CHAPTER IVIn Hamchester College the headmaster, Dr. Wentworth, like other headmasters, is a much criticised man. He has his partisans, he has also his detractors. Were an angel from heaven to descend and become headmaster of a large public school he would find plenty of adverse critics, and these were by no means lacking to Dr. Wentworth. But about his wife, there were no two opinions. Six hundred boys and all the masters agreed in thinking her perfectly delightful. So kind was she, so friendly, so simple and believing in the good intentions of others, that quite curmudgeony people melted into amiability in the sunshine of her presence. Perhaps one of the boys best summed up her mysterious charm when he said, "She doesn't try to be nice to a chap, she justisnice; and there's such a difference."Therefore when Tony, having sat in her drawing-room for five minutes, prepared to depart--not without misgivings as to how Lallie would take it--that damsel nodded at him coolly, without so much as a supplicating glance after his retreating form, and when he had gone she turned to her hostess with a little laugh that ended in a sigh."Poor man," she said, "I'm afraid I'm a regular white elephant to him just now; but I can't make myself invisible, can I?""I think we'd all be very sorry if you were invisible. Come now, and see my chicks," and kind Mrs. Wentworth led Lallie upstairs and down a long passage to a big sunny room where two little girls sat painting at the table."This is Pris and this is Prue, and that over there is Punch!" Mrs. Wentworth said, indicating her offsprings.Pris and Prue lifted small flushed faces from their artistic efforts, and surveyed Lallie with large solemn eyes, and each held out a small hand liberally besmeared with Prussian blue."How do you do?" said Pris politely. "I'm seven; how old are you?""I'm six," added Prue.Punch, a rolly-polly person who was apparently engaged in dismembering a woolly lamb, remarked loudly and distinctly, "I'm a boy.""May I paint?" asked Lallie."Oh, do, you can have my seat for a bit. You might do some legs; they run over so, somehow, with me."Lallie sat down in front of Prue's picture, which was an elaborateGraphicillustration of the "Relief of Ladysmith.""I'm sure Sir George White's tunic was not pink," Lallie objected. "They wore khaki, you know.""I don't like khaki; it's the colour of mustard, an' I hate mustard; my new sash is pink, an' I like pink.Mysoldiers wear pink; you may paint their legs khaki if you like.""It looks very stormy overhead," Lallie remarked. "Was there a thunderstorm at the Relief of Ladysmith?""My uncle was there," said Pris, as though that accounted for it."I'll leave you for a few minutes while I write a note," said Mrs. Wentworth. "Take care of this young lady; be very kind to her. She has come to stay with Mr. Bevan, and she'll come and see you often if you are good."The moment the door closed behind their mother, regardless of the protests of their nurse, who was sewing at the window, the children crowded round Lallie, and all three tried to sit upon her at once."Are youquitea grown-up lady?" asked Pris doubtfully."No," said Lallie, "I'm a little girl----""You're a bit bigger than me," Prue granted somewhat grudgingly, "but I thought you weren't quite grown-up. Punch is only four.""I'm a very old four," Punch maintained."Do you think," asked Prue, "that you could tell us a story?""Do I not?" Lallie answered, and in another minute she had the children absorbed in the legend of that "quiet, decent man, Andrew Coffy"; so that when her hostess came back to fetch her to lunch Lallie appeared, as it were, buried beneath the family of Wentworth.Dr. Wentworth seemed sufficiently awe-inspiring to the outside world, but his family took a different view of him, and Pris at luncheon generally addressed her father as "Poor dear," or spoke of him as "That child."Mrs. Wentworth was wont to declare to her intimates that no schoolmaster could possibly be endurable who was not well sat upon in the bosom of his family."Personally," she said, "I have the greatest admiration for my husband, and consider him quite an excellent sort of ordinary man; but being a headmaster, if I didn't make him positively skip off his pedestal his sense of proportion would die of inanition."Certainly neither Miss Prudence nor Miss Patience Wentworth manifested the smallest awe of their parent; and Lallie was moved to take his side in several arguments that ensued during luncheon.Prue was rosy and brown-eyed, with thick short hair that framed her round face deliciously. Pris was fair-haired, blue-eyed, with a face like a monthly rose. Punch's countenance resembled a full moon, and all three children were plump and healthy and absolutely good-tempered. In fact, the whole Wentworth family were rather roundabout, which perhaps accounted for their amiability. Lallie endeared herself immediately to Mrs. Wentworth by her extreme popularity with the children. Even the imperturbable Punch unbent so far as to say: "I like you. You may come and have dinner with us every day. You speak in such a funny voice."CHAPTER VTony Bevan did not meet Lallie again that day until nearly dinner time. It is true that during the afternoon he beheld her afar off across the College field, sitting on a seat beside the Principal's wife and watching the pick-up. He noted moreover that behind her stood a little group of the younger masters, and that they appeared deeply interested in her remarks; while her attention to the game was close and enthusiastic. She was in good hands, and Tony was quite happy about her. He had a great many things to do and to see to, so he left the field with a contented mind.Mrs. Wentworth had promised to keep her to tea, and after tea he had to give a private lesson to two of the University scholarship people, so that it was almost seven o'clock when he entered his own hall to be met by a sound of music, and stood still to listen.It was unusual music: vibrating, pulsating, mysterious; rising and falling in waves of sound that billowed hither and thither like the mist on the heath, the strain now soft and seductive, now loud and menacing; again humming with the slumbrous, slow drone of honey-gathering bees on a sunny afternoon in high summer. It was music that above all suggested thyme-scented, wind-swept spaces, rock and river, and shady, solemn woods. It was the sound of Lallie's harp.He remembered to have noticed the big case in the hall as he went out to College that morning. Who had taken it out and carried it into the drawing-room for her? he wondered. She certainly couldn't have done it herself, for it was very heavy.He opened the drawing-room door and went in, closing it softly behind him. The window at the end of the room was wide open, but a small fire burned cheerfully upon the hearth, and save for its uncertain light the room was shadowy and almost dark. Tony's first thought was of how shocked Miss Foster would be at the extravagance of a fire on such a warm night; but this reflection was speedily superseded by astonishment at the sight of his "driver," Mr. Johns, and young Nick seated side by side upon a sofa near the fire, while Lallie sat at her big harp right in the middle of the room, and discoursed weird music to her evidently appreciative audience.She had already changed for dinner, and her gown--high-waisted, long and clinging--fell in straight folds to her feet. Neck and arms were bare, and beautiful old lace was draped about her white shoulders. In colour her dress was of the soft yet brilliant green of July grass in a grass-country where there is much rain. A green ribbon threaded through her dusky hair was her only ornament save a wide gold band that clasped her bare arm just above the elbow and caught the flickering firelight in ruddy gleams as her slender, purposeful hands flashed to and fro over the enormous strings, with long, swooping movements, assured and definite in design and result as the swift stoop of a hawk.Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes large and bright, and as the fire suddenly leapt into clearer flame every farthest corner of the room was revealed sharp and distinct, and her girlish figure seemed a sudden incarnation of the Celtic muse.Tony stood where he was just inside the door. Lallie faced him, but she took no notice of his entrance till the last long arpeggio had shivered into silence; then, in the most matter-of-fact tone, she remarked:"On Monday, Tony, we must hire a piano."Tony felt the sudden shock of disillusionment that comes with the fall of the curtain after a play that has thrilled the senses with its large romance--the blank sensation that life is really rather a prosaic business after all. He did not answer immediately, and in the meantime Paunch and young Nick had arisen in some haste from their sofa, the latter exclaiming confusedly:"I had no idea it was so late. I met Miss Clonmell at the Principal's, and walked home with her, to show her the way.""And as he'd never heard a harp properly played," Lallie added, "I told him that if he liked to wait, I'd change and come down and play till you came in; and on the stairs I met Mr. Johns, and he'd never heard a harp either, so he came too.""How did you get it out of the wooden case?" asked Tony."Oh, they unpacked it and carried it in for me while I dressed; and they've put the case in the box-room and all--ever so tidy we've been. Come here, Mr. Johns, and put it in the corner for me--no, not that one, that's an outer wall. This one, by the writing-table. Thank you; that will do nicely. Good-night, Mr. Nick. I beg your pardon, it's Paddy's fault; I always stumble into the wrong names that I've no business to know. Next time you come I'll sing for you, but I've never any voice after a voyage."Dinner that night was an unusually cheerful meal, and by the time Tony carried in his work to the drawing-room that he might correct it beside Lallie, it was nearly nine o'clock.Everything was arranged for his comfort when he did appear. A table at his elbow to hold his papers, his chair at the exact angle where he would get the best light, and Lallie standing on the hearth-rug with a box of matches in her hand ready to light his pipe."Oh, I say, Lallie!" said Tony, yielding weakly to temptation. "D'you think I may? No one has ever smoked in this room. I don't know what Miss Foster would say.""A pipe, Tony! Surely a little pipe will do no harm? Why, the window's wide open and there's a fire; and there are very few hangings and precious little furniture. Never did I see such a bare, stiff room. I had to have a little bit of fire to help furnish it. There's one good thing, it will be a capital room for sound, and a grand piano will fill it up a bit. Now sit down, and I won't speak another word till you speak to me."Lallie pushed him down in his chair and fetched a stool on which she seated herself, leaning her back against Tony's knees, on her own she laid an open book, and in her hands was a piece of knitting.For a few minutes there was absolute silence. Tony Bevan tried to absorb himself in the Latin prose of Lower VIth classical, but he was acutely conscious of the soft weight that leant against him, and he found his eyes wandering from the sheets he held to the top of Lallie's head just underneath, and thence to her ever busy hands, which held a pale blue silk tie--a tie that was growing in length with the utmost rapidity, for Lallie knitted at express speed, only pausing every now and then to turn a page of her book.Tony felt the strongest desire to talk, and was quite unreasonably irritated at his guest's complete absorption, which gave him neither lead nor excuse.The wood fire crackled cheerfully--Lallie had begged some logs from Ford--and Lallie's harp in the corner caught the ruddy gleams on strings and gilded frame.Tony looked round the large, handsome room with a new interest. Hitherto he had not considered it as any concern of his. It was Miss Foster's domain, to be entered by him only on such occasions as she gave tea to visiting parents. To be sure he had bought all the furniture for it, and each piece, in itself, was good and possessed of qualities that redeemed it from the commonplace. There was one really beautiful Hepplewhite cabinet, a genuine Sheraton desk and bookcase, and some fine old china; but Lallie was right, the room was stiff, bare, wholly lacking in charm. Not to-night; it seemed neither bare nor stiff to-night. It was full of an atmosphere subtler and sweeter even than that produced by the comfortable clouds of tobacco smoke that floated between Tony Bevan and the girl leaning against his knees. To-night the room radiated a delicious atmosphere of home, and all because a slip of a girl had disarranged the furniture and sat there at his feet looking the very spirit of the domestic hearth.In grumpy moments, Tony was apt to declare that in all his big house no corner seemed really to belong to him except the writing-table in his study. Among the many admirable qualities of Miss Foster, she did not possess the power of making a man feel comfortable and at his ease in her society. As a rule he was ready enough to admit that this was, perhaps, an additional reason why she filled her post so efficiently. The greatest gossip in Hamchester could not conjecture any matrimonial complication with Miss Foster, and Tony rejoiced in the serene security engendered by this knowledge. Nevertheless, to-night he was conscious of very distinct enjoyment of, and interest in, his own drawing-room.How still it was!No sound save the little click of Lallie's needles as she changed them at the end of a row, and the soft sizzle of the wood fire. Why was she--gregarious, garrulous Lallie--so silent? If only she had insisted on talking he could have laid aside those tiresome proses with a sigh as to the impossibility of work with such a chatterbox in the room. But she was quiet as any mouse, and Tony wanted to talk himself."Can you see all right?" he asked at last."Perfectly, thank you," and she never turned her head.Silence again, while Tony smoked and made no attempt to correct papers. Instead, he found himself admiring the straightness of Lallie's parting, and marvelling at the slenderness of her little neck that showed never a bone.Presently he reflected that it was hardly hospitable to condemn a young and lively girl to complete silence during her first evening hi his house.Hospitable! It was positively churlish.Tony pushed the papers on the table a little farther away from him. It was his plain duty to talk to Lallie."What's that you're knitting?" he asked sociably."A tie for Mr. Cripps. Isn't it a pretty colour? Have you finished? How quick you've been! I thought you'd be hours and hours.""A tie for Cripps!" Tony repeated in tones that betrayed disapproval. "Why in the world should you make a tie for Cripps? You never saw him till this morning.""Ah, but we made great friends in a very little time," Lallie explained eagerly; "and the old string he was wearing was a terrible show. He can knit ties himself, you know, the clever boy, but he always gives away the ones he knits; and the poor chap's awfully badly off for ties just now. He told me so. And I said I'd make him one for Sundays and high days. I shall probably finish it to-morrow, and he can have it by Monday morning.""Cripps is a humbug. I'm perfectly sure he has plenty of ties. Don't you be imposed upon, Lallie; don't you give him anything of the kind."She turned right round and clasped her bare arms round Tony's knees to balance herself."Ah, Tony, now," she expostulated, "I must give the boy his little tie that I promised, and him so dull in quarantine and all. Sure a nice pale blue tie will cheer him up and make him think more of himself. A tie to a boy is like a new hat to a girl. There's nothing cheers me up like a new hat when I'm down in the dumps. Now what article of attire most cheers you, Tony?""I rather like ties," Tony answered, with cold detachment."Then I'll make dozens for you while I'm here," and Lallie set her chin on her clasped hands and looked up at Tony with eyes whose expression reminded him of Val's. "I'll make ties for you and every dear boy in this house, and for Paunch too. By the way, it's a shame to call that man Paunch. He's not fat or bow-windowy. However did he come by such a name?""He's not fat now," Tony said judicially, "but he'll be fat long before he's my age unless he takes enormous quantities of exercise; and no one notices a tendency more quickly than boys.""Is that why you're called Bruiser?" Lallie asked innocently. "Have you a tendency to get mixed up in street rows and to join generally in disorderly conduct?""I fancy," answered Tony, "that I got my name rather from my appearance than from any specially rowdy conduct on my part. I was Bruiser Bevan as a boy here, the name followed me up to Oxford, and was waiting for me when I came back here as a master. I was only a fair boxer--too slow and not heavy enough for a heavy weight. Besides I really never cared much about it.""I think I shall like Paunch," Lallie remarked; "he's earnest and serious, and thinks no end of himself, but he can unbend on occasion.""Don't you go making him unbend till he refuses to coil up again into his proper shape," Tony said anxiously. "You must be serious, too, down here, and be always thinking what Aunt Emileen would say.""Aunt Emileen would approve of Paunch; he is earnestly concerned for the morals of B. House, and I'll help him to raise the tone, till we're so superior no other house can touch us. As for you, Tony, I've discovered already you're a slack old thing, and don't take nearly a keen enough interest in these high matters.""Of course every one knows that P--that Mr. Johns and Miss Foster really run this house," Tony said dryly; "I'm merely the figure head. Lallie," with a complete change of tone, "why do you wear a bracelet above the elbow? I never saw any other lady wear one there.""Have you forgotten?" the girl exclaimed. "Look there!" and unclasping the wide gold band she displayed a long discoloured, jagged scar on her white arm. "That's where the mare 'Loree' bit me when I was ten. Don't you remember 'Loree'? Perhaps you weren't with us that autumn. We called her after the poem, 'Loraine, Loraine, Loree,' because she had such a fiendish temper. But she was a great beauty, and a wonderful jumper, and Dad thought he would hunt her that winter, in spite of her temper, though he was a bit too heavy for her; but they were all afraid of her at the stables, and declared she'd be the death of somebody. Funnily enough she never showed temper to me, and I used to take her sugar and apples and go in and out of the stable, and she never showed a sign of ill-temper while I was there, but Dad would never let me mount her. Then one day she'd just come in from exercising, and I went out to the yard with her apple for her. Rooney called to me: 'Don't you come near her, Miss Lallie! It's the very devil himself is in her to-day;' but I laughed, like the silly little girl I was, and said, 'It's you, Rooney, who can't manage her; I wish they'd let me take her out to exercise, it's a light hand she wants.' I went up to her to give her the apple, and she swung round and caught hold of my arm with her long teeth, and broke it there and then--and Dad shot her that afternoon. Oh, youmustremember, Tony!""I think I do remember something about it, but you know you were always being bitten by something, or thrown by something else----""I never wasthrownbut once," Lallie exclaimed indignantly. "If your horse rolls in a ditch it's not fair for any one to say you're thrown; but you, Tony, I suppose, keep count of the times you stick on, not the times you come off.""Well, you were always in the wars, anyhow, so that perhaps the accidents, being so numerous, impressed me less than they ought to have done. But that was a horrid thing. Still, you know, I think the scar is less noticeable than the bracelet.""Oh, the bracelet's Dad's affair. He can't bear to see anything ugly; and when I had my first proper evening frock he gave me this, and bade me wear it always when I had short sleeves; and it makes a topic of conversation with my partners at dances, and they're always very shocked and sorry, and feel kindly to me at once."Lallie snapped the bracelet on her arm again, and smiled up confidingly at Tony, who continued to smoke in silence."I've admired you sufficiently," said Lallie. "I will now devote my attention to the dear Cripps' tie," and she turned round on the stool, once more leant her back against Tony's knees, and the busy needles went to click again."I'd finish those papers if I were you," she suggested, "and then we can talk, or play picquet, or I'll sing to you, whichever you prefer.""You," said Tony sedately, "must go to bed almost directly.""Which means that you can't work in this room, and that I worry you, poor dear; but I'll go, and I'll be down to breakfast to-morrow and pour out your coffee for you. I know just how you like it--don't I?"Lallie rose from her stool, looking, as she always contrived to do, far taller than she really was, in her clinging green draperies."You'll let me give tea to some boys to-morrow, won't you? Paddy said you always have chaps to tea in the drawing-room on Sundays, and precious dull it is with Miss Foster; but to-morrow it won't be dull--you just see how I'll entertain them. I think I'd like the nice boys who were dining with you when I came. They'll do for a start.""We'll see what can be done," said Tony, with unaccountable meekness. "Good-night, my child; sleep well."He held the door open for her, and she passed out, only pausing on the threshold to remark:"There! I've never attempted to kiss you; I'll get quite used to it soon!"CHAPTER VIFor five terms, in fact ever since Miss Foster had been housekeeper at B. House, she had never left that house during term time for a single night. And on her arrival at Hamchester station on Tuesday afternoon, having been away from the previous Friday, she almost ran down the long platform to collect her luggage, hustled her porter, nor rested a moment till she had seized upon the first available cab to take to her destination.After years of generally unsuccessful ventures in various directions, Miss Foster had at last found a post entirely after her own heart, and the whole of her by no means inconsiderable energy was absorbed by B. House. She declared that it gave her scope. She was convinced that she, and she alone, "ran" B. House. She regarded Tony merely as an amiable figure-head. She liked him; she knew him to be honourable and well-meaning, and had found him generous in his business relations, and of course he was necessary, as otherwise she, herself, might not have been there; nevertheless, in her heart of hearts she was convinced that she, and she alone, kept the machinery of B. House in working order. Tony was far too easy-going, far too easily imposed upon. She distrusted the matron, and for Mr. Johns she felt an irritated sort of contempt, which she was at small pains to conceal: did not this misguided young man dare to entertain the incredibly conceited notion that he ran B. House? This in itself was more than enough to condemn him in Miss Foster's eyes.A handsome woman, tall, plump, fresh-coloured, she made no attempt to look younger than her forty-nine years. She wore her plentiful grey hair dressed high over a cushion, well waved and beautifully arranged; no one ever saw Miss Foster with an untidy head. Her hats were always large and imposing, and occasionally becoming; her dresses rich, rustling, sober in colour, and thoroughly well made."All must have gone smoothly in my absence," she thought complacently as she sat in the jolting cab. "Mr. Bevan faithfully promised that if there was illness of any kind he would telegraph at once. Cripps can't have got the mumps. He probably won't get it, and if he does it can't spread as he was quarantined at once. I hope Matron has been strict about the quarantine. I always mistrust these hospital-trained people when left to themselves; one has to be ever on the watch. Ah, here we are!"Before Miss Foster could descend from the cab Ford appeared to help her with her smaller baggage. Ford looked particularly trim and smiling that afternoon in a nice new muslin apron and cap."All well, Ford?" Miss Foster remarked genially, without waiting for an answer. "You may bring tea at once to the drawing-room; I'll have it before I go upstairs."She crossed the hall and opened the drawing-room door, but she did not enter the room. Instead she stood transfixed upon the threshold and sniffed dubiously.The windows were open according to her instructions whenever the room was untenanted. Notwithstanding this, there was a very strong smell of violets. To most people this is an agreeable odour, but Miss Foster mistrusted the presence of violets at all. Why should there be violets in her drawing-room during her absence?A few steps farther revealed to her astonished gaze that the room was not as she had left it. The furniture had been changed as to position, disarranged, increased!Miss Foster was not fond of music, and she beheld with positive dismay that a grand piano, open, with long lid slanted upwards, was placed athwart the inner wall. A huge harp stood just behind it, and an unfamiliar bulging green silk bag was flung on the Chesterfield, where it sprawled in flagrant publicity. The overpowering scent of violets was easily traceable to a large china bowl, full of that modest flower, which stood on a little table, moved from its accustomed place against the wall close to a big chair by the fireplace. Moreover, on that table, cheek by jowl with the violets, lay a tin of "Player's Navy Cut," a common box of kitchen matches, an ash-tray, and a very brown meershaum pipe. Miss Foster passed her hand over her eyes to make sure that these things were not an hallucination, and at that moment Ford came in, bearing tea."What on earth is the meaning of all this, Ford?" poor Miss Foster exclaimed, waving her hand in the direction of the piano."It's been got for Miss Clonmell, 'm. This morning the men brought the piano; she brought 'er 'arp with her.""Whobrought a harp?" Miss Foster cried irritably, as though she could hardly believe her ears. "Ford, what are you talking about?""Miss Clonmell, miss--the young lady as have come to live here.""A young lady! To live here! But who is she, and when did she come, and why have I been told nothing about it?""She's sister to the Mr. Clonmell what was here last term, 'm, and she came unexpected like on Friday evening, while Mr. Bevan was at dinner. He didn't expect her any more than you, miss.""But what in the world has she come for? She can't stay here. Where is she?""I don't exactly know 'm," Ford answered, with demure enjoyment of the situation. "Mrs. Wentworth came directly after luncheon, 'm, and took her out. Miss Clonmell said as I was to ask you not to wait tea if you came before she got back, as she'll probably have hers with Mrs. Wentworth.""Wait tea!" Miss Foster repeated, in tones that expressed volumes of determination to do nothing of the kind. "This is the most extraordinary thing I ever heard of. What is she like?""Oh, a very nice young lady, 'm. No one could'elpliking 'er. The 'ouse seems a different place since she come, so much livelier; and she sings and plays something beautiful----""I should think it does seem a different place," Miss Foster remarked grimly; "that horrible harp makes my drawing-room look like the deck of a penny steamer. It can't stay here, that's certain. However, I'll have tea now--I need it. Whenever Mr. Bevan comes in, Ford, ask him to be good enough to speak to me at once."Miss Foster sat in her accustomed chair and made tea. The tea was good and refreshing, but although she had purposely turned her back to the obnoxious musical instruments she felt uncomfortably conscious of their presence. There they were like a draught blowing down her back. A harp, too! In Miss Foster's mind harps were associated mainly with mendicity and the bars of public-houses. Not that she had the smallest personal knowledge of such objectionable places; but she was certain that the horrid people who frequented them played and listened to the harp. It was probably their favourite instrument, and it was more likely that during their disreputable orgies they even danced to its throbbing strains.Miss Foster, who had never been out of her own country, was one of those persons who inevitably associate Scotland with plaids and porridge, and Ireland with pigs and shillelaghs."An unsatisfactory, ungrateful, untrustworthy race, the Irish," she reflected; "and if the sister is half as troublesome as the brother--and being a girl she is certain to be ten times more so; I detest girls--the prospect is far from pleasing. What I cannot understand is the underhand behaviour of Mr. Bevan. This girl can't have dropped from the clouds, and I consider it most ungentlemanly of him not to have given me some warning. He might at least have written to tell me of her arrival, and I would have come back yesterday. However, I don't fancy her visit will be a very long one now that I have come back."She took a vigorous bite out of her piece of bread and butter, and stirred her tea with a determination that boded ill for the interloper. Yet, resolute woman as she was, she still smelt the violets and was aware of the grand piano in the background.She had just finished her second cup of tea when Tony came in."Ah, Miss Foster, it's nice to see you back again. I hope the wedding went off well--you had a lovely day. I'm just in time to beg for a cup of tea. I suppose Ford has told you of the addition to our party; I didn't write, as you were away for such a brief holiday; it seemed too bad to bother you."Somehow Miss Foster found it impossible to say all the bitter things to Tony that she had been preparing. He was so friendly, so kind, so interested in all her doings. Besides, he explained at once how Lallie's sudden appearance had been as great a surprise to him as to Miss Foster, and she was fain to believe him; but none the less did she determine that the said visit should be brief as unexpected.Tony took it for granted she would do her best for the girl. So she would. It would certainly be best for the girl and for B. House that the girl's visit should not be unduly prolonged. When Tony left the drawing-room that afternoon Miss Foster was more than ever persuaded that he badly needed some one to stand between him and those who took advantage of his good nature, and she there and then valiantly resolved that, so far as in her lay, she would act as that buffer. She was still glowing at the prospect of the friction such fortitude on her part would assuredly entail when Tony came back into the room. He might almost be said to have crept back, so shamefaced was his appearance."I fear that I have left some of my belongings in here," he mumbled apologetically. "I must have put them down when I came in to speak to Lallie, after lunch--and forgotten them."Oh, mendacious Tony! when he knew perfectly well that those "belongings" had been left on that table ever since Lallie's second evening in B. House, and he had smoked there ruthlessly every evening since."It doesn't matter in the least," Miss Ford said graciously; "one couldn't smell even tobacco with these overpowering flowers. I really must ask Ford to throw them out; they are enough to give us all hay-fever."Tony fled.CHAPTER VIIAn hour later Tony sat at his study table offering sacrifices propitiatory to parental anxiety amid clouds of smoke, with a pile of unanswered letters at his elbow.Lallie peeped in."Has she come, Tony?" she whispered."She has," he remarked briefly, whereupon Lallie vanished again, with a muttered exclamation.In the passage she met Mr. Johns on his way to take prep.; she seized him by the arm, whispering beseechingly:"Come with me to the drawing-room just for a minute, there's a dear kind man. I'm petrified with terror, and Tony's busy. Don't leave me to go in all by myself.""Certainly not," Mr. Johns replied reassuringly; "I can't stay, I'm afraid, but I'll come into the drawing-room with you with pleasure. If it's the dark you're afraid of, and it soon gets dark now, I'll turn on the light; it's just inside the door."Lallie gave a smothered laugh, but nevertheless she kept a tight hold of Mr. Johns till he had opened the drawing-room door and turned on the light. Then she drew her hand from his arm and sailed into the room with her head in the air. The room was untenanted."She's not here at all," Lallie said blankly; then to the somewhat flustered young master who had followed her in: "I'll not detain you further, Mr. Johns," she remarked airily; "I know you are much occupied. It was kind of you to show me the way."Somewhat huffed at this abrupt dismissal after so effusive a greeting, Mr. Johns swung round hastily, only to cannon with considerable violence against Miss Foster, who, unheard by him, had just entered the room. Lallie stood magisterially upon the hearthrug while they disentangled themselves, and Mr. Johns muttered apologies which were loftily ignored by the lady.Miss Foster was intensely annoyed. No one appears to advantage who has just been vigorously humped into by an International forward; and although Miss Foster's ample form was calculated both to sustain and repel a considerable impact, she was distinctly ruffled.Mr. Johns almost banged the door behind him."I hope he didn't hurt you, the clumsy fellow," exclaimed Lallie, in sweetly sympathetic tones, as she came forward with outstretched hand. "I must introduce myself, dear Miss Foster, and apologise for invading B. House in your absence.""I suppose you are but a bird of passage," Miss Foster remarked, when she had given Lallie's hand a limp and chilly shake."That depends," said Lallie gaily, "whether you're all very good to me or not. If I like it, I may stay till Dad comes back from India. He likes me to be with Tony.""I wonder," Miss Foster said thoughtfully, when she had seated herself, "whether your father has fully considered Mr. Bevan's many responsibilities. A house like this--" Miss Foster paused."It seems a comfortable house," Lallie suggested helpfully, "though 'tis a bit cold. Shall I set a match to the fire?" and Lallie flew to the little table--but the matches were gone."Pray don't," Miss Foster exclaimed, "I never start fires before the first of October.""But if it's cold?" Lallie expostulated."That, Miss Clonmell, is my invariable rule.""But it might be warm on the first of October.""If it is warm on the first of October I shall certainly not have a fire.""But we'vehada fire every night since I came.""I thought the room smelt rather stuffy," Miss Foster said coldly. "Won't you sit down, Miss Clonmell? You look so uncomfortable standing there."Lallie sat down obediently, and unconsciously folded her hands in the devout attitude in which she had been wont to listen to the discourses of the Mother Superior in her convent."It would be well," Miss Foster continued, in a head voice, "if, before we go any farther, I explain to you how rigid--necessarily rigid--rules must be in a house of this description. It will save trouble and futile argument afterwards. You must see, yourself, that the arrangements in a College boarding-house containing fifty boys and over a dozen servants can't chop and change; the ordinary routine can't be relaxed as in an ordinary private house--though in the best managed private houses things are almost equally regular.""But why should people be colder in a College house than in any other sort, if they can afford a fire?" Lallie persisted. "Tonylikedthe fire.""I never argue," Miss Foster observed, with superior finality; "we will change the subject. How is your brother getting on at Woolwich? I hope he is settling down well.""I don't know about 'settling,' Miss Foster, we're not a very settled family, but he's well and happy, and the dearest boy. Didn't you think him a dear boy, and isn't he good to look at?""From what I remember of your brother he was quite good-looking--fair, wasn't he? You are not in the least like him.""No, indeed, more's the pity," Lallie said simply. "He is the image of Dad. You've met my father, I think, Miss Foster?""I believe your father stayed a night here some time last winter, but I don't remember him very distinctly. We see so many parents, you know, and it's hard to keep them separate in one's mind unless they have very definite qualities, or are distinguished people.""Most people think Dad is very distinguished," said Lallie, much incensed at the implied slight upon her father; "but I suppose he appeals most to brilliant people like himself. May I have my work-bag, Miss Foster? I think you are sitting on it, and I may as well get on with Tony's tie as sit here doing nothing. Thank you; I hope no needle has run into you."Silence fell upon the twain: a fighting silence, charged with unrest.Dinner that night was not exactly a hilarious meal. Mr. Johns still smarted under a sense of injury at the trick he considered Lallie had played him. He held her responsible for his collision with Miss Foster, and he came to table determined not to address a single word to her till she should apologise. All the time he was mentally rehearsing that apology and the form it should take. In some solitude--place not yet specified--she would ask him what she had done to offend him. Reluctantly he would allow her to drag from him the real cause of his aloofness, and through the veil of his reticence she would perceive the enormity of her offence--veils have an enlarging effect. Being really good at heart and full of generous impulses--he was certain of Lallie's generosity--she would frankly apologise, and he would, as frankly, refuse to allow her to do so. Mr. Johns saw himself, muscular, large, and magnanimous, in the very flower of his young English manhood--gently and imperceptibly raising little Lallie's moral tone until her soul should reach the altitude upon which it could meet his on equal terms. After that, who knows what might happen? And it was dinner time.At table, however, he couldn't harden his heart against Lallie, who sat opposite in a high white blouse that made her look like a schoolgirl. Her eyelids were pink; so was her nose with its confiding tip; and she never once looked across at Mr. Johns.Miss Fosterwoulddiscuss the dates of various quarantines, and the preventative measures that should be taken if any of the usual infectious diseases invaded the other houses. Tony tried in vain to head her off to other topics. By the time they had reached the contagious, or non-contagious nature of tonsilitis, Lallie began to look about her. From time to time she caught Tony's eyes, and her own were so merry and well amused that Tony, himself, began to see another side to the germ question, which as a rule bored him to extinction. Mr. Johns found himself trying to intercept some of Lallie's glances, but without success; and when the meal came to an end he had assuredly not addressed a single remark to Lallie, but it was from lack of opportunity and not because he was any longer offended. How could one be offended with an irresponsible creature whose dimples were so bewitching?Tony retired to his study; Mr. Johns went back to the boys; and Lallie, who longed to go with Tony but didn't dare, meekly followed Miss Foster into the drawing-room. Tony was troubled about Lallie. The child look pinched and low-spirited, he thought, and she was such a good child. She had tried so hard, so kind-hearted Tony assured himself, to fall in with their ways, to keep rules and regulations that were all strange to her. He wished he could have her in here with him, but he supposed it wouldn't do; Miss Foster might be offended. She was such a quiet little mouse--it was pleasant to work by the fire with her leaning against his knees, with one of those everlasting ties in her hands. By Jove! it was a cold night; he'd light his fire. Poor little Lallie! would Miss Foster be friendly and motherly? He hoped to goodness she wouldn't talk any more about illnesses; he felt rather as though he were going to have mumps himself. Tony pressed his neck on both sides anxiously. The wood sparkled and crackled, he drew his chair up to the fire and lit his pipe."You must excuse me, Miss Clonmell," said Miss Foster, when they reached the drawing-room; "I have many things to see to upstairs. In a house like this it is impossible to devote one's whole evening to social intercourse. I fear I must leave you for half an hour or so.""Of course," Lallie said solemnly, not quite knowing why. "Please, Miss Foster, would it disturb any of the children--the boys, I mean--if I play the piano while you're gone?""The boys' part of the house is quite separate; youmaydisturb Mr. Bevan, who is usually busy at this time--but----""Oh, I shan't disturb Tony; he'll probably leave his door open to hear me; he loves music.""He has not, hitherto, made any parade of his partiality," Miss Foster said coldly, and left the room, shutting the door carefully after her.Lallie flew across to the door and opened it wide, gazing after Miss Foster's portly form ascending the staircase."In a house like 'this,'" said Lallie to herself, and made a face, "St. Bridget herself would lose patience, and I very much fear there's more than a spice of the devil in me. Anyway, I'm not going to freeze for twenty Miss Fosters; I'll get a cloak to cover me."She ran upstairs and reappeared clad in a wonderful theatre coat of rose-coloured satin, embroidered in silver, a most incongruous garment considering the severe simplicity of her frock, but it appeared to give her great satisfaction; and again leaving the door wide open she seated herself "with an air" at the piano, and began to sing.It was surprising that so small and slight a creature as Lallie could have such a big voice--a rich, carrying mezzo soprano voice; the sort of voice usually associated with the full-bosomed, substantially built women that one encounters on concert platforms or in grand opera.Portali, the great singing-master in Paris to whom her father had taken her when she was seventeen, explained it thus:"She sings as a bird sings, but she would never make a public singer. She hasn't the physique, she hasn't the industry; above all, she hasn't the temperament; but she can sing now as no amount of training could ever make her. Give her good lessons--occasionally--but only the best; never let any provincial teacher come near her. If she ever has a bad illness she'll probably lose her voice altogether, but if she only sings for pleasure--for her own, and yours, and that of the fortunate people thrown with her, never as a business--she may keep it till she is quite an old woman. Let her choose her own songs--Folk songs are what she can sing--but let her sing what she pleases; she will never go wrong. Let her keep her wild-bird voice; don't try to tame or train it too much."Lallie began to sing very softly "Synnove's Lied"--the andante that is sung as if humming to one's self; then suddenly she let her voice go. "Oh to remember the happy hours!" Right through the house it rang, passionate, pathetic, pleading.Tony leapt to his feet and opened his study door; at the same instant he heard some one prop open the swing door that shut off the study passage from his part of the house, and down the long corridor every door was opened."Our world was bounded by the garden trees,Then came the churchyard and the river."The big, beautiful voice died down, and once more came the quaint humming refrain. Again--musical, intensely melancholy--the voice rang out."But now the garden is white with snow,At night I wait, I stand and shiver,"sang Lallie most realistically, for the drawing-room really was rather cold."The place is frosty, the cold winds blow,Oh love, my love, but you come never."Lallie sang in English, for she could not speak Norwegian, and every word was clearly enunciated and distinct; the soft humming refrain followed, and died away into silence."Heavens!" thought Tony, "the child is homesick alone in there with Miss Foster; she sounds cold too--this is dreadful!"He hurried to the drawing-room, expecting to find Lallie in the tearful state her pathetic voice had indicated."I thought that would bring you," Lallie remarked complacently. "Come here, Tony, and admire my theatre coat Dad brought me from Paris."Tony stood where he was, staring at the gorgeous little figure seated perkily on the piano stool; at the big cheerless room, with one electric light burning in dismal prominence over the piano; at the black and chilly hearth."Why in the name of all that's idiotic haven't you got a fire?" he asked angrily."In this house," Lallie replied, in Miss Foster's very tones, "we never have fires till the first of October."Poor Tony looked very miserable."I am so sorry," he said helplessly; "you'd better come and sit in my study. I have a fire.""It's I who ought to be sorry, Tony, worrying you like this. It was horrid of me to tell tales. No, I won't come and sit in your study, for that would only make her hate me the more. I'm not a bit cold in my beautiful coat, and I'll go on making music quite happily. Run away back to your little exercise books.""Try not to take a dislike to Miss Foster at the very first, Lallie," Tony pleaded. "She's a good sort really; and perhaps I ought to have written to tell her you had come.""It would have been better to break it to her gently," Lallie responded drily.Tony crossed the room slowly, pausing on the threshold."I fear I must ask you to keep the door shut; the boys heard you singing, and instantly every study door was opened.""Ah, the dears!" cried Lallie delighted. "Do let me have them all in, and I'll sing them something they'd really like."Tony shook his head."They must do their work, and I must do mine. Mind, you are to come into the study if you are cold."As Tony crossed the hall even the shut door could not drown the cheerful strains of that most jubilant of jigs, "Rory O'More," and he felt a wild impulse to dance apas seulthere and then. However, he sternly fastened the swing door, shut himself into his study, and tried to forget the brilliant little rose-and-silver figure with the wistful Greuze face. Over his mantel-piece hung an engraving of "La cruche cassée," bought some years ago because of its likeness to Lallie. He shook his head at it now, turned his back upon it, and sat down at his table. Val, who liked music, went to the door and whined to get out, but Tony unsympathetically bade him get into his basket again, and gave his own attention to the bundles of white paper that Lallie had impertinently dubbed "little exercise books."When Miss Foster returned Lallie was singing "All round my hat I will wear a green garland," and accompanying herself upon the harp. She finished the song and then went and sat beside Miss Foster on the sofa."You have a very strong voice, Miss Clonmell," Miss Foster remarked, gazing with astonished disfavour at the rose-and-silver garment."So I've always been told," said Lallie. "You see it has never been strained.""Did you say trained or strained?"Lallie laughed."Oh, it's plenty of training it's had, but perhaps I haven't profited as much as I might have done. Are you fond of music, Miss Foster?""I can't say that I am. I dislike every sort of loud music, and all stringed instruments seem to me so very thrummy."To this Lallie made no reply, but took her roll of lace out of her bag and began to work in perfect silence. Miss Foster picked up theSpectatorand tried to read it, but could not concentrate her attention. Against her will she was forced to glance from time to time at the quiet figure beside her; at the deft white hands that moved so swiftly and silently; at the beautiful work that grew so fast beneath their ministrations. Like Tony, Lallie's silence irritated her. If only the girl had chattered she would have had a grievance."You were out with Mrs. Wentworth this afternoon, I think you said?" Miss Foster remarked at last."Yes, Miss Foster; she took me to see Pris and Prue at their dancing. Oh, it was lovely! Pris is just like a big soft india-rubber ball, and bounds up and down in perfect time, and looks the incarnation of gleeful enjoyment. And then Mrs. Wentworth insisted on my going back to tea with her, for they were arranging about the Musical Society, and she thought I might help. The organist is a nice man! That's how it was I couldn't be here to welcome you.""The practises are a great nuisance," Miss Foster said. "The boys have so much to do, it really is not fair to make them practise in their scanty playtime.""But music's good for them," argued Lallie; "and it's not a mental strain.""Of that I am by no means sure. If you will excuse me, Miss Clonmell, I think I will retire, for I've had rather a tiring day."Miss Foster rose, Lallie folded her work neatly and put it in her bag. She went and shut the piano and came back and shook hands with her hostess."Good-night, Miss Foster. I may be a minute after you, for I promised Mr. Bevan I'd go and say good-night to him in the study;" and before Miss Foster could recover from her amazement at this audacious statement Lallie had vanished."She's worse than anything I ever dreamt of," poor Miss Foster lamented to herself; "and I fear she's a fixture for the present; anyway, we shall see."
CHAPTER IV
In Hamchester College the headmaster, Dr. Wentworth, like other headmasters, is a much criticised man. He has his partisans, he has also his detractors. Were an angel from heaven to descend and become headmaster of a large public school he would find plenty of adverse critics, and these were by no means lacking to Dr. Wentworth. But about his wife, there were no two opinions. Six hundred boys and all the masters agreed in thinking her perfectly delightful. So kind was she, so friendly, so simple and believing in the good intentions of others, that quite curmudgeony people melted into amiability in the sunshine of her presence. Perhaps one of the boys best summed up her mysterious charm when he said, "She doesn't try to be nice to a chap, she justisnice; and there's such a difference."
Therefore when Tony, having sat in her drawing-room for five minutes, prepared to depart--not without misgivings as to how Lallie would take it--that damsel nodded at him coolly, without so much as a supplicating glance after his retreating form, and when he had gone she turned to her hostess with a little laugh that ended in a sigh.
"Poor man," she said, "I'm afraid I'm a regular white elephant to him just now; but I can't make myself invisible, can I?"
"I think we'd all be very sorry if you were invisible. Come now, and see my chicks," and kind Mrs. Wentworth led Lallie upstairs and down a long passage to a big sunny room where two little girls sat painting at the table.
"This is Pris and this is Prue, and that over there is Punch!" Mrs. Wentworth said, indicating her offsprings.
Pris and Prue lifted small flushed faces from their artistic efforts, and surveyed Lallie with large solemn eyes, and each held out a small hand liberally besmeared with Prussian blue.
"How do you do?" said Pris politely. "I'm seven; how old are you?"
"I'm six," added Prue.
Punch, a rolly-polly person who was apparently engaged in dismembering a woolly lamb, remarked loudly and distinctly, "I'm a boy."
"May I paint?" asked Lallie.
"Oh, do, you can have my seat for a bit. You might do some legs; they run over so, somehow, with me."
Lallie sat down in front of Prue's picture, which was an elaborateGraphicillustration of the "Relief of Ladysmith."
"I'm sure Sir George White's tunic was not pink," Lallie objected. "They wore khaki, you know."
"I don't like khaki; it's the colour of mustard, an' I hate mustard; my new sash is pink, an' I like pink.Mysoldiers wear pink; you may paint their legs khaki if you like."
"It looks very stormy overhead," Lallie remarked. "Was there a thunderstorm at the Relief of Ladysmith?"
"My uncle was there," said Pris, as though that accounted for it.
"I'll leave you for a few minutes while I write a note," said Mrs. Wentworth. "Take care of this young lady; be very kind to her. She has come to stay with Mr. Bevan, and she'll come and see you often if you are good."
The moment the door closed behind their mother, regardless of the protests of their nurse, who was sewing at the window, the children crowded round Lallie, and all three tried to sit upon her at once.
"Are youquitea grown-up lady?" asked Pris doubtfully.
"No," said Lallie, "I'm a little girl----"
"You're a bit bigger than me," Prue granted somewhat grudgingly, "but I thought you weren't quite grown-up. Punch is only four."
"I'm a very old four," Punch maintained.
"Do you think," asked Prue, "that you could tell us a story?"
"Do I not?" Lallie answered, and in another minute she had the children absorbed in the legend of that "quiet, decent man, Andrew Coffy"; so that when her hostess came back to fetch her to lunch Lallie appeared, as it were, buried beneath the family of Wentworth.
Dr. Wentworth seemed sufficiently awe-inspiring to the outside world, but his family took a different view of him, and Pris at luncheon generally addressed her father as "Poor dear," or spoke of him as "That child."
Mrs. Wentworth was wont to declare to her intimates that no schoolmaster could possibly be endurable who was not well sat upon in the bosom of his family.
"Personally," she said, "I have the greatest admiration for my husband, and consider him quite an excellent sort of ordinary man; but being a headmaster, if I didn't make him positively skip off his pedestal his sense of proportion would die of inanition."
Certainly neither Miss Prudence nor Miss Patience Wentworth manifested the smallest awe of their parent; and Lallie was moved to take his side in several arguments that ensued during luncheon.
Prue was rosy and brown-eyed, with thick short hair that framed her round face deliciously. Pris was fair-haired, blue-eyed, with a face like a monthly rose. Punch's countenance resembled a full moon, and all three children were plump and healthy and absolutely good-tempered. In fact, the whole Wentworth family were rather roundabout, which perhaps accounted for their amiability. Lallie endeared herself immediately to Mrs. Wentworth by her extreme popularity with the children. Even the imperturbable Punch unbent so far as to say: "I like you. You may come and have dinner with us every day. You speak in such a funny voice."
CHAPTER V
Tony Bevan did not meet Lallie again that day until nearly dinner time. It is true that during the afternoon he beheld her afar off across the College field, sitting on a seat beside the Principal's wife and watching the pick-up. He noted moreover that behind her stood a little group of the younger masters, and that they appeared deeply interested in her remarks; while her attention to the game was close and enthusiastic. She was in good hands, and Tony was quite happy about her. He had a great many things to do and to see to, so he left the field with a contented mind.
Mrs. Wentworth had promised to keep her to tea, and after tea he had to give a private lesson to two of the University scholarship people, so that it was almost seven o'clock when he entered his own hall to be met by a sound of music, and stood still to listen.
It was unusual music: vibrating, pulsating, mysterious; rising and falling in waves of sound that billowed hither and thither like the mist on the heath, the strain now soft and seductive, now loud and menacing; again humming with the slumbrous, slow drone of honey-gathering bees on a sunny afternoon in high summer. It was music that above all suggested thyme-scented, wind-swept spaces, rock and river, and shady, solemn woods. It was the sound of Lallie's harp.
He remembered to have noticed the big case in the hall as he went out to College that morning. Who had taken it out and carried it into the drawing-room for her? he wondered. She certainly couldn't have done it herself, for it was very heavy.
He opened the drawing-room door and went in, closing it softly behind him. The window at the end of the room was wide open, but a small fire burned cheerfully upon the hearth, and save for its uncertain light the room was shadowy and almost dark. Tony's first thought was of how shocked Miss Foster would be at the extravagance of a fire on such a warm night; but this reflection was speedily superseded by astonishment at the sight of his "driver," Mr. Johns, and young Nick seated side by side upon a sofa near the fire, while Lallie sat at her big harp right in the middle of the room, and discoursed weird music to her evidently appreciative audience.
She had already changed for dinner, and her gown--high-waisted, long and clinging--fell in straight folds to her feet. Neck and arms were bare, and beautiful old lace was draped about her white shoulders. In colour her dress was of the soft yet brilliant green of July grass in a grass-country where there is much rain. A green ribbon threaded through her dusky hair was her only ornament save a wide gold band that clasped her bare arm just above the elbow and caught the flickering firelight in ruddy gleams as her slender, purposeful hands flashed to and fro over the enormous strings, with long, swooping movements, assured and definite in design and result as the swift stoop of a hawk.
Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes large and bright, and as the fire suddenly leapt into clearer flame every farthest corner of the room was revealed sharp and distinct, and her girlish figure seemed a sudden incarnation of the Celtic muse.
Tony stood where he was just inside the door. Lallie faced him, but she took no notice of his entrance till the last long arpeggio had shivered into silence; then, in the most matter-of-fact tone, she remarked:
"On Monday, Tony, we must hire a piano."
Tony felt the sudden shock of disillusionment that comes with the fall of the curtain after a play that has thrilled the senses with its large romance--the blank sensation that life is really rather a prosaic business after all. He did not answer immediately, and in the meantime Paunch and young Nick had arisen in some haste from their sofa, the latter exclaiming confusedly:
"I had no idea it was so late. I met Miss Clonmell at the Principal's, and walked home with her, to show her the way."
"And as he'd never heard a harp properly played," Lallie added, "I told him that if he liked to wait, I'd change and come down and play till you came in; and on the stairs I met Mr. Johns, and he'd never heard a harp either, so he came too."
"How did you get it out of the wooden case?" asked Tony.
"Oh, they unpacked it and carried it in for me while I dressed; and they've put the case in the box-room and all--ever so tidy we've been. Come here, Mr. Johns, and put it in the corner for me--no, not that one, that's an outer wall. This one, by the writing-table. Thank you; that will do nicely. Good-night, Mr. Nick. I beg your pardon, it's Paddy's fault; I always stumble into the wrong names that I've no business to know. Next time you come I'll sing for you, but I've never any voice after a voyage."
Dinner that night was an unusually cheerful meal, and by the time Tony carried in his work to the drawing-room that he might correct it beside Lallie, it was nearly nine o'clock.
Everything was arranged for his comfort when he did appear. A table at his elbow to hold his papers, his chair at the exact angle where he would get the best light, and Lallie standing on the hearth-rug with a box of matches in her hand ready to light his pipe.
"Oh, I say, Lallie!" said Tony, yielding weakly to temptation. "D'you think I may? No one has ever smoked in this room. I don't know what Miss Foster would say."
"A pipe, Tony! Surely a little pipe will do no harm? Why, the window's wide open and there's a fire; and there are very few hangings and precious little furniture. Never did I see such a bare, stiff room. I had to have a little bit of fire to help furnish it. There's one good thing, it will be a capital room for sound, and a grand piano will fill it up a bit. Now sit down, and I won't speak another word till you speak to me."
Lallie pushed him down in his chair and fetched a stool on which she seated herself, leaning her back against Tony's knees, on her own she laid an open book, and in her hands was a piece of knitting.
For a few minutes there was absolute silence. Tony Bevan tried to absorb himself in the Latin prose of Lower VIth classical, but he was acutely conscious of the soft weight that leant against him, and he found his eyes wandering from the sheets he held to the top of Lallie's head just underneath, and thence to her ever busy hands, which held a pale blue silk tie--a tie that was growing in length with the utmost rapidity, for Lallie knitted at express speed, only pausing every now and then to turn a page of her book.
Tony felt the strongest desire to talk, and was quite unreasonably irritated at his guest's complete absorption, which gave him neither lead nor excuse.
The wood fire crackled cheerfully--Lallie had begged some logs from Ford--and Lallie's harp in the corner caught the ruddy gleams on strings and gilded frame.
Tony looked round the large, handsome room with a new interest. Hitherto he had not considered it as any concern of his. It was Miss Foster's domain, to be entered by him only on such occasions as she gave tea to visiting parents. To be sure he had bought all the furniture for it, and each piece, in itself, was good and possessed of qualities that redeemed it from the commonplace. There was one really beautiful Hepplewhite cabinet, a genuine Sheraton desk and bookcase, and some fine old china; but Lallie was right, the room was stiff, bare, wholly lacking in charm. Not to-night; it seemed neither bare nor stiff to-night. It was full of an atmosphere subtler and sweeter even than that produced by the comfortable clouds of tobacco smoke that floated between Tony Bevan and the girl leaning against his knees. To-night the room radiated a delicious atmosphere of home, and all because a slip of a girl had disarranged the furniture and sat there at his feet looking the very spirit of the domestic hearth.
In grumpy moments, Tony was apt to declare that in all his big house no corner seemed really to belong to him except the writing-table in his study. Among the many admirable qualities of Miss Foster, she did not possess the power of making a man feel comfortable and at his ease in her society. As a rule he was ready enough to admit that this was, perhaps, an additional reason why she filled her post so efficiently. The greatest gossip in Hamchester could not conjecture any matrimonial complication with Miss Foster, and Tony rejoiced in the serene security engendered by this knowledge. Nevertheless, to-night he was conscious of very distinct enjoyment of, and interest in, his own drawing-room.
How still it was!
No sound save the little click of Lallie's needles as she changed them at the end of a row, and the soft sizzle of the wood fire. Why was she--gregarious, garrulous Lallie--so silent? If only she had insisted on talking he could have laid aside those tiresome proses with a sigh as to the impossibility of work with such a chatterbox in the room. But she was quiet as any mouse, and Tony wanted to talk himself.
"Can you see all right?" he asked at last.
"Perfectly, thank you," and she never turned her head.
Silence again, while Tony smoked and made no attempt to correct papers. Instead, he found himself admiring the straightness of Lallie's parting, and marvelling at the slenderness of her little neck that showed never a bone.
Presently he reflected that it was hardly hospitable to condemn a young and lively girl to complete silence during her first evening hi his house.
Hospitable! It was positively churlish.
Tony pushed the papers on the table a little farther away from him. It was his plain duty to talk to Lallie.
"What's that you're knitting?" he asked sociably.
"A tie for Mr. Cripps. Isn't it a pretty colour? Have you finished? How quick you've been! I thought you'd be hours and hours."
"A tie for Cripps!" Tony repeated in tones that betrayed disapproval. "Why in the world should you make a tie for Cripps? You never saw him till this morning."
"Ah, but we made great friends in a very little time," Lallie explained eagerly; "and the old string he was wearing was a terrible show. He can knit ties himself, you know, the clever boy, but he always gives away the ones he knits; and the poor chap's awfully badly off for ties just now. He told me so. And I said I'd make him one for Sundays and high days. I shall probably finish it to-morrow, and he can have it by Monday morning."
"Cripps is a humbug. I'm perfectly sure he has plenty of ties. Don't you be imposed upon, Lallie; don't you give him anything of the kind."
She turned right round and clasped her bare arms round Tony's knees to balance herself.
"Ah, Tony, now," she expostulated, "I must give the boy his little tie that I promised, and him so dull in quarantine and all. Sure a nice pale blue tie will cheer him up and make him think more of himself. A tie to a boy is like a new hat to a girl. There's nothing cheers me up like a new hat when I'm down in the dumps. Now what article of attire most cheers you, Tony?"
"I rather like ties," Tony answered, with cold detachment.
"Then I'll make dozens for you while I'm here," and Lallie set her chin on her clasped hands and looked up at Tony with eyes whose expression reminded him of Val's. "I'll make ties for you and every dear boy in this house, and for Paunch too. By the way, it's a shame to call that man Paunch. He's not fat or bow-windowy. However did he come by such a name?"
"He's not fat now," Tony said judicially, "but he'll be fat long before he's my age unless he takes enormous quantities of exercise; and no one notices a tendency more quickly than boys."
"Is that why you're called Bruiser?" Lallie asked innocently. "Have you a tendency to get mixed up in street rows and to join generally in disorderly conduct?"
"I fancy," answered Tony, "that I got my name rather from my appearance than from any specially rowdy conduct on my part. I was Bruiser Bevan as a boy here, the name followed me up to Oxford, and was waiting for me when I came back here as a master. I was only a fair boxer--too slow and not heavy enough for a heavy weight. Besides I really never cared much about it."
"I think I shall like Paunch," Lallie remarked; "he's earnest and serious, and thinks no end of himself, but he can unbend on occasion."
"Don't you go making him unbend till he refuses to coil up again into his proper shape," Tony said anxiously. "You must be serious, too, down here, and be always thinking what Aunt Emileen would say."
"Aunt Emileen would approve of Paunch; he is earnestly concerned for the morals of B. House, and I'll help him to raise the tone, till we're so superior no other house can touch us. As for you, Tony, I've discovered already you're a slack old thing, and don't take nearly a keen enough interest in these high matters."
"Of course every one knows that P--that Mr. Johns and Miss Foster really run this house," Tony said dryly; "I'm merely the figure head. Lallie," with a complete change of tone, "why do you wear a bracelet above the elbow? I never saw any other lady wear one there."
"Have you forgotten?" the girl exclaimed. "Look there!" and unclasping the wide gold band she displayed a long discoloured, jagged scar on her white arm. "That's where the mare 'Loree' bit me when I was ten. Don't you remember 'Loree'? Perhaps you weren't with us that autumn. We called her after the poem, 'Loraine, Loraine, Loree,' because she had such a fiendish temper. But she was a great beauty, and a wonderful jumper, and Dad thought he would hunt her that winter, in spite of her temper, though he was a bit too heavy for her; but they were all afraid of her at the stables, and declared she'd be the death of somebody. Funnily enough she never showed temper to me, and I used to take her sugar and apples and go in and out of the stable, and she never showed a sign of ill-temper while I was there, but Dad would never let me mount her. Then one day she'd just come in from exercising, and I went out to the yard with her apple for her. Rooney called to me: 'Don't you come near her, Miss Lallie! It's the very devil himself is in her to-day;' but I laughed, like the silly little girl I was, and said, 'It's you, Rooney, who can't manage her; I wish they'd let me take her out to exercise, it's a light hand she wants.' I went up to her to give her the apple, and she swung round and caught hold of my arm with her long teeth, and broke it there and then--and Dad shot her that afternoon. Oh, youmustremember, Tony!"
"I think I do remember something about it, but you know you were always being bitten by something, or thrown by something else----"
"I never wasthrownbut once," Lallie exclaimed indignantly. "If your horse rolls in a ditch it's not fair for any one to say you're thrown; but you, Tony, I suppose, keep count of the times you stick on, not the times you come off."
"Well, you were always in the wars, anyhow, so that perhaps the accidents, being so numerous, impressed me less than they ought to have done. But that was a horrid thing. Still, you know, I think the scar is less noticeable than the bracelet."
"Oh, the bracelet's Dad's affair. He can't bear to see anything ugly; and when I had my first proper evening frock he gave me this, and bade me wear it always when I had short sleeves; and it makes a topic of conversation with my partners at dances, and they're always very shocked and sorry, and feel kindly to me at once."
Lallie snapped the bracelet on her arm again, and smiled up confidingly at Tony, who continued to smoke in silence.
"I've admired you sufficiently," said Lallie. "I will now devote my attention to the dear Cripps' tie," and she turned round on the stool, once more leant her back against Tony's knees, and the busy needles went to click again.
"I'd finish those papers if I were you," she suggested, "and then we can talk, or play picquet, or I'll sing to you, whichever you prefer."
"You," said Tony sedately, "must go to bed almost directly."
"Which means that you can't work in this room, and that I worry you, poor dear; but I'll go, and I'll be down to breakfast to-morrow and pour out your coffee for you. I know just how you like it--don't I?"
Lallie rose from her stool, looking, as she always contrived to do, far taller than she really was, in her clinging green draperies.
"You'll let me give tea to some boys to-morrow, won't you? Paddy said you always have chaps to tea in the drawing-room on Sundays, and precious dull it is with Miss Foster; but to-morrow it won't be dull--you just see how I'll entertain them. I think I'd like the nice boys who were dining with you when I came. They'll do for a start."
"We'll see what can be done," said Tony, with unaccountable meekness. "Good-night, my child; sleep well."
He held the door open for her, and she passed out, only pausing on the threshold to remark:
"There! I've never attempted to kiss you; I'll get quite used to it soon!"
CHAPTER VI
For five terms, in fact ever since Miss Foster had been housekeeper at B. House, she had never left that house during term time for a single night. And on her arrival at Hamchester station on Tuesday afternoon, having been away from the previous Friday, she almost ran down the long platform to collect her luggage, hustled her porter, nor rested a moment till she had seized upon the first available cab to take to her destination.
After years of generally unsuccessful ventures in various directions, Miss Foster had at last found a post entirely after her own heart, and the whole of her by no means inconsiderable energy was absorbed by B. House. She declared that it gave her scope. She was convinced that she, and she alone, "ran" B. House. She regarded Tony merely as an amiable figure-head. She liked him; she knew him to be honourable and well-meaning, and had found him generous in his business relations, and of course he was necessary, as otherwise she, herself, might not have been there; nevertheless, in her heart of hearts she was convinced that she, and she alone, kept the machinery of B. House in working order. Tony was far too easy-going, far too easily imposed upon. She distrusted the matron, and for Mr. Johns she felt an irritated sort of contempt, which she was at small pains to conceal: did not this misguided young man dare to entertain the incredibly conceited notion that he ran B. House? This in itself was more than enough to condemn him in Miss Foster's eyes.
A handsome woman, tall, plump, fresh-coloured, she made no attempt to look younger than her forty-nine years. She wore her plentiful grey hair dressed high over a cushion, well waved and beautifully arranged; no one ever saw Miss Foster with an untidy head. Her hats were always large and imposing, and occasionally becoming; her dresses rich, rustling, sober in colour, and thoroughly well made.
"All must have gone smoothly in my absence," she thought complacently as she sat in the jolting cab. "Mr. Bevan faithfully promised that if there was illness of any kind he would telegraph at once. Cripps can't have got the mumps. He probably won't get it, and if he does it can't spread as he was quarantined at once. I hope Matron has been strict about the quarantine. I always mistrust these hospital-trained people when left to themselves; one has to be ever on the watch. Ah, here we are!"
Before Miss Foster could descend from the cab Ford appeared to help her with her smaller baggage. Ford looked particularly trim and smiling that afternoon in a nice new muslin apron and cap.
"All well, Ford?" Miss Foster remarked genially, without waiting for an answer. "You may bring tea at once to the drawing-room; I'll have it before I go upstairs."
She crossed the hall and opened the drawing-room door, but she did not enter the room. Instead she stood transfixed upon the threshold and sniffed dubiously.
The windows were open according to her instructions whenever the room was untenanted. Notwithstanding this, there was a very strong smell of violets. To most people this is an agreeable odour, but Miss Foster mistrusted the presence of violets at all. Why should there be violets in her drawing-room during her absence?
A few steps farther revealed to her astonished gaze that the room was not as she had left it. The furniture had been changed as to position, disarranged, increased!
Miss Foster was not fond of music, and she beheld with positive dismay that a grand piano, open, with long lid slanted upwards, was placed athwart the inner wall. A huge harp stood just behind it, and an unfamiliar bulging green silk bag was flung on the Chesterfield, where it sprawled in flagrant publicity. The overpowering scent of violets was easily traceable to a large china bowl, full of that modest flower, which stood on a little table, moved from its accustomed place against the wall close to a big chair by the fireplace. Moreover, on that table, cheek by jowl with the violets, lay a tin of "Player's Navy Cut," a common box of kitchen matches, an ash-tray, and a very brown meershaum pipe. Miss Foster passed her hand over her eyes to make sure that these things were not an hallucination, and at that moment Ford came in, bearing tea.
"What on earth is the meaning of all this, Ford?" poor Miss Foster exclaimed, waving her hand in the direction of the piano.
"It's been got for Miss Clonmell, 'm. This morning the men brought the piano; she brought 'er 'arp with her."
"Whobrought a harp?" Miss Foster cried irritably, as though she could hardly believe her ears. "Ford, what are you talking about?"
"Miss Clonmell, miss--the young lady as have come to live here."
"A young lady! To live here! But who is she, and when did she come, and why have I been told nothing about it?"
"She's sister to the Mr. Clonmell what was here last term, 'm, and she came unexpected like on Friday evening, while Mr. Bevan was at dinner. He didn't expect her any more than you, miss."
"But what in the world has she come for? She can't stay here. Where is she?"
"I don't exactly know 'm," Ford answered, with demure enjoyment of the situation. "Mrs. Wentworth came directly after luncheon, 'm, and took her out. Miss Clonmell said as I was to ask you not to wait tea if you came before she got back, as she'll probably have hers with Mrs. Wentworth."
"Wait tea!" Miss Foster repeated, in tones that expressed volumes of determination to do nothing of the kind. "This is the most extraordinary thing I ever heard of. What is she like?"
"Oh, a very nice young lady, 'm. No one could'elpliking 'er. The 'ouse seems a different place since she come, so much livelier; and she sings and plays something beautiful----"
"I should think it does seem a different place," Miss Foster remarked grimly; "that horrible harp makes my drawing-room look like the deck of a penny steamer. It can't stay here, that's certain. However, I'll have tea now--I need it. Whenever Mr. Bevan comes in, Ford, ask him to be good enough to speak to me at once."
Miss Foster sat in her accustomed chair and made tea. The tea was good and refreshing, but although she had purposely turned her back to the obnoxious musical instruments she felt uncomfortably conscious of their presence. There they were like a draught blowing down her back. A harp, too! In Miss Foster's mind harps were associated mainly with mendicity and the bars of public-houses. Not that she had the smallest personal knowledge of such objectionable places; but she was certain that the horrid people who frequented them played and listened to the harp. It was probably their favourite instrument, and it was more likely that during their disreputable orgies they even danced to its throbbing strains.
Miss Foster, who had never been out of her own country, was one of those persons who inevitably associate Scotland with plaids and porridge, and Ireland with pigs and shillelaghs.
"An unsatisfactory, ungrateful, untrustworthy race, the Irish," she reflected; "and if the sister is half as troublesome as the brother--and being a girl she is certain to be ten times more so; I detest girls--the prospect is far from pleasing. What I cannot understand is the underhand behaviour of Mr. Bevan. This girl can't have dropped from the clouds, and I consider it most ungentlemanly of him not to have given me some warning. He might at least have written to tell me of her arrival, and I would have come back yesterday. However, I don't fancy her visit will be a very long one now that I have come back."
She took a vigorous bite out of her piece of bread and butter, and stirred her tea with a determination that boded ill for the interloper. Yet, resolute woman as she was, she still smelt the violets and was aware of the grand piano in the background.
She had just finished her second cup of tea when Tony came in.
"Ah, Miss Foster, it's nice to see you back again. I hope the wedding went off well--you had a lovely day. I'm just in time to beg for a cup of tea. I suppose Ford has told you of the addition to our party; I didn't write, as you were away for such a brief holiday; it seemed too bad to bother you."
Somehow Miss Foster found it impossible to say all the bitter things to Tony that she had been preparing. He was so friendly, so kind, so interested in all her doings. Besides, he explained at once how Lallie's sudden appearance had been as great a surprise to him as to Miss Foster, and she was fain to believe him; but none the less did she determine that the said visit should be brief as unexpected.
Tony took it for granted she would do her best for the girl. So she would. It would certainly be best for the girl and for B. House that the girl's visit should not be unduly prolonged. When Tony left the drawing-room that afternoon Miss Foster was more than ever persuaded that he badly needed some one to stand between him and those who took advantage of his good nature, and she there and then valiantly resolved that, so far as in her lay, she would act as that buffer. She was still glowing at the prospect of the friction such fortitude on her part would assuredly entail when Tony came back into the room. He might almost be said to have crept back, so shamefaced was his appearance.
"I fear that I have left some of my belongings in here," he mumbled apologetically. "I must have put them down when I came in to speak to Lallie, after lunch--and forgotten them."
Oh, mendacious Tony! when he knew perfectly well that those "belongings" had been left on that table ever since Lallie's second evening in B. House, and he had smoked there ruthlessly every evening since.
"It doesn't matter in the least," Miss Ford said graciously; "one couldn't smell even tobacco with these overpowering flowers. I really must ask Ford to throw them out; they are enough to give us all hay-fever."
Tony fled.
CHAPTER VII
An hour later Tony sat at his study table offering sacrifices propitiatory to parental anxiety amid clouds of smoke, with a pile of unanswered letters at his elbow.
Lallie peeped in.
"Has she come, Tony?" she whispered.
"She has," he remarked briefly, whereupon Lallie vanished again, with a muttered exclamation.
In the passage she met Mr. Johns on his way to take prep.; she seized him by the arm, whispering beseechingly:
"Come with me to the drawing-room just for a minute, there's a dear kind man. I'm petrified with terror, and Tony's busy. Don't leave me to go in all by myself."
"Certainly not," Mr. Johns replied reassuringly; "I can't stay, I'm afraid, but I'll come into the drawing-room with you with pleasure. If it's the dark you're afraid of, and it soon gets dark now, I'll turn on the light; it's just inside the door."
Lallie gave a smothered laugh, but nevertheless she kept a tight hold of Mr. Johns till he had opened the drawing-room door and turned on the light. Then she drew her hand from his arm and sailed into the room with her head in the air. The room was untenanted.
"She's not here at all," Lallie said blankly; then to the somewhat flustered young master who had followed her in: "I'll not detain you further, Mr. Johns," she remarked airily; "I know you are much occupied. It was kind of you to show me the way."
Somewhat huffed at this abrupt dismissal after so effusive a greeting, Mr. Johns swung round hastily, only to cannon with considerable violence against Miss Foster, who, unheard by him, had just entered the room. Lallie stood magisterially upon the hearthrug while they disentangled themselves, and Mr. Johns muttered apologies which were loftily ignored by the lady.
Miss Foster was intensely annoyed. No one appears to advantage who has just been vigorously humped into by an International forward; and although Miss Foster's ample form was calculated both to sustain and repel a considerable impact, she was distinctly ruffled.
Mr. Johns almost banged the door behind him.
"I hope he didn't hurt you, the clumsy fellow," exclaimed Lallie, in sweetly sympathetic tones, as she came forward with outstretched hand. "I must introduce myself, dear Miss Foster, and apologise for invading B. House in your absence."
"I suppose you are but a bird of passage," Miss Foster remarked, when she had given Lallie's hand a limp and chilly shake.
"That depends," said Lallie gaily, "whether you're all very good to me or not. If I like it, I may stay till Dad comes back from India. He likes me to be with Tony."
"I wonder," Miss Foster said thoughtfully, when she had seated herself, "whether your father has fully considered Mr. Bevan's many responsibilities. A house like this--" Miss Foster paused.
"It seems a comfortable house," Lallie suggested helpfully, "though 'tis a bit cold. Shall I set a match to the fire?" and Lallie flew to the little table--but the matches were gone.
"Pray don't," Miss Foster exclaimed, "I never start fires before the first of October."
"But if it's cold?" Lallie expostulated.
"That, Miss Clonmell, is my invariable rule."
"But it might be warm on the first of October."
"If it is warm on the first of October I shall certainly not have a fire."
"But we'vehada fire every night since I came."
"I thought the room smelt rather stuffy," Miss Foster said coldly. "Won't you sit down, Miss Clonmell? You look so uncomfortable standing there."
Lallie sat down obediently, and unconsciously folded her hands in the devout attitude in which she had been wont to listen to the discourses of the Mother Superior in her convent.
"It would be well," Miss Foster continued, in a head voice, "if, before we go any farther, I explain to you how rigid--necessarily rigid--rules must be in a house of this description. It will save trouble and futile argument afterwards. You must see, yourself, that the arrangements in a College boarding-house containing fifty boys and over a dozen servants can't chop and change; the ordinary routine can't be relaxed as in an ordinary private house--though in the best managed private houses things are almost equally regular."
"But why should people be colder in a College house than in any other sort, if they can afford a fire?" Lallie persisted. "Tonylikedthe fire."
"I never argue," Miss Foster observed, with superior finality; "we will change the subject. How is your brother getting on at Woolwich? I hope he is settling down well."
"I don't know about 'settling,' Miss Foster, we're not a very settled family, but he's well and happy, and the dearest boy. Didn't you think him a dear boy, and isn't he good to look at?"
"From what I remember of your brother he was quite good-looking--fair, wasn't he? You are not in the least like him."
"No, indeed, more's the pity," Lallie said simply. "He is the image of Dad. You've met my father, I think, Miss Foster?"
"I believe your father stayed a night here some time last winter, but I don't remember him very distinctly. We see so many parents, you know, and it's hard to keep them separate in one's mind unless they have very definite qualities, or are distinguished people."
"Most people think Dad is very distinguished," said Lallie, much incensed at the implied slight upon her father; "but I suppose he appeals most to brilliant people like himself. May I have my work-bag, Miss Foster? I think you are sitting on it, and I may as well get on with Tony's tie as sit here doing nothing. Thank you; I hope no needle has run into you."
Silence fell upon the twain: a fighting silence, charged with unrest.
Dinner that night was not exactly a hilarious meal. Mr. Johns still smarted under a sense of injury at the trick he considered Lallie had played him. He held her responsible for his collision with Miss Foster, and he came to table determined not to address a single word to her till she should apologise. All the time he was mentally rehearsing that apology and the form it should take. In some solitude--place not yet specified--she would ask him what she had done to offend him. Reluctantly he would allow her to drag from him the real cause of his aloofness, and through the veil of his reticence she would perceive the enormity of her offence--veils have an enlarging effect. Being really good at heart and full of generous impulses--he was certain of Lallie's generosity--she would frankly apologise, and he would, as frankly, refuse to allow her to do so. Mr. Johns saw himself, muscular, large, and magnanimous, in the very flower of his young English manhood--gently and imperceptibly raising little Lallie's moral tone until her soul should reach the altitude upon which it could meet his on equal terms. After that, who knows what might happen? And it was dinner time.
At table, however, he couldn't harden his heart against Lallie, who sat opposite in a high white blouse that made her look like a schoolgirl. Her eyelids were pink; so was her nose with its confiding tip; and she never once looked across at Mr. Johns.
Miss Fosterwoulddiscuss the dates of various quarantines, and the preventative measures that should be taken if any of the usual infectious diseases invaded the other houses. Tony tried in vain to head her off to other topics. By the time they had reached the contagious, or non-contagious nature of tonsilitis, Lallie began to look about her. From time to time she caught Tony's eyes, and her own were so merry and well amused that Tony, himself, began to see another side to the germ question, which as a rule bored him to extinction. Mr. Johns found himself trying to intercept some of Lallie's glances, but without success; and when the meal came to an end he had assuredly not addressed a single remark to Lallie, but it was from lack of opportunity and not because he was any longer offended. How could one be offended with an irresponsible creature whose dimples were so bewitching?
Tony retired to his study; Mr. Johns went back to the boys; and Lallie, who longed to go with Tony but didn't dare, meekly followed Miss Foster into the drawing-room. Tony was troubled about Lallie. The child look pinched and low-spirited, he thought, and she was such a good child. She had tried so hard, so kind-hearted Tony assured himself, to fall in with their ways, to keep rules and regulations that were all strange to her. He wished he could have her in here with him, but he supposed it wouldn't do; Miss Foster might be offended. She was such a quiet little mouse--it was pleasant to work by the fire with her leaning against his knees, with one of those everlasting ties in her hands. By Jove! it was a cold night; he'd light his fire. Poor little Lallie! would Miss Foster be friendly and motherly? He hoped to goodness she wouldn't talk any more about illnesses; he felt rather as though he were going to have mumps himself. Tony pressed his neck on both sides anxiously. The wood sparkled and crackled, he drew his chair up to the fire and lit his pipe.
"You must excuse me, Miss Clonmell," said Miss Foster, when they reached the drawing-room; "I have many things to see to upstairs. In a house like this it is impossible to devote one's whole evening to social intercourse. I fear I must leave you for half an hour or so."
"Of course," Lallie said solemnly, not quite knowing why. "Please, Miss Foster, would it disturb any of the children--the boys, I mean--if I play the piano while you're gone?"
"The boys' part of the house is quite separate; youmaydisturb Mr. Bevan, who is usually busy at this time--but----"
"Oh, I shan't disturb Tony; he'll probably leave his door open to hear me; he loves music."
"He has not, hitherto, made any parade of his partiality," Miss Foster said coldly, and left the room, shutting the door carefully after her.
Lallie flew across to the door and opened it wide, gazing after Miss Foster's portly form ascending the staircase.
"In a house like 'this,'" said Lallie to herself, and made a face, "St. Bridget herself would lose patience, and I very much fear there's more than a spice of the devil in me. Anyway, I'm not going to freeze for twenty Miss Fosters; I'll get a cloak to cover me."
She ran upstairs and reappeared clad in a wonderful theatre coat of rose-coloured satin, embroidered in silver, a most incongruous garment considering the severe simplicity of her frock, but it appeared to give her great satisfaction; and again leaving the door wide open she seated herself "with an air" at the piano, and began to sing.
It was surprising that so small and slight a creature as Lallie could have such a big voice--a rich, carrying mezzo soprano voice; the sort of voice usually associated with the full-bosomed, substantially built women that one encounters on concert platforms or in grand opera.
Portali, the great singing-master in Paris to whom her father had taken her when she was seventeen, explained it thus:
"She sings as a bird sings, but she would never make a public singer. She hasn't the physique, she hasn't the industry; above all, she hasn't the temperament; but she can sing now as no amount of training could ever make her. Give her good lessons--occasionally--but only the best; never let any provincial teacher come near her. If she ever has a bad illness she'll probably lose her voice altogether, but if she only sings for pleasure--for her own, and yours, and that of the fortunate people thrown with her, never as a business--she may keep it till she is quite an old woman. Let her choose her own songs--Folk songs are what she can sing--but let her sing what she pleases; she will never go wrong. Let her keep her wild-bird voice; don't try to tame or train it too much."
Lallie began to sing very softly "Synnove's Lied"--the andante that is sung as if humming to one's self; then suddenly she let her voice go. "Oh to remember the happy hours!" Right through the house it rang, passionate, pathetic, pleading.
Tony leapt to his feet and opened his study door; at the same instant he heard some one prop open the swing door that shut off the study passage from his part of the house, and down the long corridor every door was opened.
"Our world was bounded by the garden trees,Then came the churchyard and the river."
"Our world was bounded by the garden trees,Then came the churchyard and the river."
"Our world was bounded by the garden trees,
Then came the churchyard and the river."
The big, beautiful voice died down, and once more came the quaint humming refrain. Again--musical, intensely melancholy--the voice rang out.
"But now the garden is white with snow,At night I wait, I stand and shiver,"
"But now the garden is white with snow,At night I wait, I stand and shiver,"
"But now the garden is white with snow,
At night I wait, I stand and shiver,"
sang Lallie most realistically, for the drawing-room really was rather cold.
"The place is frosty, the cold winds blow,Oh love, my love, but you come never."
"The place is frosty, the cold winds blow,Oh love, my love, but you come never."
"The place is frosty, the cold winds blow,
Oh love, my love, but you come never."
Lallie sang in English, for she could not speak Norwegian, and every word was clearly enunciated and distinct; the soft humming refrain followed, and died away into silence.
"Heavens!" thought Tony, "the child is homesick alone in there with Miss Foster; she sounds cold too--this is dreadful!"
He hurried to the drawing-room, expecting to find Lallie in the tearful state her pathetic voice had indicated.
"I thought that would bring you," Lallie remarked complacently. "Come here, Tony, and admire my theatre coat Dad brought me from Paris."
Tony stood where he was, staring at the gorgeous little figure seated perkily on the piano stool; at the big cheerless room, with one electric light burning in dismal prominence over the piano; at the black and chilly hearth.
"Why in the name of all that's idiotic haven't you got a fire?" he asked angrily.
"In this house," Lallie replied, in Miss Foster's very tones, "we never have fires till the first of October."
Poor Tony looked very miserable.
"I am so sorry," he said helplessly; "you'd better come and sit in my study. I have a fire."
"It's I who ought to be sorry, Tony, worrying you like this. It was horrid of me to tell tales. No, I won't come and sit in your study, for that would only make her hate me the more. I'm not a bit cold in my beautiful coat, and I'll go on making music quite happily. Run away back to your little exercise books."
"Try not to take a dislike to Miss Foster at the very first, Lallie," Tony pleaded. "She's a good sort really; and perhaps I ought to have written to tell her you had come."
"It would have been better to break it to her gently," Lallie responded drily.
Tony crossed the room slowly, pausing on the threshold.
"I fear I must ask you to keep the door shut; the boys heard you singing, and instantly every study door was opened."
"Ah, the dears!" cried Lallie delighted. "Do let me have them all in, and I'll sing them something they'd really like."
Tony shook his head.
"They must do their work, and I must do mine. Mind, you are to come into the study if you are cold."
As Tony crossed the hall even the shut door could not drown the cheerful strains of that most jubilant of jigs, "Rory O'More," and he felt a wild impulse to dance apas seulthere and then. However, he sternly fastened the swing door, shut himself into his study, and tried to forget the brilliant little rose-and-silver figure with the wistful Greuze face. Over his mantel-piece hung an engraving of "La cruche cassée," bought some years ago because of its likeness to Lallie. He shook his head at it now, turned his back upon it, and sat down at his table. Val, who liked music, went to the door and whined to get out, but Tony unsympathetically bade him get into his basket again, and gave his own attention to the bundles of white paper that Lallie had impertinently dubbed "little exercise books."
When Miss Foster returned Lallie was singing "All round my hat I will wear a green garland," and accompanying herself upon the harp. She finished the song and then went and sat beside Miss Foster on the sofa.
"You have a very strong voice, Miss Clonmell," Miss Foster remarked, gazing with astonished disfavour at the rose-and-silver garment.
"So I've always been told," said Lallie. "You see it has never been strained."
"Did you say trained or strained?"
Lallie laughed.
"Oh, it's plenty of training it's had, but perhaps I haven't profited as much as I might have done. Are you fond of music, Miss Foster?"
"I can't say that I am. I dislike every sort of loud music, and all stringed instruments seem to me so very thrummy."
To this Lallie made no reply, but took her roll of lace out of her bag and began to work in perfect silence. Miss Foster picked up theSpectatorand tried to read it, but could not concentrate her attention. Against her will she was forced to glance from time to time at the quiet figure beside her; at the deft white hands that moved so swiftly and silently; at the beautiful work that grew so fast beneath their ministrations. Like Tony, Lallie's silence irritated her. If only the girl had chattered she would have had a grievance.
"You were out with Mrs. Wentworth this afternoon, I think you said?" Miss Foster remarked at last.
"Yes, Miss Foster; she took me to see Pris and Prue at their dancing. Oh, it was lovely! Pris is just like a big soft india-rubber ball, and bounds up and down in perfect time, and looks the incarnation of gleeful enjoyment. And then Mrs. Wentworth insisted on my going back to tea with her, for they were arranging about the Musical Society, and she thought I might help. The organist is a nice man! That's how it was I couldn't be here to welcome you."
"The practises are a great nuisance," Miss Foster said. "The boys have so much to do, it really is not fair to make them practise in their scanty playtime."
"But music's good for them," argued Lallie; "and it's not a mental strain."
"Of that I am by no means sure. If you will excuse me, Miss Clonmell, I think I will retire, for I've had rather a tiring day."
Miss Foster rose, Lallie folded her work neatly and put it in her bag. She went and shut the piano and came back and shook hands with her hostess.
"Good-night, Miss Foster. I may be a minute after you, for I promised Mr. Bevan I'd go and say good-night to him in the study;" and before Miss Foster could recover from her amazement at this audacious statement Lallie had vanished.
"She's worse than anything I ever dreamt of," poor Miss Foster lamented to herself; "and I fear she's a fixture for the present; anyway, we shall see."