Chapter Ten.Geoffrey was lounging about in the hall as the two girls descended the wide staircase. His attitude gave the impression that he had been impatiently awaiting their advent, and, as he took in Elma’s changed looks in one comprehensive sweep, his eyes brightened with an expression before which her lids drooped in embarrassment. He came forward eagerly to lead the way into the drawing-room, where Madame sat reading by an open window, and a sofa had been pulled forward and banked with cushions in readiness for the invalid. She smiled a welcome as the little procession entered the room, and looked on with an amused scrutiny while Cornelia shook out the cushions, skilfully altering their position so that the blue brocade should form the background for Elma’s fair head. She did not attempt to rise, but her words were kindly enough, if a trifle patronising.“Well, dear, and how are you now after your rest? We must take care of you, and not let you get overtired. Sure you are comfortable? You look too sweet in that gown! I shall never have the heart to wear it after you. Isn’t it wicked that a woman is obliged to live on after her complexion has faded? I could bear any affliction better than watching myself growing uglier every day. ... I should have a little pillow tucked into your back. ... Sure you won’t feel the draught? That’s right! And you really must leave us, Miss Briskett? Couldn’t possibly stay to dinner? I suppose itwouldbe unkind! The dog-cart is waiting for you. I told them to have it round by seven. Geoffrey will drive you home, of course. After your adventure this afternoon we should not be happy to leave you to a groom. He’ll see you safely to the door, and report to us on your safe arrival.”Geoffrey’s face clouded involuntarily. He had mapped out a much more interesting programme for himself, deciding to slip upstairs and dress for dinner so early that he should be able to descend the moment that his mother was securely shut into her own room. Madame’s evening toilette was a matter of three-quarters of an hour at least, during which time he would have Elma all to himself—to speak to, to look at, to make her look at him. Lovely creature! He had not realised how beautiful she was, and so sweet, and gentle, and shy. What a marvel to meet ashygirl in these days of loud-voiced, smoking, tailor-made women! A man may appreciate the society of a twentieth-century damsel whom he designates as a “rattling good sort,” but he wants a womanly woman for his wife. Elma was womanliness personified—a sweet pink-and-white, softly-curved creature, whose eyes regarded the masculine creature with an unspoken tribute of homage. “You are so big!” they seemed to say; “I am so little! Oh, please be kind to me!” Inspired by that look, Geoffrey was capable of fighting dragons on her behalf!And now he was consigned to drive home a tiresome American girl, who was remarkably well able to take care of herself! Mentally he fumed; outwardly, being a man of the world, he smiled, and murmured “Delighted!” with an imitation of enthusiasm which won Cornelia’s admiration.“One to you, Mr Greville! You played up real well,” was the mental comment, as she dropped a kiss on Elma’s brow and listened to her anxious messages.“Tell mother not to be anxious. Tell her I’m not really ill—only silly and nervous. Tell her I shall soon be well—”“That’s all right, my dear. I’ll cool her fevered brow. ... Your mother’ll be a circumstance compared with Aunt Soph! I’ll have to promise never to look at a horse again while I’m in this country.” She turned towards Mrs Greville with easy self-possession.“It’s real good of you to send me back, and take such care of us both. Good-afternoon. So pleased to have met you!”Madame extended her thin, ringed hand, laughing softly the while. As she had said, she loved to be amused, and this American girl was quite too ridiculously audacious! Actually one might have supposed that she believed herself to be speaking to an equal!Cornelia and Geoffrey Greville passed along the hall, with its great oak fireplace filled in with branches of spreading beech, its decorations of tapestry, of armour, of stags’ heads, of cases of stuffed birds. The ceiling was beamed with oak, the floor was polished to a dangerous brightness, and covered in the centre by an ancient Persian rug. Cornelia had never seen such an interior except as it is imitated on the stage. Her own tessellated, be-fountained entrance hall in New York was as far removed from it on the one side, as on the other was the square of oil-cloth, decorated with a hat-stand and two mahogany chairs, which at The Nook was dignified by the same title. She admired, but admired with reservations. “Kinder mouldy!” summoned up the ultimate verdict.Geoffrey moved moodily towards the doorway. Though bitterly annoyed at his mother’s interference, he was too much of a gentleman to wreak his vengeance on the innocent cause of his exile. As a mitigation of the penance, it occurred to him that he might occupy the time of absence by talking of Elma since he might not talk to her; but Providence was merciful, and came to his aid at the eleventh hour. The inner door opened, and Captain Guest appeared upon the threshold, cap in hand, evidently returning from a solitary ramble, and by no means overjoyed to have arrived at such an inopportune moment. He bowed, murmured some inarticulate greeting, and would have passed by had not Geoffrey eagerly blocked the way. For the moment the claims of friendship were non-existent; he did not care whether Guest were pleased or annoyed; he was simply a means of escape, to be seized on without compunction.“Halloa, here you are! Just the man I wanted,” he cried genially. “You shall have the privilege of driving Miss Briskett home. I was going to take her myself, but I’ve got some rather—er—pressing business to attend to before dinner”—he chuckled mentally over the application of the words—“so I’ll stand aside in your favour. We are not going to trust her out of our sight until she is delivered safely into her aunt’s keeping. Awfully sorry, Miss Briskett, but we shall meet again! You’ll come up to see Miss Ramsden, won’t you? Do come! Come on Saturday—we could make up a game of tennis if she is fit enough by that time.”He helped Cornelia to her seat courteously, yet with an underlying haste which could not be concealed. Captain Guest gave him one look—a murderous look—and murmured, “Delighted, I’m shaw!” in tones of ice. Cornelia felt “ugly,” and looked delightful; head erect, lips pursed, eyes a-flash.“Just as mad as he can be, to be obliged to be civil to ‘the girl’ for a short half hour! Guess there’s one or two, several sizes bigger than him, who would cross the ocean to-morrow for the chance! He’s English—real English!—the sort that’s fixed up with liquid prejudice for blood, and eye-glasses made to see nothing on earth but the British Empire. Rather skeery at the present moment at being set down beside a bold American hussy, with only a groom as chaperon! ... Well! I always was tender-hearted. I’ll pile it on all I know, to fix him in his opinions. I’m made so’s I ken’t endoore to disappoint anyone in his expectations!”She turned deliberately to stare at the silent figure by her side. Certainly he was a fine figure of a man! Her own countrymen who would have travelled so far as to take his place, would have to be giants if the “several sizes” bigger were to be taken in literal earnest. The lean cheek showed the square formation of the jaw, the lips were clean shaven, the eyes dark, deep-set, thickly lashed and browed, the only handsome feature in the face. Cornelia mentally pulled herself together, as Guest turned his head, and cast a fleeting glance at her beneath his drooping lids.“I was sorry to hear that your friend is too ill to be moved. I imagined at the time that she was worse than you realised.”“Shethinksshe is, anyhow, and that’s about as good as the real thing—perhaps better, where health’s concerned. Some people don’t need much to upset ’em—Elma’s one! I guess there’s never much snap to her!”The dark brows arched expressively. “Really! I am afraid I hardly—er—understand the expression!”“You wouldn’t!” returned Cornelia, calmly. “It don’t seem to flourish in this part of the country. At home we reckon no oneismuch use without it.”“So I have heard!” Captain Guest’s understanding of the term seemed to have been more complete than he would acknowledge. “Our standards differ, however. ‘Snap’ may be a useful commodity in the business world, but one resents its intrusion into private life. The very name is objectionable in connection with a girl like Miss Ramsden—with any English girl!”Cornelia curled her red lips.“Yes, they flop; and you like ’em floppy! Kind of ivy round a stalwart oak, or a sweet, wayside rose. A m–o–oss rose!” No amount of description could convey the intonation which she threw into that short word. The “o” was lengthened indefinitely, giving a quaint, un-English effect to the word, which sounded at the same time incredibly full of suggestion. Guest flushed with annoyed understanding, even before Cornelia proceeded to enlarge. “The m–o–oss makes a nice, soft wadding all round, to keep the little buds safe and hidden. We use it quite a good deal at home for packing curios.Driedmoss! It’s apt to get a bit stale with keeping, don’t you think?”“No doubt; but even so it retains some of its fragrance. In its worst state I should be sorry to exchange it for”—it was now the Captain’s turn to throw all his power of expression into one short word—“snap!”Cornelia’s laugh held a curious mingling of irritation and pleasure.It was poor fun having a quarrel all to herself, and it whetted her appetite to find a combatant who was capable of “hitting back.” She sat up very straight in her seat, tossing her head backward in quick, assertive little jerks, and clasping her bare hands on her lap. Guest glanced at her curiously from his point of vantage in the rear. She was like no other girl whom he had met, but somewhere, in pictured form, he must surely have seen such a face, for it struck some sleeping chord of memory. A fantasy perhaps of some Norse goddess or Flame Deity; a wild, weird head, painted in reds and whites, with wonderful shaded locks, and small white face aglow with the fire within. His lips twisted in an involuntary smile. Could anything be more aggressively unlike “the sweet m–o–oss rose” of which she had spoken?“I guess if you go to the root of things, a man’s picture of a woman is cut out to fit into his own niche! If he’s very big himself, there’s only a little corner left for her—a nookey little corner where the moss can grow, but the plant don’t have much scope to spread. If he don’t take much stock of himself, he kind-er stands back, and gives her the front place. Then she gets her chance, and shoots ahead!”Guest laughed in his turn; an exasperating little laugh, eloquent of an immense superiority and disdain.“You speak in an allegory—an allegory of English and American life. I am quite aware that with you the sexes have reversed positions, that the man has sunk into a money-making machine, who slaves so that his wife may spend, while the woman devotes her whole life to dress and frivolity—”“Have you ever been in my country?”Cornelia was brought up short and sharp by an unexpected assent. To disparage America was an unforgivable offence, and she was prepared to denounce the judgment of ignorance in words of flame. Her anger was not abated, but merely turned in another direction, by the discovery that it was not ignorance, but blindness which she had now to denounce—the blindness of the obtuse Englishman who had been granted a privilege which he was incapable of appreciating.“Some people travel about with such a heap of prejudice as baggage that they might as well stay at home and be done with it. Englishmen pride themselves on being conservative, and if they’ve once gotten an idea into their heads, it takes more’n they’ll ever see with their eyes to get it out. I guess you spent your time in my country seeing just exactly what you’d calculated on from the start. It’s big enough to rear all sorts, and enlightened enough to hold ’em!”“It is certainly very big,” assented Guest, in a tone of colourless civility. Cornelia hated him for his indifference, his patronage, his thinly-veiled antagonism. She was accustomed to a surfeit of masculine attention, and cherished a complacent faith in her own fascinations. It was a new and disagreeable experience to meet a man who, so far from exhibiting the well-known symptoms of subjugation, was honestly anxious to avoid her society. To feel herself disliked; to be a bore to two men—the one eager to hand her over to his friend, the other furious at being so trapped—can the world contain a deeper degradation for feminine three-and-twenty? Cornelia’s mood changed before it. The excitement which had tided her over the events of the afternoon died away, to be succeeded by a wave of sickening home-sickness. She was lonesome—she wanted her poppar! She hated this pokey place, and everyone in it. She guessed she’d take a cabin in the first boat and sail away home. ... Her lips quivered, and she blinked rapidly to suppress a threatening tear. She would rather shoot herself than cry before this patronising Englishman, but it was almost past endurance to play second fiddle all the afternoon, be snubbed on the way home, and look forward to an evening spent in propitiating two nervous old ladies!“I don’t get any bou-quets in this play!” soliloquised Cornelia, sadly. “’Far’s I can see, there isn’t a soul in Great Britain that cares a dump about me at the present moment, except, maybe, Aunt Soph, and she’d like me a heap better at a distance!” She sighed involuntarily, and Captain Guest, watching her from beneath his lowered lids, was visited by an uncomfortable suspicion that while criticising another, his own behaviour had not been above reproach. Now that the girl had lost her aggressive air, and looked tired and sad, the feminine element made its appeal. Arrogance gave place to sympathy, prejudice to self-reproach. ... She was only a little thing after all, and as slim as a reed.Rapidly reviewing the incidents of the afternoon, he was as much surprised as shocked at the recollection of his own discourtesy. This stranger had overheard his frank declaration of dislike, had probably also seen the glance of reproach which he had cast upon Greville in the porch before starting out on this drive. Twice in a few hours had he overstepped the bounds of politeness, he, who flattered himself on presenting an unimpeachable exterior, whatever might be the inward emotions! The explanation of the lapse was a suddenly conceived prejudice at the moment of first meeting. The girl’s jaunty self-possession had struck a false note, and he had labelled her as callous and selfish. Now, looking at her afresh, he realised that this was not the face of a cold-hearted woman. This girl couldfed! She was feeling now—feeling something painful, depressing. His eyes fell once more on her ungloved hands; he noticed that she held the right wrist tightly grasped, and even as he did so memory flashed back a picture of her as she had stood above him on the bank, her hands held in the same strained position. Afterwards he marvelled at the accuracy of that brain picture, but for the moment concern overwhelmed every other feeling. The inquiry came in quick, almost boyish tones, strangely different from his previous utterances.“I say! have you hurt your wrist? You are holding it as if it were painful.”Cornelia turned to see a face as altered as the voice, elevated her brows in involuntary surprise, and drawled an indifferent assent.“I guess I ricked it, hanging on to those reins. It was pulled half out of the sockets.”“Didn’t you have anything done for it at the house?”“No.”“Or tell anyone about it?”“No.”“But why not?”“I never yelp!” said Cornelia, proudly. She tilted her chin, and her eyes sent out a golden flash. “There was enough of that business going on without my joining in the chorus. If you’re hurt, it don’t mend it any to make a fuss.”Guest looked at her curiously.“You certainly did not yelp! I thought you had escaped entirely, and that your friend had come in for all the knocking about. I’m awfully sorry. Sprains are beastly things. Look here, if you don’t want to be crippled, it ought to be massaged at once! I’m knowing about sprains. Had an ankle cured in a couple of days by a Swedish fellow, which would have laid me up for weeks on the old methods. The great point is to keep the blood from congealing in the veins. Of course, it must be done in the right way, or it will do more harm than good. You set to work directlyabovethe joint. Er—would you allow me?—might I show you for just a moment?”The horse was ambling peacefully along a quiet lane, and as he spoke Captain Guest twisted the reins loosely round his own wrist and half held out his hands, then drew them back again in obvious embarrassment. The shyness was all on his own side, however, for Cornelia cried, “Why, suttenly!” in frank response, and pulled back the loose lawn sleeve to leave her wrist more fully exposed.She watched with keen interest while he rubbed upward with gentle pressure, increased gradually as she showed no sign of pain or shrinking.“That’s the way—upward, always upward. Follow the line of the blood vessels—you see!” He traced a fine blue line with the end of a big finger, while the groom rolled curious eyes from behind, rehearsing a dramatic recital in the servants’ hall. “After that has been done once or twice, tackle the joint itself, and you’ll be astonished at the effect. Is there anyone in the house who can do it for you? You could do a good deal for yourself, you know, if the worst comes to the worst. Like this—give me the left hand, and I’ll show you how to work the joint itself!”Cornelia edged round in her seat to adopt a more convenient position, and laid her hand in his with the simplicity of a child. Such a slip of a thing it looked lying on his big brown paw, soft and white, with carefully manicured nails—almond-shaped, transparent, faintly pink. Guest loved a pretty hand, and held theories of its value as an exponent of character. The future Mrs Guest might or might not be handsome, as Fate decreed, but it was inconceivable that he could ever marry a woman with red fingers, or bitten nails. A pure artistic delight possessed him at the sight of Cornelia’s little hand, but the soft confident touch of it against his palm brought with it a thrill of something deeper. He gave his demonstration with a touch of awkwardness, but the girl herself was as placidly self-possessed as if he had been a maiden aunt buttoning up a glove. She put question after question, requested him to “show her again,” and gripped his own wrist to prove that she had mastered the desired movements. A more business-like manner it was impossible to imagine. Guest doubted if another girl of his acquaintance would have shown such an utter absence of self-consciousness. It was admirable, of course, quite admirable, but— He took up the reins with a little rankle of disappointment mingling with his approval.Barely a mile now remained to be traversed, as the horse was trotting up the long hill into Norton; at the top was the High Road, at the end of the High Road the gates leading into the park. If anything remained to be said, it would be wise to say it now, but Cornelia seemed to have nothing to say. She sat in erect, straight-backed fashion, her right hand lying on her knee, the fingers of the left rubbing softly up the arm, serenely oblivious of his presence. Guest cleared his throat once, cleared it again, cleared it a third time, but the words would not come. They passed through the lodge-gates and drew up before The Holt, where the groom stood ready to assist Cornelia to alight. Before Guest could throw down the reins she had jumped to the ground, and was standing facing him on the curb. The slanting rays of the afternoon sun fell on her as she stood, a slim white slip of a girl whom he could lift with one hand—a spirit as of tempered steel, which might bend, but never break.“I thank you for your courtesy!” said Cornelia, clearly, as she inclined her head towards him in formal, old-world fashion.Captain Guest watched her progress up the narrow path, biting hard at his lower lip. Courtesy! The word stung. The big man felt uncommonly small as he turned his horse and drove slowly home.
Geoffrey was lounging about in the hall as the two girls descended the wide staircase. His attitude gave the impression that he had been impatiently awaiting their advent, and, as he took in Elma’s changed looks in one comprehensive sweep, his eyes brightened with an expression before which her lids drooped in embarrassment. He came forward eagerly to lead the way into the drawing-room, where Madame sat reading by an open window, and a sofa had been pulled forward and banked with cushions in readiness for the invalid. She smiled a welcome as the little procession entered the room, and looked on with an amused scrutiny while Cornelia shook out the cushions, skilfully altering their position so that the blue brocade should form the background for Elma’s fair head. She did not attempt to rise, but her words were kindly enough, if a trifle patronising.
“Well, dear, and how are you now after your rest? We must take care of you, and not let you get overtired. Sure you are comfortable? You look too sweet in that gown! I shall never have the heart to wear it after you. Isn’t it wicked that a woman is obliged to live on after her complexion has faded? I could bear any affliction better than watching myself growing uglier every day. ... I should have a little pillow tucked into your back. ... Sure you won’t feel the draught? That’s right! And you really must leave us, Miss Briskett? Couldn’t possibly stay to dinner? I suppose itwouldbe unkind! The dog-cart is waiting for you. I told them to have it round by seven. Geoffrey will drive you home, of course. After your adventure this afternoon we should not be happy to leave you to a groom. He’ll see you safely to the door, and report to us on your safe arrival.”
Geoffrey’s face clouded involuntarily. He had mapped out a much more interesting programme for himself, deciding to slip upstairs and dress for dinner so early that he should be able to descend the moment that his mother was securely shut into her own room. Madame’s evening toilette was a matter of three-quarters of an hour at least, during which time he would have Elma all to himself—to speak to, to look at, to make her look at him. Lovely creature! He had not realised how beautiful she was, and so sweet, and gentle, and shy. What a marvel to meet ashygirl in these days of loud-voiced, smoking, tailor-made women! A man may appreciate the society of a twentieth-century damsel whom he designates as a “rattling good sort,” but he wants a womanly woman for his wife. Elma was womanliness personified—a sweet pink-and-white, softly-curved creature, whose eyes regarded the masculine creature with an unspoken tribute of homage. “You are so big!” they seemed to say; “I am so little! Oh, please be kind to me!” Inspired by that look, Geoffrey was capable of fighting dragons on her behalf!
And now he was consigned to drive home a tiresome American girl, who was remarkably well able to take care of herself! Mentally he fumed; outwardly, being a man of the world, he smiled, and murmured “Delighted!” with an imitation of enthusiasm which won Cornelia’s admiration.
“One to you, Mr Greville! You played up real well,” was the mental comment, as she dropped a kiss on Elma’s brow and listened to her anxious messages.
“Tell mother not to be anxious. Tell her I’m not really ill—only silly and nervous. Tell her I shall soon be well—”
“That’s all right, my dear. I’ll cool her fevered brow. ... Your mother’ll be a circumstance compared with Aunt Soph! I’ll have to promise never to look at a horse again while I’m in this country.” She turned towards Mrs Greville with easy self-possession.
“It’s real good of you to send me back, and take such care of us both. Good-afternoon. So pleased to have met you!”
Madame extended her thin, ringed hand, laughing softly the while. As she had said, she loved to be amused, and this American girl was quite too ridiculously audacious! Actually one might have supposed that she believed herself to be speaking to an equal!
Cornelia and Geoffrey Greville passed along the hall, with its great oak fireplace filled in with branches of spreading beech, its decorations of tapestry, of armour, of stags’ heads, of cases of stuffed birds. The ceiling was beamed with oak, the floor was polished to a dangerous brightness, and covered in the centre by an ancient Persian rug. Cornelia had never seen such an interior except as it is imitated on the stage. Her own tessellated, be-fountained entrance hall in New York was as far removed from it on the one side, as on the other was the square of oil-cloth, decorated with a hat-stand and two mahogany chairs, which at The Nook was dignified by the same title. She admired, but admired with reservations. “Kinder mouldy!” summoned up the ultimate verdict.
Geoffrey moved moodily towards the doorway. Though bitterly annoyed at his mother’s interference, he was too much of a gentleman to wreak his vengeance on the innocent cause of his exile. As a mitigation of the penance, it occurred to him that he might occupy the time of absence by talking of Elma since he might not talk to her; but Providence was merciful, and came to his aid at the eleventh hour. The inner door opened, and Captain Guest appeared upon the threshold, cap in hand, evidently returning from a solitary ramble, and by no means overjoyed to have arrived at such an inopportune moment. He bowed, murmured some inarticulate greeting, and would have passed by had not Geoffrey eagerly blocked the way. For the moment the claims of friendship were non-existent; he did not care whether Guest were pleased or annoyed; he was simply a means of escape, to be seized on without compunction.
“Halloa, here you are! Just the man I wanted,” he cried genially. “You shall have the privilege of driving Miss Briskett home. I was going to take her myself, but I’ve got some rather—er—pressing business to attend to before dinner”—he chuckled mentally over the application of the words—“so I’ll stand aside in your favour. We are not going to trust her out of our sight until she is delivered safely into her aunt’s keeping. Awfully sorry, Miss Briskett, but we shall meet again! You’ll come up to see Miss Ramsden, won’t you? Do come! Come on Saturday—we could make up a game of tennis if she is fit enough by that time.”
He helped Cornelia to her seat courteously, yet with an underlying haste which could not be concealed. Captain Guest gave him one look—a murderous look—and murmured, “Delighted, I’m shaw!” in tones of ice. Cornelia felt “ugly,” and looked delightful; head erect, lips pursed, eyes a-flash.
“Just as mad as he can be, to be obliged to be civil to ‘the girl’ for a short half hour! Guess there’s one or two, several sizes bigger than him, who would cross the ocean to-morrow for the chance! He’s English—real English!—the sort that’s fixed up with liquid prejudice for blood, and eye-glasses made to see nothing on earth but the British Empire. Rather skeery at the present moment at being set down beside a bold American hussy, with only a groom as chaperon! ... Well! I always was tender-hearted. I’ll pile it on all I know, to fix him in his opinions. I’m made so’s I ken’t endoore to disappoint anyone in his expectations!”
She turned deliberately to stare at the silent figure by her side. Certainly he was a fine figure of a man! Her own countrymen who would have travelled so far as to take his place, would have to be giants if the “several sizes” bigger were to be taken in literal earnest. The lean cheek showed the square formation of the jaw, the lips were clean shaven, the eyes dark, deep-set, thickly lashed and browed, the only handsome feature in the face. Cornelia mentally pulled herself together, as Guest turned his head, and cast a fleeting glance at her beneath his drooping lids.
“I was sorry to hear that your friend is too ill to be moved. I imagined at the time that she was worse than you realised.”
“Shethinksshe is, anyhow, and that’s about as good as the real thing—perhaps better, where health’s concerned. Some people don’t need much to upset ’em—Elma’s one! I guess there’s never much snap to her!”
The dark brows arched expressively. “Really! I am afraid I hardly—er—understand the expression!”
“You wouldn’t!” returned Cornelia, calmly. “It don’t seem to flourish in this part of the country. At home we reckon no oneismuch use without it.”
“So I have heard!” Captain Guest’s understanding of the term seemed to have been more complete than he would acknowledge. “Our standards differ, however. ‘Snap’ may be a useful commodity in the business world, but one resents its intrusion into private life. The very name is objectionable in connection with a girl like Miss Ramsden—with any English girl!”
Cornelia curled her red lips.
“Yes, they flop; and you like ’em floppy! Kind of ivy round a stalwart oak, or a sweet, wayside rose. A m–o–oss rose!” No amount of description could convey the intonation which she threw into that short word. The “o” was lengthened indefinitely, giving a quaint, un-English effect to the word, which sounded at the same time incredibly full of suggestion. Guest flushed with annoyed understanding, even before Cornelia proceeded to enlarge. “The m–o–oss makes a nice, soft wadding all round, to keep the little buds safe and hidden. We use it quite a good deal at home for packing curios.Driedmoss! It’s apt to get a bit stale with keeping, don’t you think?”
“No doubt; but even so it retains some of its fragrance. In its worst state I should be sorry to exchange it for”—it was now the Captain’s turn to throw all his power of expression into one short word—“snap!”
Cornelia’s laugh held a curious mingling of irritation and pleasure.
It was poor fun having a quarrel all to herself, and it whetted her appetite to find a combatant who was capable of “hitting back.” She sat up very straight in her seat, tossing her head backward in quick, assertive little jerks, and clasping her bare hands on her lap. Guest glanced at her curiously from his point of vantage in the rear. She was like no other girl whom he had met, but somewhere, in pictured form, he must surely have seen such a face, for it struck some sleeping chord of memory. A fantasy perhaps of some Norse goddess or Flame Deity; a wild, weird head, painted in reds and whites, with wonderful shaded locks, and small white face aglow with the fire within. His lips twisted in an involuntary smile. Could anything be more aggressively unlike “the sweet m–o–oss rose” of which she had spoken?
“I guess if you go to the root of things, a man’s picture of a woman is cut out to fit into his own niche! If he’s very big himself, there’s only a little corner left for her—a nookey little corner where the moss can grow, but the plant don’t have much scope to spread. If he don’t take much stock of himself, he kind-er stands back, and gives her the front place. Then she gets her chance, and shoots ahead!”
Guest laughed in his turn; an exasperating little laugh, eloquent of an immense superiority and disdain.
“You speak in an allegory—an allegory of English and American life. I am quite aware that with you the sexes have reversed positions, that the man has sunk into a money-making machine, who slaves so that his wife may spend, while the woman devotes her whole life to dress and frivolity—”
“Have you ever been in my country?”
Cornelia was brought up short and sharp by an unexpected assent. To disparage America was an unforgivable offence, and she was prepared to denounce the judgment of ignorance in words of flame. Her anger was not abated, but merely turned in another direction, by the discovery that it was not ignorance, but blindness which she had now to denounce—the blindness of the obtuse Englishman who had been granted a privilege which he was incapable of appreciating.
“Some people travel about with such a heap of prejudice as baggage that they might as well stay at home and be done with it. Englishmen pride themselves on being conservative, and if they’ve once gotten an idea into their heads, it takes more’n they’ll ever see with their eyes to get it out. I guess you spent your time in my country seeing just exactly what you’d calculated on from the start. It’s big enough to rear all sorts, and enlightened enough to hold ’em!”
“It is certainly very big,” assented Guest, in a tone of colourless civility. Cornelia hated him for his indifference, his patronage, his thinly-veiled antagonism. She was accustomed to a surfeit of masculine attention, and cherished a complacent faith in her own fascinations. It was a new and disagreeable experience to meet a man who, so far from exhibiting the well-known symptoms of subjugation, was honestly anxious to avoid her society. To feel herself disliked; to be a bore to two men—the one eager to hand her over to his friend, the other furious at being so trapped—can the world contain a deeper degradation for feminine three-and-twenty? Cornelia’s mood changed before it. The excitement which had tided her over the events of the afternoon died away, to be succeeded by a wave of sickening home-sickness. She was lonesome—she wanted her poppar! She hated this pokey place, and everyone in it. She guessed she’d take a cabin in the first boat and sail away home. ... Her lips quivered, and she blinked rapidly to suppress a threatening tear. She would rather shoot herself than cry before this patronising Englishman, but it was almost past endurance to play second fiddle all the afternoon, be snubbed on the way home, and look forward to an evening spent in propitiating two nervous old ladies!
“I don’t get any bou-quets in this play!” soliloquised Cornelia, sadly. “’Far’s I can see, there isn’t a soul in Great Britain that cares a dump about me at the present moment, except, maybe, Aunt Soph, and she’d like me a heap better at a distance!” She sighed involuntarily, and Captain Guest, watching her from beneath his lowered lids, was visited by an uncomfortable suspicion that while criticising another, his own behaviour had not been above reproach. Now that the girl had lost her aggressive air, and looked tired and sad, the feminine element made its appeal. Arrogance gave place to sympathy, prejudice to self-reproach. ... She was only a little thing after all, and as slim as a reed.
Rapidly reviewing the incidents of the afternoon, he was as much surprised as shocked at the recollection of his own discourtesy. This stranger had overheard his frank declaration of dislike, had probably also seen the glance of reproach which he had cast upon Greville in the porch before starting out on this drive. Twice in a few hours had he overstepped the bounds of politeness, he, who flattered himself on presenting an unimpeachable exterior, whatever might be the inward emotions! The explanation of the lapse was a suddenly conceived prejudice at the moment of first meeting. The girl’s jaunty self-possession had struck a false note, and he had labelled her as callous and selfish. Now, looking at her afresh, he realised that this was not the face of a cold-hearted woman. This girl couldfed! She was feeling now—feeling something painful, depressing. His eyes fell once more on her ungloved hands; he noticed that she held the right wrist tightly grasped, and even as he did so memory flashed back a picture of her as she had stood above him on the bank, her hands held in the same strained position. Afterwards he marvelled at the accuracy of that brain picture, but for the moment concern overwhelmed every other feeling. The inquiry came in quick, almost boyish tones, strangely different from his previous utterances.
“I say! have you hurt your wrist? You are holding it as if it were painful.”
Cornelia turned to see a face as altered as the voice, elevated her brows in involuntary surprise, and drawled an indifferent assent.
“I guess I ricked it, hanging on to those reins. It was pulled half out of the sockets.”
“Didn’t you have anything done for it at the house?”
“No.”
“Or tell anyone about it?”
“No.”
“But why not?”
“I never yelp!” said Cornelia, proudly. She tilted her chin, and her eyes sent out a golden flash. “There was enough of that business going on without my joining in the chorus. If you’re hurt, it don’t mend it any to make a fuss.”
Guest looked at her curiously.
“You certainly did not yelp! I thought you had escaped entirely, and that your friend had come in for all the knocking about. I’m awfully sorry. Sprains are beastly things. Look here, if you don’t want to be crippled, it ought to be massaged at once! I’m knowing about sprains. Had an ankle cured in a couple of days by a Swedish fellow, which would have laid me up for weeks on the old methods. The great point is to keep the blood from congealing in the veins. Of course, it must be done in the right way, or it will do more harm than good. You set to work directlyabovethe joint. Er—would you allow me?—might I show you for just a moment?”
The horse was ambling peacefully along a quiet lane, and as he spoke Captain Guest twisted the reins loosely round his own wrist and half held out his hands, then drew them back again in obvious embarrassment. The shyness was all on his own side, however, for Cornelia cried, “Why, suttenly!” in frank response, and pulled back the loose lawn sleeve to leave her wrist more fully exposed.
She watched with keen interest while he rubbed upward with gentle pressure, increased gradually as she showed no sign of pain or shrinking.
“That’s the way—upward, always upward. Follow the line of the blood vessels—you see!” He traced a fine blue line with the end of a big finger, while the groom rolled curious eyes from behind, rehearsing a dramatic recital in the servants’ hall. “After that has been done once or twice, tackle the joint itself, and you’ll be astonished at the effect. Is there anyone in the house who can do it for you? You could do a good deal for yourself, you know, if the worst comes to the worst. Like this—give me the left hand, and I’ll show you how to work the joint itself!”
Cornelia edged round in her seat to adopt a more convenient position, and laid her hand in his with the simplicity of a child. Such a slip of a thing it looked lying on his big brown paw, soft and white, with carefully manicured nails—almond-shaped, transparent, faintly pink. Guest loved a pretty hand, and held theories of its value as an exponent of character. The future Mrs Guest might or might not be handsome, as Fate decreed, but it was inconceivable that he could ever marry a woman with red fingers, or bitten nails. A pure artistic delight possessed him at the sight of Cornelia’s little hand, but the soft confident touch of it against his palm brought with it a thrill of something deeper. He gave his demonstration with a touch of awkwardness, but the girl herself was as placidly self-possessed as if he had been a maiden aunt buttoning up a glove. She put question after question, requested him to “show her again,” and gripped his own wrist to prove that she had mastered the desired movements. A more business-like manner it was impossible to imagine. Guest doubted if another girl of his acquaintance would have shown such an utter absence of self-consciousness. It was admirable, of course, quite admirable, but— He took up the reins with a little rankle of disappointment mingling with his approval.
Barely a mile now remained to be traversed, as the horse was trotting up the long hill into Norton; at the top was the High Road, at the end of the High Road the gates leading into the park. If anything remained to be said, it would be wise to say it now, but Cornelia seemed to have nothing to say. She sat in erect, straight-backed fashion, her right hand lying on her knee, the fingers of the left rubbing softly up the arm, serenely oblivious of his presence. Guest cleared his throat once, cleared it again, cleared it a third time, but the words would not come. They passed through the lodge-gates and drew up before The Holt, where the groom stood ready to assist Cornelia to alight. Before Guest could throw down the reins she had jumped to the ground, and was standing facing him on the curb. The slanting rays of the afternoon sun fell on her as she stood, a slim white slip of a girl whom he could lift with one hand—a spirit as of tempered steel, which might bend, but never break.
“I thank you for your courtesy!” said Cornelia, clearly, as she inclined her head towards him in formal, old-world fashion.
Captain Guest watched her progress up the narrow path, biting hard at his lower lip. Courtesy! The word stung. The big man felt uncommonly small as he turned his horse and drove slowly home.
Chapter Eleven.At the first shock of hearing of the accident, Mrs Ramsden’s motherly anxiety swamped all other feeling. She forgot to disapprove of a woman who at sixty still wore a pad on her uncapped head, and lacy frills on her petticoat, in gratitude to the hostess who had extended hospitality to her ewe lamb. For the moment also, Geoffrey himself ceased to be a dangerous roué, and became a gallant rescuer, miraculously appearing on the scene of danger. She cried, and wanted to know how Elma looked; what Elma said; how Elma felt; what Elma had had to eat; if Elma’s sheets had been aired; if Elma cried—poor darling! at being left behind? And Cornelia answered fully on all these points, not always, it is to be feared, with a strict regard to veracity, but with a praiseworthy desire to soothe, which was blessed with wonderful success. Mrs Ramsden dried her eyes, and opined that life was full of blessings, and that she ought to be thankful that things were no worse! There was a sweet young girl whom she had once known, who had both legs amputated, and died of gangrene, a month before she was to have been married. It was caused by a carriage accident, too, and now she came to think of it, the poor dear had just the same pink-and-white complexion as Elma herself.“Well, I guess there’s not much stump about Elma, this journey!” returned Cornelia, cheerily. “There’s nothing to it but a little shock to the constitootion. Elma’s constitootion is nervy. What she needs is re-pose. Perfect re-pose! If I were you, I’d send up a note to-morrow, and stay quietly at home. It would naturally upset her some to see you, and she’d recuperate quicker by herself.”But at this Mrs Ramsden drew herself up with a chilly dignity. She must certainly see her child. It was her duty to see for herself how matters progressed. In the matter of removal, she must be guided by what she saw...“Yes, ’um!” assented Cornelia, meekly.She had said her say, and felt confident that Geoffrey Greville might now be trusted to play his part. As she walked along the few yards which separated The Holt from The Nook, she congratulated herself that the worst half of her explanations were over; but in this reckoning she was mistaken. Miss Briskett’s displeasure was unsoftened by anxiety, and was, moreover, accentuated by the remembrance that all this trouble would have been averted if Cornelia had consented to accept Mrs Nevins’ invitation to tea in a reasonable and respectful manner. The girl had refused to make herself amiable, had insisted upon driving a strange horse over strange roads, in the face of expressed disapproval, and had contrived to come to grief outside the very house of all others which she was most desired to avoid! Cornelia was flighty enough already; the only chance of keeping her in order was by introducing her to friends who, by their quiet decorum, would exercise a restraining effect on her demeanour. Symptoms of dissatisfaction had already set in—witness that same rejected tea—and this afternoon’s experience had established a certain amount of intimacy, which would entail endless difficulties in the future.Poor Miss Briskett, she was indeed sorely tried! With her own eyes she had beheld Cornelia driven up to the gate by a man who was even more dangerous than the young Squire himself, inasmuch as he was often a visitor in the Park for weeks at a time; his aunt being the proud possessor of The Towers, the largest and most imposing of the crescent houses. On the afternoon on which Cornelia’s coming had first been discussed, she herself had remarked to Mrs Ramsden that the girl must be protected from an acquaintance with Captain Guest! It seemed almost too exasperating to be borne that she should have effected an introduction for herself within three short weeks of her arrival!The spinster’s sharp nose looked sharper than ever, her thin lips thinner, her grey eyes more cold and colourless. Cornelia looked from them to the steel trimmings on her dress—really and truly, one looked about as human as the other! The “lonesome” feeling gripped once more, and her thoughts flew longingly to “Poppar,” away at the other side of two thousand miles of ocean.“I feel kinderleft!” was the expressive mental comment as the maid swept away the crumbs, placed the two fruit dishes and the decanter of port before her mistress, and noiselessly retired from the room. Miss Briskett had been clearing her throat in ominous fashion for the last ten minutes, and now that Mary’s restraining presence was removed, she wasted no further time in preliminaries. “I think it is time that we came to an understanding, Cornelia,” she began, in ice-cold accents. “If you remain under my roof you must give me your word to indulge in no more escapades like that of this afternoon! I gave my consent with much reluctance; or, perhaps, it would be more correct to say that I was not asked for my consent at all; and now you see what the consequences have been!”“I promise faithfully, Aunt Soph, that I’ll never have a smash again, if I can help it! I’m not a bit more set on them than you are yourself, and I guess the mare was as innocent as a babe, so far’s you’re concerned. She wasn’t deliberately setting out to annoy you, as you seem to imagine. I guess she needs more sympathy than blame!”“Don’t fence with words, Cornelia, please. I was not referring to the horse, and I have no intention of allowing you to run any more risks. I distinctly forbid you to take more carriage expeditions without a competent driver. I am responsible for your safety, and your father would blame me, if any harm happened to you while you are my guest. I acted against my judgment in allowing you to go alone to-day, but I shall not do so again. Do you clearly understand?”Cornelia’s golden eyes stared at her thoughtfully. An inherent sense of justice made her conscious that her aunt had right on her side, though she might have worded her decree in more conciliatory fashion. The reference to her father also had a softening effect. Poppar’d go crazy if he heard that his daughter had been in any sort of danger!...“Well—” she said slowly. “It’s a ‘got-to,’ I suppose! It would be playing it pretty low down, to land you with the worry of nursing me, and keeping Poppar quiet at the other end of the world. But you wouldn’t expect me to drive about with one of those fool-creatures from the livery stable taking care of me, as if I were a kiddy? No, sir! I don’t see myself coming down tothatlevel yet awhile! We’d best get up some driving parties, with those men at the Manor. They seem to have lots of horses and carts and things hanging round, and I don’t see as they could employ themselves better than in giving Elma and me a good time. I’ll air the subject when I go up to inquire!”Miss Briskett fairly leapt on her seat with horror and indignation. She began to speak, and spoke rapidly for the next three minutes, laying down a series of commandments to which Cornelia listened with bated breath.Thou shalt not hold any communication with the Manor, nor with the people inhabiting the Manor; nor with the guest sojourning beneath the roof of the Manor. Thou shalt not associate with any men outside the circle of thy aunt’s acquaintances. Thou shalt walk abroad by thine aunt’s side, on thine own legs, and comport thyself discreetly, as behoves a young gentlewoman of good family. Thou shalt remember that thou art a self-invited guest, and conform to the rules of the establishment, or else shalt promptly return to the place from whence thou camest...In a word, Miss Briskett lost her temper, and when a woman of mature years and grey hairs loses control of herself, and lets her tongue run amuck, it is a sorry spectacle. The flush on Cornelia’s cheeks was not for her own humiliation, but for her aunt’s. She lowered her lids, ashamed to look into the angry, twisted face.“Yes, I understand,” she replied quietly, in answer to the final question. “I guess I understand quite a lot.”“And you mean to obey?”There was a moment’s hesitation, and then—“No,” drawled Cornelia, calmly. “I can’t say as I do! Those people have been polite to me, and I’m bound to be civil in return. I never ran after any man that I know of, and I don’t intend to begin, but when Idomeet ’em, I’m going to be as pleasant as I know how. It’s a pity, Aunt Soph, but you don’t understand girls! I’ve not been reared on tea-parties and cribbage, and I tell you straight that I’ve justgotto have a vent! You be wise not to try to shut me up, for I get pretty reckless if I’m thwarted.”“Cornelia, do you dare to threaten me?”“No, Aunt Soph. I’m kind enough to warn you before it is too late!”Cornelia rose as she spoke, and walked upstairs to the square, prosaic room, which seemed the only bit of “home” she possessed in the whole big map of Europe; sat herself down, and reviewed the situation.Aunt Soph had not wanted her! The longing for a real heart-to-heart friendship had been on one side only; that was the first, and most petrifying revelation. She had travelled two thousand sea-sick miles to find herself an unwelcome guest, imprisoned within the four square walls of a nook-less Nook; bound fast in the trammels of old-world conventions. “My country, ’tis of thee, sw-e-et land of libertee!” murmured Cornelia, mournfully, beneath her breath. Two big tears rose in her golden eyes, and her lips quivered. Should she pack up, and sail for home forthwith? For a moment the temptation seemed irresistible, but only for a moment. Poppar would feel badly if his two nearest relations came to an open rupture; and besides, “When I make up my mind to do a thing, I get there—ev-er-y time!” said the girl, staunchly. “I guess it’ll take more than four weeks of this country to daunt Cornelia E Briskett, if she’s got her head set to stay. For one thing, I’ve taken in hand to start Elma Ramsden on the road to liberty, and there’s going to be a fight before she’s through. I’ll have to stand by, and be ready with the drill. As for Aunt Soph, she’s acted pretty meanly, letting me come along when she hated to have me, but for Poppar’s sake I’ll be as meek as I know how. I thought we were going to be friends, but she’s such a back number she don’t even remember how it felt to be a girl, and it’s not a mite of use arguing. She thinks she knows better than I do!” Cornelia gurgled amused incredulity. “Well, it’s as easy as pie to hev a little prank on my own account, and prank Imust, if I’m to last out another three months in this secluded seminary. My constitootion’s fed on excitement! I should wilt away without it. Poppar wouldn’t like to have me wilt!” ... She sat gazing out of the window; gazing—gazing, while a slow smile curled the corners of her lips.
At the first shock of hearing of the accident, Mrs Ramsden’s motherly anxiety swamped all other feeling. She forgot to disapprove of a woman who at sixty still wore a pad on her uncapped head, and lacy frills on her petticoat, in gratitude to the hostess who had extended hospitality to her ewe lamb. For the moment also, Geoffrey himself ceased to be a dangerous roué, and became a gallant rescuer, miraculously appearing on the scene of danger. She cried, and wanted to know how Elma looked; what Elma said; how Elma felt; what Elma had had to eat; if Elma’s sheets had been aired; if Elma cried—poor darling! at being left behind? And Cornelia answered fully on all these points, not always, it is to be feared, with a strict regard to veracity, but with a praiseworthy desire to soothe, which was blessed with wonderful success. Mrs Ramsden dried her eyes, and opined that life was full of blessings, and that she ought to be thankful that things were no worse! There was a sweet young girl whom she had once known, who had both legs amputated, and died of gangrene, a month before she was to have been married. It was caused by a carriage accident, too, and now she came to think of it, the poor dear had just the same pink-and-white complexion as Elma herself.
“Well, I guess there’s not much stump about Elma, this journey!” returned Cornelia, cheerily. “There’s nothing to it but a little shock to the constitootion. Elma’s constitootion is nervy. What she needs is re-pose. Perfect re-pose! If I were you, I’d send up a note to-morrow, and stay quietly at home. It would naturally upset her some to see you, and she’d recuperate quicker by herself.”
But at this Mrs Ramsden drew herself up with a chilly dignity. She must certainly see her child. It was her duty to see for herself how matters progressed. In the matter of removal, she must be guided by what she saw...
“Yes, ’um!” assented Cornelia, meekly.
She had said her say, and felt confident that Geoffrey Greville might now be trusted to play his part. As she walked along the few yards which separated The Holt from The Nook, she congratulated herself that the worst half of her explanations were over; but in this reckoning she was mistaken. Miss Briskett’s displeasure was unsoftened by anxiety, and was, moreover, accentuated by the remembrance that all this trouble would have been averted if Cornelia had consented to accept Mrs Nevins’ invitation to tea in a reasonable and respectful manner. The girl had refused to make herself amiable, had insisted upon driving a strange horse over strange roads, in the face of expressed disapproval, and had contrived to come to grief outside the very house of all others which she was most desired to avoid! Cornelia was flighty enough already; the only chance of keeping her in order was by introducing her to friends who, by their quiet decorum, would exercise a restraining effect on her demeanour. Symptoms of dissatisfaction had already set in—witness that same rejected tea—and this afternoon’s experience had established a certain amount of intimacy, which would entail endless difficulties in the future.
Poor Miss Briskett, she was indeed sorely tried! With her own eyes she had beheld Cornelia driven up to the gate by a man who was even more dangerous than the young Squire himself, inasmuch as he was often a visitor in the Park for weeks at a time; his aunt being the proud possessor of The Towers, the largest and most imposing of the crescent houses. On the afternoon on which Cornelia’s coming had first been discussed, she herself had remarked to Mrs Ramsden that the girl must be protected from an acquaintance with Captain Guest! It seemed almost too exasperating to be borne that she should have effected an introduction for herself within three short weeks of her arrival!
The spinster’s sharp nose looked sharper than ever, her thin lips thinner, her grey eyes more cold and colourless. Cornelia looked from them to the steel trimmings on her dress—really and truly, one looked about as human as the other! The “lonesome” feeling gripped once more, and her thoughts flew longingly to “Poppar,” away at the other side of two thousand miles of ocean.
“I feel kinderleft!” was the expressive mental comment as the maid swept away the crumbs, placed the two fruit dishes and the decanter of port before her mistress, and noiselessly retired from the room. Miss Briskett had been clearing her throat in ominous fashion for the last ten minutes, and now that Mary’s restraining presence was removed, she wasted no further time in preliminaries. “I think it is time that we came to an understanding, Cornelia,” she began, in ice-cold accents. “If you remain under my roof you must give me your word to indulge in no more escapades like that of this afternoon! I gave my consent with much reluctance; or, perhaps, it would be more correct to say that I was not asked for my consent at all; and now you see what the consequences have been!”
“I promise faithfully, Aunt Soph, that I’ll never have a smash again, if I can help it! I’m not a bit more set on them than you are yourself, and I guess the mare was as innocent as a babe, so far’s you’re concerned. She wasn’t deliberately setting out to annoy you, as you seem to imagine. I guess she needs more sympathy than blame!”
“Don’t fence with words, Cornelia, please. I was not referring to the horse, and I have no intention of allowing you to run any more risks. I distinctly forbid you to take more carriage expeditions without a competent driver. I am responsible for your safety, and your father would blame me, if any harm happened to you while you are my guest. I acted against my judgment in allowing you to go alone to-day, but I shall not do so again. Do you clearly understand?”
Cornelia’s golden eyes stared at her thoughtfully. An inherent sense of justice made her conscious that her aunt had right on her side, though she might have worded her decree in more conciliatory fashion. The reference to her father also had a softening effect. Poppar’d go crazy if he heard that his daughter had been in any sort of danger!...
“Well—” she said slowly. “It’s a ‘got-to,’ I suppose! It would be playing it pretty low down, to land you with the worry of nursing me, and keeping Poppar quiet at the other end of the world. But you wouldn’t expect me to drive about with one of those fool-creatures from the livery stable taking care of me, as if I were a kiddy? No, sir! I don’t see myself coming down tothatlevel yet awhile! We’d best get up some driving parties, with those men at the Manor. They seem to have lots of horses and carts and things hanging round, and I don’t see as they could employ themselves better than in giving Elma and me a good time. I’ll air the subject when I go up to inquire!”
Miss Briskett fairly leapt on her seat with horror and indignation. She began to speak, and spoke rapidly for the next three minutes, laying down a series of commandments to which Cornelia listened with bated breath.
Thou shalt not hold any communication with the Manor, nor with the people inhabiting the Manor; nor with the guest sojourning beneath the roof of the Manor. Thou shalt not associate with any men outside the circle of thy aunt’s acquaintances. Thou shalt walk abroad by thine aunt’s side, on thine own legs, and comport thyself discreetly, as behoves a young gentlewoman of good family. Thou shalt remember that thou art a self-invited guest, and conform to the rules of the establishment, or else shalt promptly return to the place from whence thou camest...
In a word, Miss Briskett lost her temper, and when a woman of mature years and grey hairs loses control of herself, and lets her tongue run amuck, it is a sorry spectacle. The flush on Cornelia’s cheeks was not for her own humiliation, but for her aunt’s. She lowered her lids, ashamed to look into the angry, twisted face.
“Yes, I understand,” she replied quietly, in answer to the final question. “I guess I understand quite a lot.”
“And you mean to obey?”
There was a moment’s hesitation, and then—
“No,” drawled Cornelia, calmly. “I can’t say as I do! Those people have been polite to me, and I’m bound to be civil in return. I never ran after any man that I know of, and I don’t intend to begin, but when Idomeet ’em, I’m going to be as pleasant as I know how. It’s a pity, Aunt Soph, but you don’t understand girls! I’ve not been reared on tea-parties and cribbage, and I tell you straight that I’ve justgotto have a vent! You be wise not to try to shut me up, for I get pretty reckless if I’m thwarted.”
“Cornelia, do you dare to threaten me?”
“No, Aunt Soph. I’m kind enough to warn you before it is too late!”
Cornelia rose as she spoke, and walked upstairs to the square, prosaic room, which seemed the only bit of “home” she possessed in the whole big map of Europe; sat herself down, and reviewed the situation.
Aunt Soph had not wanted her! The longing for a real heart-to-heart friendship had been on one side only; that was the first, and most petrifying revelation. She had travelled two thousand sea-sick miles to find herself an unwelcome guest, imprisoned within the four square walls of a nook-less Nook; bound fast in the trammels of old-world conventions. “My country, ’tis of thee, sw-e-et land of libertee!” murmured Cornelia, mournfully, beneath her breath. Two big tears rose in her golden eyes, and her lips quivered. Should she pack up, and sail for home forthwith? For a moment the temptation seemed irresistible, but only for a moment. Poppar would feel badly if his two nearest relations came to an open rupture; and besides, “When I make up my mind to do a thing, I get there—ev-er-y time!” said the girl, staunchly. “I guess it’ll take more than four weeks of this country to daunt Cornelia E Briskett, if she’s got her head set to stay. For one thing, I’ve taken in hand to start Elma Ramsden on the road to liberty, and there’s going to be a fight before she’s through. I’ll have to stand by, and be ready with the drill. As for Aunt Soph, she’s acted pretty meanly, letting me come along when she hated to have me, but for Poppar’s sake I’ll be as meek as I know how. I thought we were going to be friends, but she’s such a back number she don’t even remember how it felt to be a girl, and it’s not a mite of use arguing. She thinks she knows better than I do!” Cornelia gurgled amused incredulity. “Well, it’s as easy as pie to hev a little prank on my own account, and prank Imust, if I’m to last out another three months in this secluded seminary. My constitootion’s fed on excitement! I should wilt away without it. Poppar wouldn’t like to have me wilt!” ... She sat gazing out of the window; gazing—gazing, while a slow smile curled the corners of her lips.
Chapter Twelve.Two golden days! Summer sunshine, roses, lounging chairs set behind sheltering trees, grey eyes eloquent with unspoken vows; on every side beauty, and luxury, and sweet fostering care. Elma felt as if she had fallen asleep, and awakened in a fairyland more wonderful than her wildest dreams!On the morning after the accident, Mrs Ramsden had duly chartered a fly, and driven to the Manor with intent to bring her daughter home without delay. During the night watches old dreads had revived; she shuddered at the thought of Elma left alone—poor, innocent darling!—with that terrible young man; pursed her lips at the recollection of Madame’s frivolities, and decided that nothing but grimmest necessity should induce her to prolong the danger. She entered the Manor, a Spartan matron prepared to fight to the death for the rescue of her child, but behold, instead of a battlefield, there stretched before her eye a scene of pastoral simplicity, in which the most Puritan of critics could not have discovered an objectionable detail.A wide, velvet lawn, shaded by a belt of grand old beeches; a deck chair placed in the most sheltered nook, on which Elma reclined against a bank of cushions, while beside her—marvellous and confounding sight!—sat Madame herself, turning the heel of a common domestic stocking, a mushroom hat hiding the objectionable pompadour. So far as the eye could reach there was not a man in sight, not so much as a whiff of tobacco smoke in the air! As the round black figure waddled across the lawn, Madame rose in gracious welcome, while Elma—Elma’s heart began to beat with sickening rapidity, a mist swam before her eyes, and a lump swelled in her throat. She could not speak; her cheeks turned first red, and then white. She shook her head in response to her mother’s greeting, and gasped as for breath.The good lady was distracted at beholding such symptoms of collapse in her quiet, well-disciplined daughter, and Madame reproached herself in the conviction that the child was really much worse than she had imagined. As a matter of fact, the disease from which Elma was suffering was nothing more nor less than pure, unadulterated fright! Fright lest her mother should insist upon taking her home; lest she should be compelled to leave the Manor before Geoffrey returned from an excursion carefully timed to end just as his mother drove out to keep an appointment in the town! She was literally paralysed with fear. It seemed as if life itself hung on the issue of the next few moments. She shut her eyes and listened, with palpitating breath, to the conversation between the two ladies.“Don’t be alarmed! It is just seeing you that has upset her. A few minutes ago she was quite gay. Weren’t you gay, dear? We have had such a happy little morning together. So long as she is absolutely quiet she seems quite well. But as you see, any excitement—” Madame gesticulated eloquently behind Elma’s back. “Excitement prostrates you, doesn’t it, dear? We must keep you quite a prisoner for the next few days!”Mrs Ramsden sat down heavily on a wicker chair, folded her hands on her sloping lap, and sighed resignedly. Hardly a moment had elapsed since her arrival, but already her cause was lost. To subject Elma to the fatigue of returning home would be madness, when even an ordinary meeting had so disastrous effect; to refuse hospitality so charmingly offered would be ungracious in the extreme. There was nothing for it but to submit with a good grace, and submit she did, arranging to send up a box of clothing later in the afternoon, and promising to drive up again in a few days’ time. “A few days!” She wanted to come every single morning, but Madame sweetly ignored her hints, and Elma, brightening into something wonderfully like her old self, declared that there was not the slightest cause for anxiety.“I shall bequitewell, mother dear!” she murmured affectionately as the poor lady stooped to kiss her before hurrying away, carefully mindful of the fare of the waiting fly. “Quitewell, and—happy!” The pink flamed again at that last word, and Madame stroked the soft cheek caressingly.“That child is a picture! I love to look at her,” she said gushingly, as the two ladies recrossed the lawn. “How cruel of you to have kept her to yourself all this time. Really, do you know, I hardly realised that youhada daughter. But we are going to alter all that, aren’t we? So sweet of you to trust her to me!”Madame’s conversation was a mixture of questions and exclamations, but she rarely paused for a reply. She prattled unceasingly as she saw her guest into her fly, and watched her drive down the avenue. Poor old Goody Ramsden; she was a worthy old dear! Wrapped up in that child; terrified to move her, yet terrified to leave her behind! Madame smiled in amused understanding of the good lady’s scruples. What duckings and cacklings would go on in the parlours of the Park! What fears and forebodings would be experienced for the safety of the dove in the eagle’s nest! Out of a pure spirit of bravado she was inclined to keep the child as long as possible; and the fact of Geoffrey’s obvious admiration only strengthened her determination. It was dull for a young man with only his mother in the house. Let him amuse himself with this pretty girl. A few days flirtation would put him in good humour, and there was no danger of anything serious. Geoffrey neverwasserious. His flirtations could be counted by the score, but they held no connection with his future marriage. That must be a serious business arrangement, involving a name, a fortune, possibly a title; many tangible qualities would be demanded from the future mistress of the Manor.Madame went through life regarding every person and thing from her own personal standpoint; apart from herself they ceased to interest. She would be affectionate and gushing to Elma Ramsden so long as the girl remained a guest under her roof; when she returned to The Holt she would promptly fade out of recollection. That a broken heart might be among the impedimenta which she would carry away with her, was a possibility which never once entered into the calculation. A typical Society woman! Verily, Goody Ramsden’s fears were not built without a foundation!An hour later Madame was driving out of her own gates, while Geoffrey was installed on her seat by the invalid’s couch. A whole hour and a half still remained before the gong would sound the summons to luncheon; an hour and a half of solitude beneath the shadow of the trees! Last night there had been anothertête-à-têtewhile Madame and Captain Guest played piquet at the end of the room; this morning there had been yet another, when Elma was first installed in the garden, and Madame was interviewing her staff. Astonishing how intimate two people can become in two long conversations! Marvellous in what unison two separate minds may move! Geoffrey and Elma seemed constantly to be discovering fresh subjects on which they thought alike, longed alike, hoped, grieved, joyed, failed and fought, in precisely the same interesting fashion! Each discovery was a fresh joy, a fresh surprise. “Do you really?” “Why, so do I!” “How strange it seems!” In the garden of Eden these surprises grow on every bush!Elma’s heart was hopelessly out of keeping, but conscience still fought feebly against temptation. She had been trained to consider no man worthy of her regard who did not attend Saint Nathaniel’s Parish Church, eschew amusements, wear a blue ribbon in his coat, belong to the Anti-Tobacco League, and vote with the Conservative Party! In the watches of the night she had decided that it was her duty to use her influence to lead this dear worldling into better ways, and, to his credit be it said, the dear worldling appeared most eager to be reformed. He besought Miss Ramsden to “pitch into him”; declared that he knew, don’t you know, that he was an “awful rotter”; but represented himself as waiting eagerly to be guided in the way in which he should go. How was he to begin?Elma puckered her delicate eyebrows. She was wearing no hat, as it was more comfortable to recline against the cushions with uncovered head, but a fluffy white parasol belonging to her hostess was placed by her side, in case an obtrusive sunbeam penetrated the branches overhead. “I never know where the sun is going to move next. Men always do, don’t they? I think it is so clever of them!” Madame had declared in her charming, inconsequent fashion as she fluttered away. Elma did not need the parasol as a shade, but it came in very usefully as a plaything in moments of embarrassment. There was one all-important subject weighing on her mind; she made a desperate plunge, and put it into words—“You—you don’t go to church!”“Not very often, I admit. I’m afraid it is not much in my line.”“Don’t you—believe in it?”The vague question was yet sufficiently explicit. The Squire leant forward, his hands clasped between his knees, his forehead knitted into thoughtful lines.“Er—yes! As a matter of fact, Ido! Didn’t once! At college, you know; got into a free-thinking set, and chucked the whole thing aside. But I’ve been about a good bit. I’ve seen countries where they go on that tack and it doesn’t pay. The old way is the best. I know I’m a bit careless still. Men are, Miss Ramsden, when they have only themselves to think of. They get into the way of leaving that sort of thing to their mothers and sisters, but when a fellow starts for himself, it’s different! I’m the master here, in name, but virtually it’s my mother who runs the house. I don’t interfere with her ways, but when I—er—marry, it will be different! Then I shall make a stand. Family prayers, and that sort of thing, don’t you know. A man ought to set an example. You are quite right; you are always right! Bit shy at first, you know, and that sort of thing, but I’d do it; I promise you, I would! Turn up at church regularly every Sunday!”“It would be your duty,” said Elma, primly. She twirled the handle of the sunshade round and round, and strove womanfully to keep her thoughts fixed on the subject on hand, and away from that thrilling “when I marry.” “But it isn’t onlyform, you know,” she added anxiously! “It’s caring for it most of all, and putting it before everything else!”Geoffrey gazed at her in a rapture of admiration. He loved her simplicity; he adored her earnestness. In his eyes she was a shining white angel sent down from heaven to be his guide through life. It needed all his self-control to keep back the words which were struggling for utterance, but the fear of frightening Elma by a premature declaration gave him strength to resist.They turned instead into a prayer, a sincere yet bargain-making prayer, like that of Jacob of old.“Give me this woman!” cried the inner voice: “this one woman out of all the world, and I will vow in return my faith, my allegiance!” The most earnest vows are often offered in the least conventional language, and Geoffrey Greville was not a man to promise without intending to perform. There was a long, pregnant silence. Elma felt the presence of electricity in the air, and forced herself to return to the attack.“And there are other things! ... You play bridge—”“Certainly I do!”“For money?”“Shilling points.”“What are ‘points’?”Geoffrey laughed happily. This innocence sounded fascinating in his infatuated ears.“That’s a little difficult to explain, isn’t it, if you don’t know anything about the game? Don’t you play cards at all?”“Mother won’t have them in the house. We have ‘Quartettes,’ but they are different. ... Can you lose much at shilling points?”“A fair amount, if you’re unlucky, but you can win it, too! I generally do win, as a matter of fact!”“What is the most you ever lost in a night?”Geoffrey grimaced expressively.“Sixty pounds; but I was a fool, and doubled no trumps on a risky hand, on the chance of making the rubber. That was quite an exceptional drop!”“I should hope so, indeed!” Elma’s horror was genuinely unassumed. “Sixty pounds! Why, it’s more than many a poor family has to live on all the year round! Think of all the good you could do with sixty pounds! It seems awful to lose it on cards in one evening!”“The next sixty pounds I win, I’ll give to a workmen’s charity! Will that wipe away my offence?”Elma was not at all sure that it would. Money won in unworthy fashion could never bring with it a blessing, according to Mrs Ramsden’s theories. She shook her head sadly, and ventured another question.“You go to races, too, don’t you?”“Whenever I get the chance.”“Youlikegoing?”“Love it! Why shouldn’t I? Finest thing in the world to see a good hard race! Wish I could keep a stud myself. I would, if I had the money. I must tell you the truth, you see, even if you are shocked!”“Racecourses are very wicked places.”“Ever seen one?”“No.”“Oh!”They looked at each other and simultaneously burst into a laugh. They were young and in love; it was delightful to brush aside problematical difficulties, and give themselves over to enjoyment of the golden present. Elma forgot her usual somewhat prim reserve, and her laughter was like a chime of silver bells. It is a rare thing to bear a musical laugh. Geoffrey longed for nothing so much as to make her laugh again.“I’m a born sportsman, Miss Ramsden, and I’ll never be anything else. I’d like to give up everything you dislike, but it’s no use swearing against one’s convictions. It’s not honest, and it doesn’t last, but I can promise you always to play straight, and to keep down the stakes so that I shall never run the risk of losing so much again.”“Why can’t you play for nothing but just the fun of the game?”“We call that playing for love! It’s rather dull—in cards!”Elma twirled her parasol, and blushed to the eyes.
Two golden days! Summer sunshine, roses, lounging chairs set behind sheltering trees, grey eyes eloquent with unspoken vows; on every side beauty, and luxury, and sweet fostering care. Elma felt as if she had fallen asleep, and awakened in a fairyland more wonderful than her wildest dreams!
On the morning after the accident, Mrs Ramsden had duly chartered a fly, and driven to the Manor with intent to bring her daughter home without delay. During the night watches old dreads had revived; she shuddered at the thought of Elma left alone—poor, innocent darling!—with that terrible young man; pursed her lips at the recollection of Madame’s frivolities, and decided that nothing but grimmest necessity should induce her to prolong the danger. She entered the Manor, a Spartan matron prepared to fight to the death for the rescue of her child, but behold, instead of a battlefield, there stretched before her eye a scene of pastoral simplicity, in which the most Puritan of critics could not have discovered an objectionable detail.
A wide, velvet lawn, shaded by a belt of grand old beeches; a deck chair placed in the most sheltered nook, on which Elma reclined against a bank of cushions, while beside her—marvellous and confounding sight!—sat Madame herself, turning the heel of a common domestic stocking, a mushroom hat hiding the objectionable pompadour. So far as the eye could reach there was not a man in sight, not so much as a whiff of tobacco smoke in the air! As the round black figure waddled across the lawn, Madame rose in gracious welcome, while Elma—Elma’s heart began to beat with sickening rapidity, a mist swam before her eyes, and a lump swelled in her throat. She could not speak; her cheeks turned first red, and then white. She shook her head in response to her mother’s greeting, and gasped as for breath.
The good lady was distracted at beholding such symptoms of collapse in her quiet, well-disciplined daughter, and Madame reproached herself in the conviction that the child was really much worse than she had imagined. As a matter of fact, the disease from which Elma was suffering was nothing more nor less than pure, unadulterated fright! Fright lest her mother should insist upon taking her home; lest she should be compelled to leave the Manor before Geoffrey returned from an excursion carefully timed to end just as his mother drove out to keep an appointment in the town! She was literally paralysed with fear. It seemed as if life itself hung on the issue of the next few moments. She shut her eyes and listened, with palpitating breath, to the conversation between the two ladies.
“Don’t be alarmed! It is just seeing you that has upset her. A few minutes ago she was quite gay. Weren’t you gay, dear? We have had such a happy little morning together. So long as she is absolutely quiet she seems quite well. But as you see, any excitement—” Madame gesticulated eloquently behind Elma’s back. “Excitement prostrates you, doesn’t it, dear? We must keep you quite a prisoner for the next few days!”
Mrs Ramsden sat down heavily on a wicker chair, folded her hands on her sloping lap, and sighed resignedly. Hardly a moment had elapsed since her arrival, but already her cause was lost. To subject Elma to the fatigue of returning home would be madness, when even an ordinary meeting had so disastrous effect; to refuse hospitality so charmingly offered would be ungracious in the extreme. There was nothing for it but to submit with a good grace, and submit she did, arranging to send up a box of clothing later in the afternoon, and promising to drive up again in a few days’ time. “A few days!” She wanted to come every single morning, but Madame sweetly ignored her hints, and Elma, brightening into something wonderfully like her old self, declared that there was not the slightest cause for anxiety.
“I shall bequitewell, mother dear!” she murmured affectionately as the poor lady stooped to kiss her before hurrying away, carefully mindful of the fare of the waiting fly. “Quitewell, and—happy!” The pink flamed again at that last word, and Madame stroked the soft cheek caressingly.
“That child is a picture! I love to look at her,” she said gushingly, as the two ladies recrossed the lawn. “How cruel of you to have kept her to yourself all this time. Really, do you know, I hardly realised that youhada daughter. But we are going to alter all that, aren’t we? So sweet of you to trust her to me!”
Madame’s conversation was a mixture of questions and exclamations, but she rarely paused for a reply. She prattled unceasingly as she saw her guest into her fly, and watched her drive down the avenue. Poor old Goody Ramsden; she was a worthy old dear! Wrapped up in that child; terrified to move her, yet terrified to leave her behind! Madame smiled in amused understanding of the good lady’s scruples. What duckings and cacklings would go on in the parlours of the Park! What fears and forebodings would be experienced for the safety of the dove in the eagle’s nest! Out of a pure spirit of bravado she was inclined to keep the child as long as possible; and the fact of Geoffrey’s obvious admiration only strengthened her determination. It was dull for a young man with only his mother in the house. Let him amuse himself with this pretty girl. A few days flirtation would put him in good humour, and there was no danger of anything serious. Geoffrey neverwasserious. His flirtations could be counted by the score, but they held no connection with his future marriage. That must be a serious business arrangement, involving a name, a fortune, possibly a title; many tangible qualities would be demanded from the future mistress of the Manor.
Madame went through life regarding every person and thing from her own personal standpoint; apart from herself they ceased to interest. She would be affectionate and gushing to Elma Ramsden so long as the girl remained a guest under her roof; when she returned to The Holt she would promptly fade out of recollection. That a broken heart might be among the impedimenta which she would carry away with her, was a possibility which never once entered into the calculation. A typical Society woman! Verily, Goody Ramsden’s fears were not built without a foundation!
An hour later Madame was driving out of her own gates, while Geoffrey was installed on her seat by the invalid’s couch. A whole hour and a half still remained before the gong would sound the summons to luncheon; an hour and a half of solitude beneath the shadow of the trees! Last night there had been anothertête-à-têtewhile Madame and Captain Guest played piquet at the end of the room; this morning there had been yet another, when Elma was first installed in the garden, and Madame was interviewing her staff. Astonishing how intimate two people can become in two long conversations! Marvellous in what unison two separate minds may move! Geoffrey and Elma seemed constantly to be discovering fresh subjects on which they thought alike, longed alike, hoped, grieved, joyed, failed and fought, in precisely the same interesting fashion! Each discovery was a fresh joy, a fresh surprise. “Do you really?” “Why, so do I!” “How strange it seems!” In the garden of Eden these surprises grow on every bush!
Elma’s heart was hopelessly out of keeping, but conscience still fought feebly against temptation. She had been trained to consider no man worthy of her regard who did not attend Saint Nathaniel’s Parish Church, eschew amusements, wear a blue ribbon in his coat, belong to the Anti-Tobacco League, and vote with the Conservative Party! In the watches of the night she had decided that it was her duty to use her influence to lead this dear worldling into better ways, and, to his credit be it said, the dear worldling appeared most eager to be reformed. He besought Miss Ramsden to “pitch into him”; declared that he knew, don’t you know, that he was an “awful rotter”; but represented himself as waiting eagerly to be guided in the way in which he should go. How was he to begin?
Elma puckered her delicate eyebrows. She was wearing no hat, as it was more comfortable to recline against the cushions with uncovered head, but a fluffy white parasol belonging to her hostess was placed by her side, in case an obtrusive sunbeam penetrated the branches overhead. “I never know where the sun is going to move next. Men always do, don’t they? I think it is so clever of them!” Madame had declared in her charming, inconsequent fashion as she fluttered away. Elma did not need the parasol as a shade, but it came in very usefully as a plaything in moments of embarrassment. There was one all-important subject weighing on her mind; she made a desperate plunge, and put it into words—
“You—you don’t go to church!”
“Not very often, I admit. I’m afraid it is not much in my line.”
“Don’t you—believe in it?”
The vague question was yet sufficiently explicit. The Squire leant forward, his hands clasped between his knees, his forehead knitted into thoughtful lines.
“Er—yes! As a matter of fact, Ido! Didn’t once! At college, you know; got into a free-thinking set, and chucked the whole thing aside. But I’ve been about a good bit. I’ve seen countries where they go on that tack and it doesn’t pay. The old way is the best. I know I’m a bit careless still. Men are, Miss Ramsden, when they have only themselves to think of. They get into the way of leaving that sort of thing to their mothers and sisters, but when a fellow starts for himself, it’s different! I’m the master here, in name, but virtually it’s my mother who runs the house. I don’t interfere with her ways, but when I—er—marry, it will be different! Then I shall make a stand. Family prayers, and that sort of thing, don’t you know. A man ought to set an example. You are quite right; you are always right! Bit shy at first, you know, and that sort of thing, but I’d do it; I promise you, I would! Turn up at church regularly every Sunday!”
“It would be your duty,” said Elma, primly. She twirled the handle of the sunshade round and round, and strove womanfully to keep her thoughts fixed on the subject on hand, and away from that thrilling “when I marry.” “But it isn’t onlyform, you know,” she added anxiously! “It’s caring for it most of all, and putting it before everything else!”
Geoffrey gazed at her in a rapture of admiration. He loved her simplicity; he adored her earnestness. In his eyes she was a shining white angel sent down from heaven to be his guide through life. It needed all his self-control to keep back the words which were struggling for utterance, but the fear of frightening Elma by a premature declaration gave him strength to resist.
They turned instead into a prayer, a sincere yet bargain-making prayer, like that of Jacob of old.
“Give me this woman!” cried the inner voice: “this one woman out of all the world, and I will vow in return my faith, my allegiance!” The most earnest vows are often offered in the least conventional language, and Geoffrey Greville was not a man to promise without intending to perform. There was a long, pregnant silence. Elma felt the presence of electricity in the air, and forced herself to return to the attack.
“And there are other things! ... You play bridge—”
“Certainly I do!”
“For money?”
“Shilling points.”
“What are ‘points’?”
Geoffrey laughed happily. This innocence sounded fascinating in his infatuated ears.
“That’s a little difficult to explain, isn’t it, if you don’t know anything about the game? Don’t you play cards at all?”
“Mother won’t have them in the house. We have ‘Quartettes,’ but they are different. ... Can you lose much at shilling points?”
“A fair amount, if you’re unlucky, but you can win it, too! I generally do win, as a matter of fact!”
“What is the most you ever lost in a night?”
Geoffrey grimaced expressively.
“Sixty pounds; but I was a fool, and doubled no trumps on a risky hand, on the chance of making the rubber. That was quite an exceptional drop!”
“I should hope so, indeed!” Elma’s horror was genuinely unassumed. “Sixty pounds! Why, it’s more than many a poor family has to live on all the year round! Think of all the good you could do with sixty pounds! It seems awful to lose it on cards in one evening!”
“The next sixty pounds I win, I’ll give to a workmen’s charity! Will that wipe away my offence?”
Elma was not at all sure that it would. Money won in unworthy fashion could never bring with it a blessing, according to Mrs Ramsden’s theories. She shook her head sadly, and ventured another question.
“You go to races, too, don’t you?”
“Whenever I get the chance.”
“Youlikegoing?”
“Love it! Why shouldn’t I? Finest thing in the world to see a good hard race! Wish I could keep a stud myself. I would, if I had the money. I must tell you the truth, you see, even if you are shocked!”
“Racecourses are very wicked places.”
“Ever seen one?”
“No.”
“Oh!”
They looked at each other and simultaneously burst into a laugh. They were young and in love; it was delightful to brush aside problematical difficulties, and give themselves over to enjoyment of the golden present. Elma forgot her usual somewhat prim reserve, and her laughter was like a chime of silver bells. It is a rare thing to bear a musical laugh. Geoffrey longed for nothing so much as to make her laugh again.
“I’m a born sportsman, Miss Ramsden, and I’ll never be anything else. I’d like to give up everything you dislike, but it’s no use swearing against one’s convictions. It’s not honest, and it doesn’t last, but I can promise you always to play straight, and to keep down the stakes so that I shall never run the risk of losing so much again.”
“Why can’t you play for nothing but just the fun of the game?”
“We call that playing for love! It’s rather dull—in cards!”
Elma twirled her parasol, and blushed to the eyes.
Chapter Thirteen.Mrs Ramsden sent up a box to the Manor that same afternoon, containing a dark linen dress, a blue blouse, and black skirt for evening wear; a supply of underclothing, a grey Shetland shawl, and a flannel dressing-gown. An hour later, conveyed by special messenger, came a second box, accompanied by a note in Cornelia’s handwriting. Elma was resting in her bedroom when it arrived. She opened it, and read as follows:—“Dear Moss Rose,—I guess tight gowns are a bit worrying in hot weather, so I’ve gotten together a few waists and skirts that may aid your recovery, and send them along with my love, wishing you many happy returns of the day. If it isn’t the right day, it ought to be, anyway! I always calculated to be here for your birthday, and I’m about tired waiting. If you send them back, I’ll burn them, as sure as taxes, but I reckon you’re too sweet to hurt my feelings. Put on the one with the ruckings! It’s the duty of every woman to look her best in the eyes of—. What wonderful weather for the time of year!—Your friend, Cornelia.“PS—There’s quite a gale blowing round this corner!...”“Itissweet of her, but I mustn’t, I can’t, I reallycouldn’t!” was Elma’s comment as she flushed with surprise and embarrassment. It was quite certain that she could not accept the gift, but there was no harm in just looking to see what the box contained! She crossed the room, cut the string, and unfolded the brown papers which covered the cardboard box; lifted fold after fold of tissue papers, and gasped in admiration of each treasure as it was revealed.The daintiest of white lawn morning blouses, with skirt to match; a skirt and bodice of cream net marvellously rucked with ribbons; a blue muslin, afoam with flounces. All were fresh from the maker’s hands, and, as Elma divined, had been selected from Cornelia’s storehouse of garments, with careful regard to her own requirements. The “waists” would fit easily enough; the skirts—she shook out the muslin and held it against her own dress. Just a trifle short, perhaps, but not sufficiently so to spoil the effect. It was alovelyskirt! Elma edged away from the glass with a little jerk of the figure calculated to send the flounces in a swirl round her feet. For three-and-twenty years she had gone through life wearing plain hems, and as Cornelia predicted, the flounces went to her brain. After all, would it not be ungracious to reject so kindly a gift? Her real birthday fell in the middle of July, and Cornelia, being rich and generous, would naturally offer a gift on the occasion. To keep the blue muslin would be only anticipating the remembrance.Yes! shewouldkeep it, and return the other dresses, explaining that she really could not accept so much. But on second thoughts Cornelia had specially desired her to wear the net with the ruckings. ... Elma dropped the muslin on the bed, lifted the net blouse carefully from its wrappings, and held it before her to view the effect. Had mortal hands fashioned it, or had it dropped down ready-made from a fairyland where good spirits gathered pieces of cloud and sea-foam, and blew them together for the benefit of happy girlhood! Elma looked at herself in the glass; looked back at the blue glacé silk and black surah on the bed, and thanked Heaven for Cornelia Briskett! Indeed and indeed she would wear the “rucked net to-night, and look her best in the eyes of...” And she would send back the white lawn, and say—Whatshould she say? Perhaps, after all, it would seem rather queer to keep the two more elaborate gowns, and send back the simplest. It might appear as if she did not consider it worthy of acceptance. She would keep them all; wear them all; enjoy them all; and oh, dear, sweet, kind, and most understanding Cornelia, if ever, ever, the time arrived when the gift could be returned, with what a full heart should it be offered!Pen, ink, and paper lay ready on the writing-table. Elma seated herself, and wrote her thanks:—“You dear Fairy-Godmother,—At first I thought I couldn’t, but I’ve tried on all three, and I simplycan’tpart from them. I don’t know what mother will say, but I’m living just for the hour. I’m going to wear the net to-night, and if I look my best it will beyourdoing, and I’ll never forget it! It’s just wonderful up here, but I feel wicked, for really and truly I’m not ill? Captain Guest asked me a hundred questions about you last night, and I told him such nice things, Cornelia! I wonder sometimes whether you are a witch, and upset the cart on purpose, but of course therewasthe parrot! Madame is most kind, but I don’t reallyknowher a scrap better than the moment we arrived. She wears lovely clothes. If it were not for you I should have to go downstairs to-night in an odd blouse and skirt, and feel aworm! I hope you’ll come up to inquire. Come soon! Everyone wants to see you again. With a hundred thanks.—Your loving friend, Elma.”“Why am I a ‘Moss Rose’?”The note was slipped into the letter-box in the hall, as Elma went down to dinner that night, lovely to behold in the “rucked gown,” and the perusal of it next morning was one of the pleasantest episodes which Cornelia had known since her arrival. Truth to tell, she had felt many doubts as to the reception of her fineries, but the mental vision of Elma’s tasteless home-made garments, against the background of the beautiful old Manor, had been distressing enough to overcome her scruples. She dimpled as she read, and laughed triumphantly. Things were going well; excellently well, and those dresses ought to exercise a distinctly hurrying effect. Four or five days—maybe a week. “My!” soliloquised Cornelia, happily; “I recollect one little misery who proposed to me at the end of an afternoon picnic. They’re slower over here, but Mr Greville was pretty well started before this spell began, and if he’s the man I take him for, he won’t last out a whole week with Elma among the roses. Then the fun will begin! Sakes alive, what a flare-up! And how will the ‘Moss Rose’ stand pickling? That’s where I come to a full stop. I can’t surmise one mite which way she’ll turn; but she’s got to reckon with Cornelia E Briskett, if she caves in.”Miss Briskett did not vouchsafe any inquiry as to the contents of the letter which had afforded such obvious satisfaction. She had probably recognised Elma’s writing on the envelope, but made no inquiries as to her progress. Relationships between the aunt and niece were still a trifle strained; that is to say, they were strained on Miss Briskett’s side; Cornelia’s knack of relapsing into her natural manner on the very heels of a heated altercation seemed somehow an additional offence, since it placed one under the imputation of being sulky, whereas, of course, one was exhibiting only a dignified reserve!Miss Briskett set forth on her morning’s shopping expedition without requesting her niece to accompany her, an omission which she fondly hoped would be taken to heart; but the hardened criminal, regarding the retreating figure from behind the curtains, simply ejaculated, “Praise the Fates!” swung her feet on to the sofa, and settled herself to the enjoyment of a novel hired from the circulating library round the corner. For a solid hour she read on undisturbed, then the door opened, and Mason entered, carrying a telegram upon a silver salver.“For you, miss. The boy is waiting for an answer.”Cornelia tore open the envelope with the haste of one separated far from her dearest, took in the contents in a lightning glance, sighed with relief, and slowly broke into a smile.“Well—!” ... she drawled thoughtfully; “Well—! ... Yes, there is an answer, Mason. Give me a pencil from that rack!” She scribbled two or three words; copied an address, and handed it back eagerly.“There! give that to the boy—and see here, Mason, I shall want some lunch ready by half after twelve. Send Mury right along to my room. I’m going away!”Mason’s chin dropped in dismay, but she was too well-trained an automaton to put her feelings into words. She rustled starchily from the room, to give the dread message to Mary, who promptly flew upstairs, voluble with distress.“You never mean to say that you are going to leave us, Miss Cornelia? Why, you’ve only just come! I thought it was to be three months, at the least. You’re never going so soon?”“Only for a few days. I’ll be back again, to plague you, by the end of next week. Don’t you want me to go, Mury?”Mary shook her head vigourously.“I’d like to keep you for ever! The house isn’t the same place since you came. I was saying to my friend only last Sunday that I couldn’t a bear to think of you leaving. Couldn’t you find a nice young gentleman, and settle down in England for good? I’d come and live with you! I wouldn’t ask anything better than to live with you all my days.”“Mury, Mury! what about the friend? What would he say to such desertion?”Mary’s grimace expressed a lively disregard of the friend’s sufferings.“I don’t know how it is, but I think a heap more of you nor I do of him,” she confessed candidly. “I’d come fast enough, if you gave me the chance. There’s lots of good-looking young gentlemen in England, Miss Cornelia!”“Is that so? I hope I’ll meet quite a number of them, then; but I couldn’t settle down out of my own country, Mury! You’ll hev to cross the ocean if you want to tend my house. We’ll speak about that another day; just now we’ve got to hustle round and get my clothes packed in the next hef hour. Just the dandiest things I’ve got. I’m going to have a real gay time in a hotel in London, Mury, with some friends from home, so I must be as smart as I know how. ... Get out the big dress basket, and we’ll hold a Selection Committee right here on the bed.”Mary set to work, unable, despite depression, to restrain her interest in the work on hand. The big boxes were dragged into the middle of the room; bed, chairs, and sofas were strewn with garments, until the room presented the appearance of a general drapery establishment. Cornelia selected and directed, Mary carefully folded up skirts, and laid them in the long shallow shelves. In the height of the confusion the door opened, and Miss Briskett entered with hasty step. Signs of agitation were visible on her features, an agitation which was increased by the sight of the dishevelled room. In a lightning glance she took in the half-filled trunks, the trim travelling costume spread over the chair by the dressing-table, and a gleam of something strangely like fear shone out of the cold grey eyes. Cornelia had no difficulty in understanding that look. Aunt Soph was afraid she had pulled the rope just a trifle too tight, and that it was snapping before her eyes; she was picturing a flight back to America, and envisaging her brother’s disappointment and wrath. Out of the abundance of her own content the girl vouchsafed a generous compassion.“Yes, I’m off, Aunt Soph! My friends, the Moffatts, are putting up at the Ritz for a week, and want to have me come and fly round with them. They are going to meet me at four o’clock this afternoon, to be ready for a theatre to-night. I’ve got to be off at once. Mason’s getting ready some lunch.”Miss Briskett stood severely erect, considering the situation. Now that the great anxiety was removed, the former irritation revived.“And pray, who are the Moffatts? I must know something more about them before I can give my consent to this visit!”Cornelia handed a pile of cardboard boxes into Mary’s hands.“Take that hat-box downstairs, and pack these on the tray. Don’t muss them about! Then you can come back to finish off.”She waited until the door was safely closed, then faced her aunt across the bed. “I’m pleased to answer your questions as well as I know how. The Moffatts are—the Moffatts! I guess that’s about all their family history, so far as I’m concerned. They came over with me, and Mrs Moffatt was real kind looking after me when I first came on deck, and was feeling pretty cheap. We saw quite a good deal of each other after that, and she said she’d love to have me do the sights with her sometime. She was going straight through to Paris, to get fixed up with clothes. Now it seems she’s back in London. I gave her my address, and she wires me to come.”“You spoke of ‘the Moffatts.’ Who are the other members of the party?”“There’s a husband, of course, but he’s not much account, except to pay the bills. He must be pretty cashy, for she has everything she wants, but it gets on her nerves having him poking round all the while. That’s one reason why she wants me. I could always keep him quiet!”The complacent gurgle, the jaunty tilt of the head were as fuel to the spinster’s indignation. She pressed her lips tightly together before putting the final question.“And your father knows nothing—nothing whatever of these people?”“Well, I guess I may have mentioned their names. He didn’t know anything about them before that.”“And you propose to stay at a London hotel with the casual acquaintances of a few days? You are mad! I cannot possibly allow it. You must wire at once to say that you are unable to accept.”Cornelia stood silently erect. Her chief personal characteristic was that air of hot-house fragility so often seen in American girls, but in that silence her chin squared, her lips set, the delicate brows contracted in a beetling frown. It was no longer the face of a girl of two-and-twenty which confronted the spinster across the bed; it was the face of Edward B Briskett, the financier who had twice over piled up great fortunes by sheer force and determination.“Now see here, Aunt Soph,” said Cornelia, clearly; “this is where you and I have got to come to an understanding. I’ve been used to going my own way ever since I was short-coated, and it wasn’t hankering to be put back into leading-strings that brought me across the ocean. Poppar trusts me, and that’s enough for me. You’ve got a right to boss your own home, but where I’m concerned your authority don’t spread one inch beyond the gate. If I decide to accept an invitation, it’s on my own responsibility, and no matter what happens,youwon’t be blamed! I’ve decided to leave this at one twenty-five, and I’mgoingto leave, if I have to jump out of the window to get away! Now, that’s straight, and we know where we are!”“I shall write to your father to-night, and tell him that you have gone in defiance of my wishes.”“I guess it’s the best thing you can do. Poppar’ll cable back: ‘Give Corney her head; It’s screwed on pretty straight!’ and you’ll feel easier in your mind.” She paused a moment, her features softened into a smile. Despite the force of her words, there had throughout been no trace of ill-nature in her voice. Now she drew slowly nearer her aunt, holding out her pretty, white hands in ingratiating appeal.“See here, Aunt Soph, don’t be mad! I’m sorry you take it like this, for I’ve a feeling that it’s just about the best thing that could happen to both of us, for me to clear out for a spell just now. We’ve been a bit fratchetty this last week; gotten on each other’s nerves somehow—but when I come back we can make a fresh start. In America, girls have more liberty than over here; but there’s not a mite of reason why we should quarrel over it. You’re my own Poppar’s sister, and I came quite a good way to see you. It’s a pity if we ken’t pull it off for the next few months. Don’t you want to kiss me, and wish me a real good time?”Miss Briskett drew back coldly, but the little hands clasped her shoulder, the young face pressed nearer and nearer. Looking down from her superior stature, the girl’s likeness to her father was once more strikingly apparent; but it was not the man she recalled, but the dearer memory of the Baby Edward of long ago, whose clear child’s eyes had seen in “Sister” the most marvellous of created things. As on a former occasion, the remembrance was more powerful than words. Long years of solitary confinement had hardened the spinster’s heart beyond the possibility of a gracious capitulation, but at least she submitted to the girl’s embrace, and made no further objections to the proposed journey.On the whole, Cornelia felt that she had scored a victory.
Mrs Ramsden sent up a box to the Manor that same afternoon, containing a dark linen dress, a blue blouse, and black skirt for evening wear; a supply of underclothing, a grey Shetland shawl, and a flannel dressing-gown. An hour later, conveyed by special messenger, came a second box, accompanied by a note in Cornelia’s handwriting. Elma was resting in her bedroom when it arrived. She opened it, and read as follows:—
“Dear Moss Rose,—I guess tight gowns are a bit worrying in hot weather, so I’ve gotten together a few waists and skirts that may aid your recovery, and send them along with my love, wishing you many happy returns of the day. If it isn’t the right day, it ought to be, anyway! I always calculated to be here for your birthday, and I’m about tired waiting. If you send them back, I’ll burn them, as sure as taxes, but I reckon you’re too sweet to hurt my feelings. Put on the one with the ruckings! It’s the duty of every woman to look her best in the eyes of—. What wonderful weather for the time of year!—Your friend, Cornelia.“PS—There’s quite a gale blowing round this corner!...”
“Dear Moss Rose,—I guess tight gowns are a bit worrying in hot weather, so I’ve gotten together a few waists and skirts that may aid your recovery, and send them along with my love, wishing you many happy returns of the day. If it isn’t the right day, it ought to be, anyway! I always calculated to be here for your birthday, and I’m about tired waiting. If you send them back, I’ll burn them, as sure as taxes, but I reckon you’re too sweet to hurt my feelings. Put on the one with the ruckings! It’s the duty of every woman to look her best in the eyes of—. What wonderful weather for the time of year!—Your friend, Cornelia.
“PS—There’s quite a gale blowing round this corner!...”
“Itissweet of her, but I mustn’t, I can’t, I reallycouldn’t!” was Elma’s comment as she flushed with surprise and embarrassment. It was quite certain that she could not accept the gift, but there was no harm in just looking to see what the box contained! She crossed the room, cut the string, and unfolded the brown papers which covered the cardboard box; lifted fold after fold of tissue papers, and gasped in admiration of each treasure as it was revealed.
The daintiest of white lawn morning blouses, with skirt to match; a skirt and bodice of cream net marvellously rucked with ribbons; a blue muslin, afoam with flounces. All were fresh from the maker’s hands, and, as Elma divined, had been selected from Cornelia’s storehouse of garments, with careful regard to her own requirements. The “waists” would fit easily enough; the skirts—she shook out the muslin and held it against her own dress. Just a trifle short, perhaps, but not sufficiently so to spoil the effect. It was alovelyskirt! Elma edged away from the glass with a little jerk of the figure calculated to send the flounces in a swirl round her feet. For three-and-twenty years she had gone through life wearing plain hems, and as Cornelia predicted, the flounces went to her brain. After all, would it not be ungracious to reject so kindly a gift? Her real birthday fell in the middle of July, and Cornelia, being rich and generous, would naturally offer a gift on the occasion. To keep the blue muslin would be only anticipating the remembrance.
Yes! shewouldkeep it, and return the other dresses, explaining that she really could not accept so much. But on second thoughts Cornelia had specially desired her to wear the net with the ruckings. ... Elma dropped the muslin on the bed, lifted the net blouse carefully from its wrappings, and held it before her to view the effect. Had mortal hands fashioned it, or had it dropped down ready-made from a fairyland where good spirits gathered pieces of cloud and sea-foam, and blew them together for the benefit of happy girlhood! Elma looked at herself in the glass; looked back at the blue glacé silk and black surah on the bed, and thanked Heaven for Cornelia Briskett! Indeed and indeed she would wear the “rucked net to-night, and look her best in the eyes of...” And she would send back the white lawn, and say—Whatshould she say? Perhaps, after all, it would seem rather queer to keep the two more elaborate gowns, and send back the simplest. It might appear as if she did not consider it worthy of acceptance. She would keep them all; wear them all; enjoy them all; and oh, dear, sweet, kind, and most understanding Cornelia, if ever, ever, the time arrived when the gift could be returned, with what a full heart should it be offered!
Pen, ink, and paper lay ready on the writing-table. Elma seated herself, and wrote her thanks:—
“You dear Fairy-Godmother,—At first I thought I couldn’t, but I’ve tried on all three, and I simplycan’tpart from them. I don’t know what mother will say, but I’m living just for the hour. I’m going to wear the net to-night, and if I look my best it will beyourdoing, and I’ll never forget it! It’s just wonderful up here, but I feel wicked, for really and truly I’m not ill? Captain Guest asked me a hundred questions about you last night, and I told him such nice things, Cornelia! I wonder sometimes whether you are a witch, and upset the cart on purpose, but of course therewasthe parrot! Madame is most kind, but I don’t reallyknowher a scrap better than the moment we arrived. She wears lovely clothes. If it were not for you I should have to go downstairs to-night in an odd blouse and skirt, and feel aworm! I hope you’ll come up to inquire. Come soon! Everyone wants to see you again. With a hundred thanks.—Your loving friend, Elma.”“Why am I a ‘Moss Rose’?”
“You dear Fairy-Godmother,—At first I thought I couldn’t, but I’ve tried on all three, and I simplycan’tpart from them. I don’t know what mother will say, but I’m living just for the hour. I’m going to wear the net to-night, and if I look my best it will beyourdoing, and I’ll never forget it! It’s just wonderful up here, but I feel wicked, for really and truly I’m not ill? Captain Guest asked me a hundred questions about you last night, and I told him such nice things, Cornelia! I wonder sometimes whether you are a witch, and upset the cart on purpose, but of course therewasthe parrot! Madame is most kind, but I don’t reallyknowher a scrap better than the moment we arrived. She wears lovely clothes. If it were not for you I should have to go downstairs to-night in an odd blouse and skirt, and feel aworm! I hope you’ll come up to inquire. Come soon! Everyone wants to see you again. With a hundred thanks.—Your loving friend, Elma.”
“Why am I a ‘Moss Rose’?”
The note was slipped into the letter-box in the hall, as Elma went down to dinner that night, lovely to behold in the “rucked gown,” and the perusal of it next morning was one of the pleasantest episodes which Cornelia had known since her arrival. Truth to tell, she had felt many doubts as to the reception of her fineries, but the mental vision of Elma’s tasteless home-made garments, against the background of the beautiful old Manor, had been distressing enough to overcome her scruples. She dimpled as she read, and laughed triumphantly. Things were going well; excellently well, and those dresses ought to exercise a distinctly hurrying effect. Four or five days—maybe a week. “My!” soliloquised Cornelia, happily; “I recollect one little misery who proposed to me at the end of an afternoon picnic. They’re slower over here, but Mr Greville was pretty well started before this spell began, and if he’s the man I take him for, he won’t last out a whole week with Elma among the roses. Then the fun will begin! Sakes alive, what a flare-up! And how will the ‘Moss Rose’ stand pickling? That’s where I come to a full stop. I can’t surmise one mite which way she’ll turn; but she’s got to reckon with Cornelia E Briskett, if she caves in.”
Miss Briskett did not vouchsafe any inquiry as to the contents of the letter which had afforded such obvious satisfaction. She had probably recognised Elma’s writing on the envelope, but made no inquiries as to her progress. Relationships between the aunt and niece were still a trifle strained; that is to say, they were strained on Miss Briskett’s side; Cornelia’s knack of relapsing into her natural manner on the very heels of a heated altercation seemed somehow an additional offence, since it placed one under the imputation of being sulky, whereas, of course, one was exhibiting only a dignified reserve!
Miss Briskett set forth on her morning’s shopping expedition without requesting her niece to accompany her, an omission which she fondly hoped would be taken to heart; but the hardened criminal, regarding the retreating figure from behind the curtains, simply ejaculated, “Praise the Fates!” swung her feet on to the sofa, and settled herself to the enjoyment of a novel hired from the circulating library round the corner. For a solid hour she read on undisturbed, then the door opened, and Mason entered, carrying a telegram upon a silver salver.
“For you, miss. The boy is waiting for an answer.”
Cornelia tore open the envelope with the haste of one separated far from her dearest, took in the contents in a lightning glance, sighed with relief, and slowly broke into a smile.
“Well—!” ... she drawled thoughtfully; “Well—! ... Yes, there is an answer, Mason. Give me a pencil from that rack!” She scribbled two or three words; copied an address, and handed it back eagerly.
“There! give that to the boy—and see here, Mason, I shall want some lunch ready by half after twelve. Send Mury right along to my room. I’m going away!”
Mason’s chin dropped in dismay, but she was too well-trained an automaton to put her feelings into words. She rustled starchily from the room, to give the dread message to Mary, who promptly flew upstairs, voluble with distress.
“You never mean to say that you are going to leave us, Miss Cornelia? Why, you’ve only just come! I thought it was to be three months, at the least. You’re never going so soon?”
“Only for a few days. I’ll be back again, to plague you, by the end of next week. Don’t you want me to go, Mury?”
Mary shook her head vigourously.
“I’d like to keep you for ever! The house isn’t the same place since you came. I was saying to my friend only last Sunday that I couldn’t a bear to think of you leaving. Couldn’t you find a nice young gentleman, and settle down in England for good? I’d come and live with you! I wouldn’t ask anything better than to live with you all my days.”
“Mury, Mury! what about the friend? What would he say to such desertion?”
Mary’s grimace expressed a lively disregard of the friend’s sufferings.
“I don’t know how it is, but I think a heap more of you nor I do of him,” she confessed candidly. “I’d come fast enough, if you gave me the chance. There’s lots of good-looking young gentlemen in England, Miss Cornelia!”
“Is that so? I hope I’ll meet quite a number of them, then; but I couldn’t settle down out of my own country, Mury! You’ll hev to cross the ocean if you want to tend my house. We’ll speak about that another day; just now we’ve got to hustle round and get my clothes packed in the next hef hour. Just the dandiest things I’ve got. I’m going to have a real gay time in a hotel in London, Mury, with some friends from home, so I must be as smart as I know how. ... Get out the big dress basket, and we’ll hold a Selection Committee right here on the bed.”
Mary set to work, unable, despite depression, to restrain her interest in the work on hand. The big boxes were dragged into the middle of the room; bed, chairs, and sofas were strewn with garments, until the room presented the appearance of a general drapery establishment. Cornelia selected and directed, Mary carefully folded up skirts, and laid them in the long shallow shelves. In the height of the confusion the door opened, and Miss Briskett entered with hasty step. Signs of agitation were visible on her features, an agitation which was increased by the sight of the dishevelled room. In a lightning glance she took in the half-filled trunks, the trim travelling costume spread over the chair by the dressing-table, and a gleam of something strangely like fear shone out of the cold grey eyes. Cornelia had no difficulty in understanding that look. Aunt Soph was afraid she had pulled the rope just a trifle too tight, and that it was snapping before her eyes; she was picturing a flight back to America, and envisaging her brother’s disappointment and wrath. Out of the abundance of her own content the girl vouchsafed a generous compassion.
“Yes, I’m off, Aunt Soph! My friends, the Moffatts, are putting up at the Ritz for a week, and want to have me come and fly round with them. They are going to meet me at four o’clock this afternoon, to be ready for a theatre to-night. I’ve got to be off at once. Mason’s getting ready some lunch.”
Miss Briskett stood severely erect, considering the situation. Now that the great anxiety was removed, the former irritation revived.
“And pray, who are the Moffatts? I must know something more about them before I can give my consent to this visit!”
Cornelia handed a pile of cardboard boxes into Mary’s hands.
“Take that hat-box downstairs, and pack these on the tray. Don’t muss them about! Then you can come back to finish off.”
She waited until the door was safely closed, then faced her aunt across the bed. “I’m pleased to answer your questions as well as I know how. The Moffatts are—the Moffatts! I guess that’s about all their family history, so far as I’m concerned. They came over with me, and Mrs Moffatt was real kind looking after me when I first came on deck, and was feeling pretty cheap. We saw quite a good deal of each other after that, and she said she’d love to have me do the sights with her sometime. She was going straight through to Paris, to get fixed up with clothes. Now it seems she’s back in London. I gave her my address, and she wires me to come.”
“You spoke of ‘the Moffatts.’ Who are the other members of the party?”
“There’s a husband, of course, but he’s not much account, except to pay the bills. He must be pretty cashy, for she has everything she wants, but it gets on her nerves having him poking round all the while. That’s one reason why she wants me. I could always keep him quiet!”
The complacent gurgle, the jaunty tilt of the head were as fuel to the spinster’s indignation. She pressed her lips tightly together before putting the final question.
“And your father knows nothing—nothing whatever of these people?”
“Well, I guess I may have mentioned their names. He didn’t know anything about them before that.”
“And you propose to stay at a London hotel with the casual acquaintances of a few days? You are mad! I cannot possibly allow it. You must wire at once to say that you are unable to accept.”
Cornelia stood silently erect. Her chief personal characteristic was that air of hot-house fragility so often seen in American girls, but in that silence her chin squared, her lips set, the delicate brows contracted in a beetling frown. It was no longer the face of a girl of two-and-twenty which confronted the spinster across the bed; it was the face of Edward B Briskett, the financier who had twice over piled up great fortunes by sheer force and determination.
“Now see here, Aunt Soph,” said Cornelia, clearly; “this is where you and I have got to come to an understanding. I’ve been used to going my own way ever since I was short-coated, and it wasn’t hankering to be put back into leading-strings that brought me across the ocean. Poppar trusts me, and that’s enough for me. You’ve got a right to boss your own home, but where I’m concerned your authority don’t spread one inch beyond the gate. If I decide to accept an invitation, it’s on my own responsibility, and no matter what happens,youwon’t be blamed! I’ve decided to leave this at one twenty-five, and I’mgoingto leave, if I have to jump out of the window to get away! Now, that’s straight, and we know where we are!”
“I shall write to your father to-night, and tell him that you have gone in defiance of my wishes.”
“I guess it’s the best thing you can do. Poppar’ll cable back: ‘Give Corney her head; It’s screwed on pretty straight!’ and you’ll feel easier in your mind.” She paused a moment, her features softened into a smile. Despite the force of her words, there had throughout been no trace of ill-nature in her voice. Now she drew slowly nearer her aunt, holding out her pretty, white hands in ingratiating appeal.
“See here, Aunt Soph, don’t be mad! I’m sorry you take it like this, for I’ve a feeling that it’s just about the best thing that could happen to both of us, for me to clear out for a spell just now. We’ve been a bit fratchetty this last week; gotten on each other’s nerves somehow—but when I come back we can make a fresh start. In America, girls have more liberty than over here; but there’s not a mite of reason why we should quarrel over it. You’re my own Poppar’s sister, and I came quite a good way to see you. It’s a pity if we ken’t pull it off for the next few months. Don’t you want to kiss me, and wish me a real good time?”
Miss Briskett drew back coldly, but the little hands clasped her shoulder, the young face pressed nearer and nearer. Looking down from her superior stature, the girl’s likeness to her father was once more strikingly apparent; but it was not the man she recalled, but the dearer memory of the Baby Edward of long ago, whose clear child’s eyes had seen in “Sister” the most marvellous of created things. As on a former occasion, the remembrance was more powerful than words. Long years of solitary confinement had hardened the spinster’s heart beyond the possibility of a gracious capitulation, but at least she submitted to the girl’s embrace, and made no further objections to the proposed journey.
On the whole, Cornelia felt that she had scored a victory.