown-up; I have taken the first step upwards.”Now, to be grown-up was Rita’s greatest ambition in all the world. She was four months older than I. She would be sixteen early in January, and I should have to wait until the beginning of May for the event. But, of course, she would not be “out” for at least two years.“You are not really grown-up, and you needn’t suppose you will be for ages and ages,” said Agnes. “Why, look at Rita; you have made her quite cross.”“You do talk in such an absurd way,” said Rita. “But what is it? Out with it!”“Well, I’ve begun to get an allowance.”“A what?” said Agnes. “An allowance.”“You don’t mean a dress allowance?” said Rita. “Yes, that’s just what I do mean; and I’ve got my first quarter’s money in my pocket. What’s more, I’m as rich as Croesus; I have more money than I think any one girl could by any possibility spend. Now, what do you think of me?”Agnes had been walking on Rita’s other side. She showed her estimation of my upward step in the world’s ladder by running round to my side and placing me in the middle.“Tell us all about it,” she said, and she slipped her hand through my arm.“There’s not much to tell. Father thought that—or at least my step-mother thought that I ought to have money to spend on dress, and I have got ten pounds.”“For a year?” asked Agnes.“No; for a quarter. I am to have ten pounds every quarter. Think of it!”Now, Agnes Swan knew quite well that when her allowance was given to her it would not approach anything like that royal sum. She therefore glanced at me and said in a low, pathetic voice, “What remarkably pretty ears you have got, Dumps!”I made no answer. I continued as though I had not heard her: “And I have the money—two banknotes—in my pocket; and I am going to choose some dresses now, and I thought perhaps you two girls would like to come with me.”“How splendid! Where shall we go?”“Not to Wallis’s,” I said firmly.“Why not to Wallis’s? What special hatred have you for that shop?”“I do not wish to go there,” I answered. “I want to dress myself in West End style.”“Then,” said Agnes, “nothing can be easier. We’ll wait just here and take the first ’bus to Oxford Street. We’ll get down there and press our noses against the shop windows. It’s Christmas-time, and things are so bright. But if you want dresses now you’ll have to get them ready-made, for no shop will make your dresses in time for Christmas.”“I don’t really know that I want much dress,” I said. “I have got the money to do what I like with.”“Of course you have.” Rita looked at me anxiously.“I must spend some of it on dress, of course, but I’ve got ten pounds. It seems almost as though it could never be spent. Oh, here’s a ’bus! Shall we go on the top?”Rita waved her umbrella wildly. The driver of the omnibus stopped. We mounted on to the roof, and sat huddled close together discussing my brilliant prospects.“We’d best keep one on each side of you, for a lot of money like that in a girl’s pocket makes it dangerous for her to walk about at Christmas-time,” said Agnes.“I don’t mind,” I said. “You can keep one on each side of me. I think,” I continued after a pause, “that it would be only right to spend some of my money on Christmas presents.”“Of course, dear; it would be only generous. And you ought to get something for your step-mother.”“Yes, of course I ought; and for the boys, and for father. It will be difficult to think of anything for father. And then there is Hannah. Yes, I will spend some of it on Christmas-boxes.”We got down from the roof of the omnibus at Oxford Circus, and then we walked slowly down Regent Street and revelled in our view of the shop windows. I was not specially devoted to dress, but the dainty and ravishing garments which I beheld exhibited in the windows were certainly enough to excite the wonder and admiration of us all.At last we decided to venture into a large shop to ask the price of a pretty costume which took my fancy. I liked it because it was as different from the dark-blue with the grey fur as dress could be. It was a soft, glowing shade of crimson, and was smartly trimmed with velvet of the same colour. We all marched into the shop, and I demanded the price of the little costume in the window.“It will just fit you, Dumps,” said Rita.The man who served us said he would inquire, and presently he informed us that the dress was selling off and we could have it for ten guineas. Both Rita and Agnes raised their blows in amazement. I coloured deeply, and said that ten guineas was more than I wanted to pay. He said that he had cheaper costumes in the shop, but I would not listen. We went out of the shop, and we three girls once again found ourselves on the pavement.“I call it a perfect swindle,” said Rita. “Of course, I know that my cousin Laura Ives gives more than that for a dress, but then she is grown-up. After all, ten pounds doesn’t seem much for a dress allowance. But let us go into another shop.”But, try as we would, I could get nothing that I could really wear under about five guineas, and as I did not choose to give more than half my allowance for a single dress, I resolved to do without one.“I’ll tell my step-mother that father must be informed that ten pounds a quarter is not nearly enough to spend on clothes,” I said. “Of course I had no real ideas on the subject before.”“Of course it isn’t half enough,” said Rita. “You can just spend the money on odds and ends. That’s what I’d do.”I proceeded to follow her advice, and presently I purchased a quantity of ribbon of different shades and colours, two or three pairs of gloves—boots I decided I could do without, although mine were rather shabby—some neckties of different colours, and a new hat. The hat was quite unsuitable, but Rita said it was remarkably stylish.By this time I had spent three or four pounds of my allowance.“Oh, I must have some handkerchiefs and stockings,” I said suddenly. I thought myself most prudent and all that was wise and common-sense when I spoke of stockings. I bought several pairs of most expensive make, and furnished myself with some fine lawn handkerchiefs, and lo and behold! my first five-pound note had vanished. Still, I had the other.“You ought to think of the Christmas-boxes; you ought to take something home for them all,” said Rita.The Christmas-boxes proved themselves most fascinating. They were the sort of things that beckoned you into a shop, and then went away, and you could not find them. You followed them from shop to shop, and always exactly the very things you wanted were in another shop farther on and yet quite near. Oh, how difficult it was to get them! That knife, for instance, that Alex would like, or that pen which Charley would condescend to write with, or that pair of soft doeskin gloves for Hannah—Hannah was always complaining of cold hands.In the end I gave up the knife and the pen and the gloves, and bought fancy articles which I thought would please my family—glass and china for my step-mother; a new sort of inkpot, which eventually proved of no use at all, but was very expensive, for my father; and things for the boys which I will reveal by-and-by.I had only thirty shillings out of my ten pounds when I returned home that afternoon, having provided presents for every one except myself; and in addition I presented an exceedingly expensive, huge box of chocolates each to Rita and Agnes Swan. They called me their best darling, and said that each moment my appearance was improving, until at last their remarks made me so angry that I said, “If you say that again I will never speak to you or give you sixpence-worth of chocolates as long as I live!”Upon this threat the two girls were silent, until at last Rita remarked, “Well, whatever happens, she will always pass in a crowd.”“What does that mean?” I said.“It means that whatever you put on, you will never be anything but a most ordinary-looking person. Now, does that content you?”“Better than flattering words which are false,” I said stoutly.They had conducted me home. I was dead-tired and very hungry. My hands were full of parcels. I rushed impetuously into the house. It was time for lunch; the morning had flown with marvellous swiftness. Nay, more; I was late for lunch. Father was standing alone in the dining-room. Marriage had wrought very little perceptible alteration in him. It is true he always now wore a perfectly clean collar, and his coats were always well brushed, but each one seemed to hang upon him in just its old, loose, aggravating fashion, being worn very high up on the nape of the neck, which gave his back a sort of bowed appearance; and his collars, however neat when he put them on in the morning, managed to get finely rumpled before school-hours were over. This was from a habit he had of clutching his collar fiercely when in the heat of argument. There was no laundress in the whole of London who could have made collars stiff enough to withstand father’s clutch. But even Mrs Grant could not persuade him to put on a clean one to go back to afternoon school, nor could she get him to visit the barber as often as she wished. Therefore, on the whole, father looked much as he had always done. But perhaps he would not have been respected or loved as he was loved and respected if even his outward appearance had been changed. He was in a deep brown study now. He hardly saw me as I rushed into the room. I went up to him and took both his hands, and said, “Thank you—thank you so much!”“What in the world are you thanking me about, Dumps?” he said.He seemed to wake with a start.“Where have you been? What is the matter? Don’t litter the place, please; your step-mother doesn’t like it.”He observed the brown-paper parcels.“They’re presents,” I said. “Don’t speak about them.”He raised his hand wearily to his brow.“I am not likely to,” he said. “Things wrapped up in brown-paper do not interest me.”“Oh father! they interest most people. But you must—you really must—rouse yourself for a minute or two, for I have to thank you so greatly, darling father.”“What for?” he muttered.“The money—the money.”“I am unaware, child, that I have given you any money.”What could he mean? I felt a curious damp sensation round my spirits, which were quite high at the moment. Then I remembered that Mrs Grant had told me that I was not to worry father on the subject.“She said,” I continued, with great eagerness, “that you were not to be worried, but that you had arranged it. I am to have an allowance in future, and she gave me the first quarter’s allowance to-day—ten pounds.”“Goodness!” said father. “What wilful waste! Ten pounds! Why, it would have bought—it would have bought that new—”He mentioned a volume which had a long Latin name.I understood now—or thought I understood—why my step-mother had desired me to be silent on the subject of my allowance. Father shook himself. I was roused even to a show of anger.“Well, at any rate,” I said, “it might buy you a book, but it can buy other things as well. I was given the money to-day—yourmoney—and I must thank you; only please in future make it a little more, for I cannot buy dresses with it; it isn’t enough.”He stared at me wildly, and just at that moment my step-mother came in.“Grace,” said my father, turning to her, “this child seems to be in a sad muddle. She has been endeavouring to confuse me, which is exceedingly wrong of her. I trust that in future you will permit yourself, my dear, the extreme privilege of repressing Dumps.”“Oh, oh!” I said.“Yes,” continued father, “of repressing her.—You are, Dumps, too exuberant, too unmannerly, too impulsive.—Keep her, my dear, from bringing unsightly objects of that sort into my presence.”He pointed to my darling brown-paper parcels.“And above all things, dear Grace, tell her not to thank me for what I have not done. She has been murmuring the most absurd rubbish into my ears, talking about a dress allowance. A dress allowance, indeed! Does she need money to spend on her outward adornment? Tell her to learn that hymn of Watts’s, ‘Why should our garments, made to hide’—She had better learn that. Let her learn once for all that,—“Be she dressed fine as she will,Flies, worms, and moths exceed her still.“In short, Grace, suppress the child, and tell her not to utter falsehoods in my presence.”He went out; his wife followed him into the hall. She came back in a few minutes, and her cheeks were redder than was quite becoming.“Now, Dumps dear,” she said, “I told you not to speak of your dress allowance to your father.”“Then he never gave it to me?”“Well, dear, not exactly. I mean that he did not give it to you in so many words; nevertheless, it is my place to see to these things.”“But was the ten pounds father’s?” I asked stoutly.“What is his is mine, and what is mine is his,” she replied.“Please, step-mother,” I said imploringly, “answer me just for once. Did you give me that money, or did my father?”“My dear child, will you not understand once and for all that it is my aim and wish to do what I can to make you happy? If you go on trying me, Rachel, as you have been doing lately, you will make me a very unhappy woman.”She paused; then she said, “Never up to the present moment have I known what real, true unhappiness is. I, Grace Donnithorne, given by nature so cheerful a heart, and, I think, so brave a spirit, and, I believe, the power of looking at things on the bright side—I unhappy!”She moved away; she stood by the fire. I saw tears starting to her bright, kindly, merry eyes; one rolled down her cheek. I went up to her and took her hand.“I have not been trying,” I said—“I will confess it—I have not been trying to think kindly of you.”“I know it, Dumps,” she said gravely, and she looked round at me.“And I have been advising the boys not to show you any affection.”“I know it, Dumps,” she said again.“And—and I returned those clothes that you gave me when I was at Hedgerow House.”“You did. Why did you do it?”“If, perhaps,” I said slowly—“I don’t know, but perhaps if you had told me the truth then, that you were not being so awfully kind just because I was a lonely little girl, but because you were going to marry my father, I might have stood it better, and I might have acted differently; but you deceived me. I thought you were a very kind, middle-aged, rather fat lady, and I liked you just awfully; but when you deceived me—”“Don’t say any more,” she remarked hastily. “It was not my wish—I felt all along that—”But then, with a great effort, she resumed her usual manner.“I see I have not won you yet,” she said. “But we must go on being friends outwardly, andperhaps—you have been confirmed, have you not?”“Yes,” I said, somewhat startled.“Then perhaps when we kneel together at the Great Festival, the feast of all feasts, your heart may be softened, and you may see that in all the world no one means more kindly to you than the one whom you used to know as Grace Donnithorne.”“Oh, if you wouldn’t be quite so amiable I think I could love you better,” I said, and then I really hated myself.“It will come, dear,” she said in a patient tone. “And now, just tell me what you bought. If your father isn’t interested in brown-paper parcels, I am.”“They’re presents,” I said shortly.“Those delightful things on the sofa are presents? You have spent a little of your money on presents? Rather extravagant of you, but I’m not going to scold.”“That sounded such a lot of money,” I said, “but it didn’t turn out so much.”“What do you mean, dear? It is a very substantial sum for a young schoolgirl of your age. I am sorry you did not take me with you to spend it; but you seemed so anxious to go alone, and I thought until Christmas was over—”“What is going to happen when Christmas is over?” I said.“I will tell you when the time comes.”“But please tell me now, step-mother—”“I wish you wouldn’t call me by that name.”“Well, I can’t call you Mrs Grant; and you are my step-mother, you know.”“It doesn’t matter—call me anything you like, dear.”I wished she was not quite so accommodating; but while I looked at her I saw there was a change in her face: there was a purpose in it, a firmness, a sort of upper-hand look as though she did not mean that I, Dumps, should have my own way about everything. She asked me what I had bought for myself, and I said nothing particular, except a few ribbons and things like that.“They ought to be bought last of all,” she said, “but of course you don’t quite understand this time.”“Oh!” I said.“You want a quiet, plain dress; let me recommend you to get it the first thing to-morrow morning. Peter Robinson has some very nice dresses for young girls; and Evans, just a little farther down Oxford Street, has perhaps even smarter costumes. You ought to get a very nice dress for about four guineas. It would be wrong to spend more. A warm coat and a nice short skirt would be the thing. Shall we go to-morrow morning to Evans’s?”“No, thank you,” I replied.“But, my dear child, you want a dress. Well, perhaps you will get one of the girls to go with you.”“I would rather,” I replied. I gathered up all my parcels in my arms and prepared to leave the room.“Just as you like, dear; but remember we go on the 24th to Hedgerow House.”“On the 24th; yes, step-mother, thank you.”I went upstairs.
Rita Swan and Agnes had both been exceedingly interested with regard to my conduct at the time of my father’s second marriage. My absence from school had caused their wonder. I was not blamed for that absence, and I often wondered why the form mistress and the head-mistress said nothing whatever to me on the subject.
I went back to school on the Monday after my father’s marriage, and the girls had tittered and laughed and made remarks. I had been quite silent and gone stoically through my lessons. Now this marriage was an old story, but still Rita and Agnes were never tired of expatiating on the great change for the better which had taken place in my circumstances. I told them that my step-mother had a great deal of common-sense (I had not the slightest idea of giving her away to strangers); I said that father had now been told what was necessary to the well bringing up of his children, and accordingly things were altered in our home.
The girls were in great spirits on this occasion, and when I met them I suddenly resolved to enjoy myself.
“What do you think has happened to me?” I said.
“What can it be?” said Rita. “Oh, dear me! Rachel, you look very nice.”
In the old days they did not pet me much, and they often told me I looked very ugly, and I was not elated by the compliment.
“Never mind my looks,” I said. “I am quite a proud girl to-day. I am, in fact, almost grown-up; I have taken the first step upwards.”
Now, to be grown-up was Rita’s greatest ambition in all the world. She was four months older than I. She would be sixteen early in January, and I should have to wait until the beginning of May for the event. But, of course, she would not be “out” for at least two years.
“You are not really grown-up, and you needn’t suppose you will be for ages and ages,” said Agnes. “Why, look at Rita; you have made her quite cross.”
“You do talk in such an absurd way,” said Rita. “But what is it? Out with it!”
“Well, I’ve begun to get an allowance.”
“A what?” said Agnes. “An allowance.”
“You don’t mean a dress allowance?” said Rita. “Yes, that’s just what I do mean; and I’ve got my first quarter’s money in my pocket. What’s more, I’m as rich as Croesus; I have more money than I think any one girl could by any possibility spend. Now, what do you think of me?”
Agnes had been walking on Rita’s other side. She showed her estimation of my upward step in the world’s ladder by running round to my side and placing me in the middle.
“Tell us all about it,” she said, and she slipped her hand through my arm.
“There’s not much to tell. Father thought that—or at least my step-mother thought that I ought to have money to spend on dress, and I have got ten pounds.”
“For a year?” asked Agnes.
“No; for a quarter. I am to have ten pounds every quarter. Think of it!”
Now, Agnes Swan knew quite well that when her allowance was given to her it would not approach anything like that royal sum. She therefore glanced at me and said in a low, pathetic voice, “What remarkably pretty ears you have got, Dumps!”
I made no answer. I continued as though I had not heard her: “And I have the money—two banknotes—in my pocket; and I am going to choose some dresses now, and I thought perhaps you two girls would like to come with me.”
“How splendid! Where shall we go?”
“Not to Wallis’s,” I said firmly.
“Why not to Wallis’s? What special hatred have you for that shop?”
“I do not wish to go there,” I answered. “I want to dress myself in West End style.”
“Then,” said Agnes, “nothing can be easier. We’ll wait just here and take the first ’bus to Oxford Street. We’ll get down there and press our noses against the shop windows. It’s Christmas-time, and things are so bright. But if you want dresses now you’ll have to get them ready-made, for no shop will make your dresses in time for Christmas.”
“I don’t really know that I want much dress,” I said. “I have got the money to do what I like with.”
“Of course you have.” Rita looked at me anxiously.
“I must spend some of it on dress, of course, but I’ve got ten pounds. It seems almost as though it could never be spent. Oh, here’s a ’bus! Shall we go on the top?”
Rita waved her umbrella wildly. The driver of the omnibus stopped. We mounted on to the roof, and sat huddled close together discussing my brilliant prospects.
“We’d best keep one on each side of you, for a lot of money like that in a girl’s pocket makes it dangerous for her to walk about at Christmas-time,” said Agnes.
“I don’t mind,” I said. “You can keep one on each side of me. I think,” I continued after a pause, “that it would be only right to spend some of my money on Christmas presents.”
“Of course, dear; it would be only generous. And you ought to get something for your step-mother.”
“Yes, of course I ought; and for the boys, and for father. It will be difficult to think of anything for father. And then there is Hannah. Yes, I will spend some of it on Christmas-boxes.”
We got down from the roof of the omnibus at Oxford Circus, and then we walked slowly down Regent Street and revelled in our view of the shop windows. I was not specially devoted to dress, but the dainty and ravishing garments which I beheld exhibited in the windows were certainly enough to excite the wonder and admiration of us all.
At last we decided to venture into a large shop to ask the price of a pretty costume which took my fancy. I liked it because it was as different from the dark-blue with the grey fur as dress could be. It was a soft, glowing shade of crimson, and was smartly trimmed with velvet of the same colour. We all marched into the shop, and I demanded the price of the little costume in the window.
“It will just fit you, Dumps,” said Rita.
The man who served us said he would inquire, and presently he informed us that the dress was selling off and we could have it for ten guineas. Both Rita and Agnes raised their blows in amazement. I coloured deeply, and said that ten guineas was more than I wanted to pay. He said that he had cheaper costumes in the shop, but I would not listen. We went out of the shop, and we three girls once again found ourselves on the pavement.
“I call it a perfect swindle,” said Rita. “Of course, I know that my cousin Laura Ives gives more than that for a dress, but then she is grown-up. After all, ten pounds doesn’t seem much for a dress allowance. But let us go into another shop.”
But, try as we would, I could get nothing that I could really wear under about five guineas, and as I did not choose to give more than half my allowance for a single dress, I resolved to do without one.
“I’ll tell my step-mother that father must be informed that ten pounds a quarter is not nearly enough to spend on clothes,” I said. “Of course I had no real ideas on the subject before.”
“Of course it isn’t half enough,” said Rita. “You can just spend the money on odds and ends. That’s what I’d do.”
I proceeded to follow her advice, and presently I purchased a quantity of ribbon of different shades and colours, two or three pairs of gloves—boots I decided I could do without, although mine were rather shabby—some neckties of different colours, and a new hat. The hat was quite unsuitable, but Rita said it was remarkably stylish.
By this time I had spent three or four pounds of my allowance.
“Oh, I must have some handkerchiefs and stockings,” I said suddenly. I thought myself most prudent and all that was wise and common-sense when I spoke of stockings. I bought several pairs of most expensive make, and furnished myself with some fine lawn handkerchiefs, and lo and behold! my first five-pound note had vanished. Still, I had the other.
“You ought to think of the Christmas-boxes; you ought to take something home for them all,” said Rita.
The Christmas-boxes proved themselves most fascinating. They were the sort of things that beckoned you into a shop, and then went away, and you could not find them. You followed them from shop to shop, and always exactly the very things you wanted were in another shop farther on and yet quite near. Oh, how difficult it was to get them! That knife, for instance, that Alex would like, or that pen which Charley would condescend to write with, or that pair of soft doeskin gloves for Hannah—Hannah was always complaining of cold hands.
In the end I gave up the knife and the pen and the gloves, and bought fancy articles which I thought would please my family—glass and china for my step-mother; a new sort of inkpot, which eventually proved of no use at all, but was very expensive, for my father; and things for the boys which I will reveal by-and-by.
I had only thirty shillings out of my ten pounds when I returned home that afternoon, having provided presents for every one except myself; and in addition I presented an exceedingly expensive, huge box of chocolates each to Rita and Agnes Swan. They called me their best darling, and said that each moment my appearance was improving, until at last their remarks made me so angry that I said, “If you say that again I will never speak to you or give you sixpence-worth of chocolates as long as I live!”
Upon this threat the two girls were silent, until at last Rita remarked, “Well, whatever happens, she will always pass in a crowd.”
“What does that mean?” I said.
“It means that whatever you put on, you will never be anything but a most ordinary-looking person. Now, does that content you?”
“Better than flattering words which are false,” I said stoutly.
They had conducted me home. I was dead-tired and very hungry. My hands were full of parcels. I rushed impetuously into the house. It was time for lunch; the morning had flown with marvellous swiftness. Nay, more; I was late for lunch. Father was standing alone in the dining-room. Marriage had wrought very little perceptible alteration in him. It is true he always now wore a perfectly clean collar, and his coats were always well brushed, but each one seemed to hang upon him in just its old, loose, aggravating fashion, being worn very high up on the nape of the neck, which gave his back a sort of bowed appearance; and his collars, however neat when he put them on in the morning, managed to get finely rumpled before school-hours were over. This was from a habit he had of clutching his collar fiercely when in the heat of argument. There was no laundress in the whole of London who could have made collars stiff enough to withstand father’s clutch. But even Mrs Grant could not persuade him to put on a clean one to go back to afternoon school, nor could she get him to visit the barber as often as she wished. Therefore, on the whole, father looked much as he had always done. But perhaps he would not have been respected or loved as he was loved and respected if even his outward appearance had been changed. He was in a deep brown study now. He hardly saw me as I rushed into the room. I went up to him and took both his hands, and said, “Thank you—thank you so much!”
“What in the world are you thanking me about, Dumps?” he said.
He seemed to wake with a start.
“Where have you been? What is the matter? Don’t litter the place, please; your step-mother doesn’t like it.”
He observed the brown-paper parcels.
“They’re presents,” I said. “Don’t speak about them.”
He raised his hand wearily to his brow.
“I am not likely to,” he said. “Things wrapped up in brown-paper do not interest me.”
“Oh father! they interest most people. But you must—you really must—rouse yourself for a minute or two, for I have to thank you so greatly, darling father.”
“What for?” he muttered.
“The money—the money.”
“I am unaware, child, that I have given you any money.”
What could he mean? I felt a curious damp sensation round my spirits, which were quite high at the moment. Then I remembered that Mrs Grant had told me that I was not to worry father on the subject.
“She said,” I continued, with great eagerness, “that you were not to be worried, but that you had arranged it. I am to have an allowance in future, and she gave me the first quarter’s allowance to-day—ten pounds.”
“Goodness!” said father. “What wilful waste! Ten pounds! Why, it would have bought—it would have bought that new—”
He mentioned a volume which had a long Latin name.
I understood now—or thought I understood—why my step-mother had desired me to be silent on the subject of my allowance. Father shook himself. I was roused even to a show of anger.
“Well, at any rate,” I said, “it might buy you a book, but it can buy other things as well. I was given the money to-day—yourmoney—and I must thank you; only please in future make it a little more, for I cannot buy dresses with it; it isn’t enough.”
He stared at me wildly, and just at that moment my step-mother came in.
“Grace,” said my father, turning to her, “this child seems to be in a sad muddle. She has been endeavouring to confuse me, which is exceedingly wrong of her. I trust that in future you will permit yourself, my dear, the extreme privilege of repressing Dumps.”
“Oh, oh!” I said.
“Yes,” continued father, “of repressing her.—You are, Dumps, too exuberant, too unmannerly, too impulsive.—Keep her, my dear, from bringing unsightly objects of that sort into my presence.”
He pointed to my darling brown-paper parcels.
“And above all things, dear Grace, tell her not to thank me for what I have not done. She has been murmuring the most absurd rubbish into my ears, talking about a dress allowance. A dress allowance, indeed! Does she need money to spend on her outward adornment? Tell her to learn that hymn of Watts’s, ‘Why should our garments, made to hide’—She had better learn that. Let her learn once for all that,—
“Be she dressed fine as she will,Flies, worms, and moths exceed her still.
“Be she dressed fine as she will,Flies, worms, and moths exceed her still.
“In short, Grace, suppress the child, and tell her not to utter falsehoods in my presence.”
He went out; his wife followed him into the hall. She came back in a few minutes, and her cheeks were redder than was quite becoming.
“Now, Dumps dear,” she said, “I told you not to speak of your dress allowance to your father.”
“Then he never gave it to me?”
“Well, dear, not exactly. I mean that he did not give it to you in so many words; nevertheless, it is my place to see to these things.”
“But was the ten pounds father’s?” I asked stoutly.
“What is his is mine, and what is mine is his,” she replied.
“Please, step-mother,” I said imploringly, “answer me just for once. Did you give me that money, or did my father?”
“My dear child, will you not understand once and for all that it is my aim and wish to do what I can to make you happy? If you go on trying me, Rachel, as you have been doing lately, you will make me a very unhappy woman.”
She paused; then she said, “Never up to the present moment have I known what real, true unhappiness is. I, Grace Donnithorne, given by nature so cheerful a heart, and, I think, so brave a spirit, and, I believe, the power of looking at things on the bright side—I unhappy!”
She moved away; she stood by the fire. I saw tears starting to her bright, kindly, merry eyes; one rolled down her cheek. I went up to her and took her hand.
“I have not been trying,” I said—“I will confess it—I have not been trying to think kindly of you.”
“I know it, Dumps,” she said gravely, and she looked round at me.
“And I have been advising the boys not to show you any affection.”
“I know it, Dumps,” she said again.
“And—and I returned those clothes that you gave me when I was at Hedgerow House.”
“You did. Why did you do it?”
“If, perhaps,” I said slowly—“I don’t know, but perhaps if you had told me the truth then, that you were not being so awfully kind just because I was a lonely little girl, but because you were going to marry my father, I might have stood it better, and I might have acted differently; but you deceived me. I thought you were a very kind, middle-aged, rather fat lady, and I liked you just awfully; but when you deceived me—”
“Don’t say any more,” she remarked hastily. “It was not my wish—I felt all along that—”
But then, with a great effort, she resumed her usual manner.
“I see I have not won you yet,” she said. “But we must go on being friends outwardly, andperhaps—you have been confirmed, have you not?”
“Yes,” I said, somewhat startled.
“Then perhaps when we kneel together at the Great Festival, the feast of all feasts, your heart may be softened, and you may see that in all the world no one means more kindly to you than the one whom you used to know as Grace Donnithorne.”
“Oh, if you wouldn’t be quite so amiable I think I could love you better,” I said, and then I really hated myself.
“It will come, dear,” she said in a patient tone. “And now, just tell me what you bought. If your father isn’t interested in brown-paper parcels, I am.”
“They’re presents,” I said shortly.
“Those delightful things on the sofa are presents? You have spent a little of your money on presents? Rather extravagant of you, but I’m not going to scold.”
“That sounded such a lot of money,” I said, “but it didn’t turn out so much.”
“What do you mean, dear? It is a very substantial sum for a young schoolgirl of your age. I am sorry you did not take me with you to spend it; but you seemed so anxious to go alone, and I thought until Christmas was over—”
“What is going to happen when Christmas is over?” I said.
“I will tell you when the time comes.”
“But please tell me now, step-mother—”
“I wish you wouldn’t call me by that name.”
“Well, I can’t call you Mrs Grant; and you are my step-mother, you know.”
“It doesn’t matter—call me anything you like, dear.”
I wished she was not quite so accommodating; but while I looked at her I saw there was a change in her face: there was a purpose in it, a firmness, a sort of upper-hand look as though she did not mean that I, Dumps, should have my own way about everything. She asked me what I had bought for myself, and I said nothing particular, except a few ribbons and things like that.
“They ought to be bought last of all,” she said, “but of course you don’t quite understand this time.”
“Oh!” I said.
“You want a quiet, plain dress; let me recommend you to get it the first thing to-morrow morning. Peter Robinson has some very nice dresses for young girls; and Evans, just a little farther down Oxford Street, has perhaps even smarter costumes. You ought to get a very nice dress for about four guineas. It would be wrong to spend more. A warm coat and a nice short skirt would be the thing. Shall we go to-morrow morning to Evans’s?”
“No, thank you,” I replied.
“But, my dear child, you want a dress. Well, perhaps you will get one of the girls to go with you.”
“I would rather,” I replied. I gathered up all my parcels in my arms and prepared to leave the room.
“Just as you like, dear; but remember we go on the 24th to Hedgerow House.”
“On the 24th; yes, step-mother, thank you.”
I went upstairs.
Part 2, Chapter III.Christmas in the Country.After all, Christmas Eve was jolly. You may cherish a feud against the most innocent and good-natured person in the world with all your might and main; but unless you are specially wicked you cannot bring it into prominence when every one else around you is in the best of good spirits.It was altogether a very merry party which started off by train from Liverpool Streeten routefor Hedgerow House. We seemed to have left cares of every sort behind us. The boys were absolutely unruly in their mirth. As to father, he elected to go in a smoking carriage. This was a very keen disappointment to Augusta. I saw her start from her seat as though she would accompany him; but not being invited—indeed, the Professor did not even see her—she sank back again and solaced herself by eating chocolates and reading a German book the whole way down.“Don’t you ever want to watch the scenery?” said Von Marlo in his slow Dutch fashion.“Yes, when it is worth looking at,” she responded. She glanced at him. “You are a foreigner?”“Yes, a Dutchman.”“I don’t approve of Dutchmen.”She lapsed back into her German. Von Marlo thought it well to change his seat. He came nearer to me.Oh, I forgot to say that Hannah was also of the party. Now, she had not wished to come; she had objected very strongly; but my step-mother, there was no doubt, was beginning to win Hannah over. Hannah came to my room that very morning when I was dressing to go, and said, “Miss Dumps, I do hope you won’t take it amiss, but—”“Why, what is it, Hannah?” I asked.“Well, I’m going too.”“I’m very glad,” I said.“’Tain’t that I like her a bit better than I did,” said Hannah—“not a bit. She’s a step-mother, and what’s a step-mother but a sort of person who is in league against the children of the first wife? I’ve sworn to be a friend to the first wife’s children. Didn’t the poor lady come to visit me in a dream the very night I heard of your pa’s marriage, and didn’t I promise that I’d never leave you? And didn’t she come again last night in another dream and tell me to go down to Hedgerow House—not for my own enjoyment, but to be close to you, Miss Dumps, and the two dear boys? So I’m going. Those new servants can look after this place. ’Tain’t what it was.”“Indeed it isn’t, Hannah. I am very glad you are going with us. And to be honest, Hannah, isn’t it now, frankly, very much nicer than it was?”“Not to my way of thinking,” said Hannah. “The house now is at that work what I ’ates.”“The house?” I said. “What is the poor house doing?”“Pushing out old memories; that’s what this ’ere house is busy over. Every room that gets decked up new is pushing out the old memories—the memories of the time when that poor, dear shadow walked from room to room trying to get a glimpse of sunshine. She’ll soon be gone, poor dear! That’s what I call the behaviour of the house, so don’t ask me if I like it better, for I don’t, and that’s flat.”Had I been at all wise I should have talked sensibly to Hannah; but in my heart of hearts, although knowing that she spoke the most absolute nonsense, I could not help partly agreeing with her.The very last thing I did before leaving was to take mother’s miniature and stuff it into the bottom of the little old horse-hair trunk which had been unearthed from a distant garret for me. Nothing would induce me to take my step-mother’s new trunk on this special journey. I was not too well dressed, either, for I could not possibly buy the smart, warm costume which my step-mother had set her heart on, and up to the present I had given her no reason for this. But then I had endless ribbons—sky-blue, pink, mauve, even green; and I had quantities of chiffon bows and chiffon ties, and good gloves and good stockings, and lovely handkerchiefs. I felt that I would pass muster, and turned a deaf ear when Mrs Grant came somewhat anxiously to my room to know if I did not want a corner of her trunk for some of my prettiest dresses. I told her that the horse-hair trunk held all I required, and she went away.Well, at last we got off, and we were in the train. Good-bye, dull care! This was Christmas-time—the time of presents, of fun and hilarity. I had taken good care to bring all my Christmas-boxes with me.When we arrived at Chelmsford Station there was a great wagonette waiting for us, drawn by a pair of brown horses. My step-mother immediately took the reins. We all scrambled in; father was huddled in one corner occupied with his Greek Testament. When he had nothing else to do he always read his Greek Testament.Augusta pushed herself into the seat exactly opposite to him; she bent forward and stared fixedly into his face; but he never once looked at her. I am certain he did not see her. Occasionally she said “Oh!” in quite an audible tone. I felt that Augusta would be quite enough to keep any one from perfect bliss if she went on in such an idiotic fashion.“What is she doing?” whispered Charley to me.“Oh, let her alone,” I said; “she is worshipping him.”“Worshipping him?” he cried.“Yes; don’t you know?”“I’ll prick her with a pin,” he said.“Oh, you mustn’t—you really mustn’t! Do let her alone, poor thing! You see, she sees a kind of glory round father which we don’t.”“My word, I should think not!” said Charley. “Poor, dear old Professor! Of course, he’s a jolly old dad and all that sort of thing, but—” Charley gave a low whistle.Augusta’s voice was now heard.“You were reading that passage aloud; I heard it,” she said. “Would you greatly mind raising your voice a little?”The Professor lowered his book.“Eh?” he said.Then he dropped his glasses. They werepince-nez, and as he dropped them one of the glasses fell out. The wagonette had to be stopped, and we had all to search for the missing glass; and so Augusta’s question was never answered, for when the glass was found it was slipped into its case, and father readjusted hispince-nezon his nose, and went on reading as though nothing had happened.Augusta looked round at me.“It would have been such a valuable help,” she said, “and so very little extra exertion to him.”“Oh, don’t talk to him while he’s reading,” I said. “I’ll get you a chance if you’re good; but do just make an effort to keep your feelings to yourself.”We had now reached the house, and we all tumbled out of the wagonette. I do think there is no other way of describing the manner in which we left that vehicle. Mrs Grant immediately assumed the manners of hostess. She gave directions to the groom who had brought the carriage, flung him the reins, and then spoke to a man who was waiting. This man disposed of what luggage had been brought in the carriage; the rest was to follow in a cart. Then we entered the house.Its smallness, its bewitching appearance, the little drawing-room with the stuffed birds and stuffed animals, the dear little dining-room, the pretty bedrooms upstairs, were invaded as though by a horde of ants. Nancy was curtsying and bobbing at the hall door. She welcomed me as though I were a very dear friend, and personally took me up herself to the identical room where I had slept before. It was just as sweet and fresh and fragrant, and the brightest of fires burned in the grate; but there was an extra bed in one corner, which in itself was disconcerting.Then Augusta appeared and flung down an ugly leather valise, which she had brought her clothes in, on the snowy white counterpane, and said, with a sigh, “Oh, wonderful—wonderful! Marvellous beyond words to express! I am here! I am here!”“Augusta,” I said stoutly, “if you go on in that fashion you’ll be a raving lunatic before Christmas Day is over. Now pull yourself together and be sensible. You’ll never get father to talk to you if you keep on staring at him and interrupting him. We are going to have a jolly time, and to forget heroics and ‘high strikes’ and all the rest. Oh, there’s the luncheon-bell, and I’m ever so hungry!”That was a very happy evening notwithstanding the fact that the Miss Grace Donnithorne of less than a couple of months ago was now Mrs Grant and our step-mother. In her own house, surrounded by her own things, she was more difficult than ever to resist. Indeed, I think no one tried to do so, for she was the very soul of tact, and managed to make us all feel that we were her guests, and as guests ought to be particularly nice. Alex said to me, “She is quite charming! She is good! She is a dear! I’m beginning to love her. I don’t care what you say to the contrary.”“I like her for herself,” I said.“Then for goodness’ sake prove it, Dumps, and don’t wear that horridly starched, proper face. It’s enough to drive any one cracked even to look at you. You were always plain, but now that you are both plain and affected, you will be too offensive to live with before long.”“Thank you,” I answered. “I never did come to my family for compliments, and I certainly am not getting them.”“You won’t get them from me, or from Charley, or from Von Marlo while you behave like that. Why, I declare I’d rather be that poor, demented Augusta Moore than go on as you are doing.”“But what am I doing?” I asked. “What do you mean? I’m doing nothing.”“Nothing, Dumps? Be truthful with yourself. Try and get over that horrid feeling, and let us be really happy this Christmas.”“But there was our mother—”“She wasn’t with us last Christmas, was she?”“She was in spirit.”“Well, if she was with us in spirit last Christmas—when we were so jolly miserable, and I had that bad influenza, and Charley sprained his foot, and we had hardly any Christmas dinner and no Christmas-boxes at all except the things we managed to make with the old carpenter’s tools, and when father forgot to come home till the evening, and you began to cry and said that he had been run over by an omnibus—if mother was with us in spirit when we were all really wretched, don’t you think she will be twenty times more in spirit with us now when we are all jolly and good and good-humoured? If our mother is an angel in heaven—and I suppose you believe she is—she must be blessing that sweet woman Grace Donnithorne, as you used to call her, every moment of the time. Oh, there! I needn’t say any more. I’ll let Von Marlo have a talk with you.”“But he sha’n’t—I won’t be talked to,” I said.I rushed away up to my own room. In spite of myself, my feelings were arrested by Alex’s words. For a moment I knelt down and said to God, “Please let me feel kindly towards my step-mother; please let me have a really nice Christmas Day.”After that it was wonderful how my spirits were soothed and how much happier I felt. Christmas Eve ended in fun and games and all sorts of preparations for the merriest Christmas which was to follow, and we all went to bed in high good-humour.
After all, Christmas Eve was jolly. You may cherish a feud against the most innocent and good-natured person in the world with all your might and main; but unless you are specially wicked you cannot bring it into prominence when every one else around you is in the best of good spirits.
It was altogether a very merry party which started off by train from Liverpool Streeten routefor Hedgerow House. We seemed to have left cares of every sort behind us. The boys were absolutely unruly in their mirth. As to father, he elected to go in a smoking carriage. This was a very keen disappointment to Augusta. I saw her start from her seat as though she would accompany him; but not being invited—indeed, the Professor did not even see her—she sank back again and solaced herself by eating chocolates and reading a German book the whole way down.
“Don’t you ever want to watch the scenery?” said Von Marlo in his slow Dutch fashion.
“Yes, when it is worth looking at,” she responded. She glanced at him. “You are a foreigner?”
“Yes, a Dutchman.”
“I don’t approve of Dutchmen.”
She lapsed back into her German. Von Marlo thought it well to change his seat. He came nearer to me.
Oh, I forgot to say that Hannah was also of the party. Now, she had not wished to come; she had objected very strongly; but my step-mother, there was no doubt, was beginning to win Hannah over. Hannah came to my room that very morning when I was dressing to go, and said, “Miss Dumps, I do hope you won’t take it amiss, but—”
“Why, what is it, Hannah?” I asked.
“Well, I’m going too.”
“I’m very glad,” I said.
“’Tain’t that I like her a bit better than I did,” said Hannah—“not a bit. She’s a step-mother, and what’s a step-mother but a sort of person who is in league against the children of the first wife? I’ve sworn to be a friend to the first wife’s children. Didn’t the poor lady come to visit me in a dream the very night I heard of your pa’s marriage, and didn’t I promise that I’d never leave you? And didn’t she come again last night in another dream and tell me to go down to Hedgerow House—not for my own enjoyment, but to be close to you, Miss Dumps, and the two dear boys? So I’m going. Those new servants can look after this place. ’Tain’t what it was.”
“Indeed it isn’t, Hannah. I am very glad you are going with us. And to be honest, Hannah, isn’t it now, frankly, very much nicer than it was?”
“Not to my way of thinking,” said Hannah. “The house now is at that work what I ’ates.”
“The house?” I said. “What is the poor house doing?”
“Pushing out old memories; that’s what this ’ere house is busy over. Every room that gets decked up new is pushing out the old memories—the memories of the time when that poor, dear shadow walked from room to room trying to get a glimpse of sunshine. She’ll soon be gone, poor dear! That’s what I call the behaviour of the house, so don’t ask me if I like it better, for I don’t, and that’s flat.”
Had I been at all wise I should have talked sensibly to Hannah; but in my heart of hearts, although knowing that she spoke the most absolute nonsense, I could not help partly agreeing with her.
The very last thing I did before leaving was to take mother’s miniature and stuff it into the bottom of the little old horse-hair trunk which had been unearthed from a distant garret for me. Nothing would induce me to take my step-mother’s new trunk on this special journey. I was not too well dressed, either, for I could not possibly buy the smart, warm costume which my step-mother had set her heart on, and up to the present I had given her no reason for this. But then I had endless ribbons—sky-blue, pink, mauve, even green; and I had quantities of chiffon bows and chiffon ties, and good gloves and good stockings, and lovely handkerchiefs. I felt that I would pass muster, and turned a deaf ear when Mrs Grant came somewhat anxiously to my room to know if I did not want a corner of her trunk for some of my prettiest dresses. I told her that the horse-hair trunk held all I required, and she went away.
Well, at last we got off, and we were in the train. Good-bye, dull care! This was Christmas-time—the time of presents, of fun and hilarity. I had taken good care to bring all my Christmas-boxes with me.
When we arrived at Chelmsford Station there was a great wagonette waiting for us, drawn by a pair of brown horses. My step-mother immediately took the reins. We all scrambled in; father was huddled in one corner occupied with his Greek Testament. When he had nothing else to do he always read his Greek Testament.
Augusta pushed herself into the seat exactly opposite to him; she bent forward and stared fixedly into his face; but he never once looked at her. I am certain he did not see her. Occasionally she said “Oh!” in quite an audible tone. I felt that Augusta would be quite enough to keep any one from perfect bliss if she went on in such an idiotic fashion.
“What is she doing?” whispered Charley to me.
“Oh, let her alone,” I said; “she is worshipping him.”
“Worshipping him?” he cried.
“Yes; don’t you know?”
“I’ll prick her with a pin,” he said.
“Oh, you mustn’t—you really mustn’t! Do let her alone, poor thing! You see, she sees a kind of glory round father which we don’t.”
“My word, I should think not!” said Charley. “Poor, dear old Professor! Of course, he’s a jolly old dad and all that sort of thing, but—” Charley gave a low whistle.
Augusta’s voice was now heard.
“You were reading that passage aloud; I heard it,” she said. “Would you greatly mind raising your voice a little?”
The Professor lowered his book.
“Eh?” he said.
Then he dropped his glasses. They werepince-nez, and as he dropped them one of the glasses fell out. The wagonette had to be stopped, and we had all to search for the missing glass; and so Augusta’s question was never answered, for when the glass was found it was slipped into its case, and father readjusted hispince-nezon his nose, and went on reading as though nothing had happened.
Augusta looked round at me.
“It would have been such a valuable help,” she said, “and so very little extra exertion to him.”
“Oh, don’t talk to him while he’s reading,” I said. “I’ll get you a chance if you’re good; but do just make an effort to keep your feelings to yourself.”
We had now reached the house, and we all tumbled out of the wagonette. I do think there is no other way of describing the manner in which we left that vehicle. Mrs Grant immediately assumed the manners of hostess. She gave directions to the groom who had brought the carriage, flung him the reins, and then spoke to a man who was waiting. This man disposed of what luggage had been brought in the carriage; the rest was to follow in a cart. Then we entered the house.
Its smallness, its bewitching appearance, the little drawing-room with the stuffed birds and stuffed animals, the dear little dining-room, the pretty bedrooms upstairs, were invaded as though by a horde of ants. Nancy was curtsying and bobbing at the hall door. She welcomed me as though I were a very dear friend, and personally took me up herself to the identical room where I had slept before. It was just as sweet and fresh and fragrant, and the brightest of fires burned in the grate; but there was an extra bed in one corner, which in itself was disconcerting.
Then Augusta appeared and flung down an ugly leather valise, which she had brought her clothes in, on the snowy white counterpane, and said, with a sigh, “Oh, wonderful—wonderful! Marvellous beyond words to express! I am here! I am here!”
“Augusta,” I said stoutly, “if you go on in that fashion you’ll be a raving lunatic before Christmas Day is over. Now pull yourself together and be sensible. You’ll never get father to talk to you if you keep on staring at him and interrupting him. We are going to have a jolly time, and to forget heroics and ‘high strikes’ and all the rest. Oh, there’s the luncheon-bell, and I’m ever so hungry!”
That was a very happy evening notwithstanding the fact that the Miss Grace Donnithorne of less than a couple of months ago was now Mrs Grant and our step-mother. In her own house, surrounded by her own things, she was more difficult than ever to resist. Indeed, I think no one tried to do so, for she was the very soul of tact, and managed to make us all feel that we were her guests, and as guests ought to be particularly nice. Alex said to me, “She is quite charming! She is good! She is a dear! I’m beginning to love her. I don’t care what you say to the contrary.”
“I like her for herself,” I said.
“Then for goodness’ sake prove it, Dumps, and don’t wear that horridly starched, proper face. It’s enough to drive any one cracked even to look at you. You were always plain, but now that you are both plain and affected, you will be too offensive to live with before long.”
“Thank you,” I answered. “I never did come to my family for compliments, and I certainly am not getting them.”
“You won’t get them from me, or from Charley, or from Von Marlo while you behave like that. Why, I declare I’d rather be that poor, demented Augusta Moore than go on as you are doing.”
“But what am I doing?” I asked. “What do you mean? I’m doing nothing.”
“Nothing, Dumps? Be truthful with yourself. Try and get over that horrid feeling, and let us be really happy this Christmas.”
“But there was our mother—”
“She wasn’t with us last Christmas, was she?”
“She was in spirit.”
“Well, if she was with us in spirit last Christmas—when we were so jolly miserable, and I had that bad influenza, and Charley sprained his foot, and we had hardly any Christmas dinner and no Christmas-boxes at all except the things we managed to make with the old carpenter’s tools, and when father forgot to come home till the evening, and you began to cry and said that he had been run over by an omnibus—if mother was with us in spirit when we were all really wretched, don’t you think she will be twenty times more in spirit with us now when we are all jolly and good and good-humoured? If our mother is an angel in heaven—and I suppose you believe she is—she must be blessing that sweet woman Grace Donnithorne, as you used to call her, every moment of the time. Oh, there! I needn’t say any more. I’ll let Von Marlo have a talk with you.”
“But he sha’n’t—I won’t be talked to,” I said.
I rushed away up to my own room. In spite of myself, my feelings were arrested by Alex’s words. For a moment I knelt down and said to God, “Please let me feel kindly towards my step-mother; please let me have a really nice Christmas Day.”
After that it was wonderful how my spirits were soothed and how much happier I felt. Christmas Eve ended in fun and games and all sorts of preparations for the merriest Christmas which was to follow, and we all went to bed in high good-humour.