Chapter Eleven.

Chapter Eleven.When Peggy had been staying a week at the vicarage, her parents came down from town on a two days’ visit, especially arranged to give them an opportunity of looking over Yew Hedge. Colonel Saville’s scant supply of patience was fast giving out beneath the strain of disappointment, and he declared his intention of buying the first habitable house he saw, while his wife and daughter were reluctantly forced to the conclusion that it was impossible to procure an ancestral estate at the price of a suburban villa. Yew Hedge, therefore, appeared the refuge of the destitute, and a fly being hired from the village inn, and Mrs Asplin invited to take the fourth seat, the little party drove off to inspect the house in mingled hope and fear.The thick hedge which gave the name to the house skirted the country road for some hundreds of yards, while a carriage drive of commonplace propriety led up to a square stone house, which could by no possibility have been termed either beautiful or picturesque. Mrs Saville’s face fell into an expression of martyr-like despair, and the colonel looked fierce and frowning; but, like many good things, and people also, Yew Hedge showed its worst points on the surface, and modestly hid its Virtues out of sight. There was a large flower and vegetable garden behind the house, the entrance hall was roomy with an old-fashioned fireplace in the corner, the drawing-room contained an abundance of those nooks and corners beloved of modern decorators, and Peggy fairly capered about with exultation when she entered the dining-room and beheld panelled oak walls and a frescoed ceiling.“Father, it’s settled! We take this house on the spot. These walls decide it. Think how inspiring it will be to live our lives against a background of carved oak!” she cried in a rapture, and the colonel tugged at his moustache with a smile of complacent satisfaction.“Looks about right, Peg, doesn’t it? That Indian furniture would look well in here, and the old delf. We’ll put all the delf here, I fancy, and—”“And have blue walls in the drawing-room—blue paper and white wood, and a touch of yellow in the draperies. I saw some brocade at Liberty’s which would be the very thing!” chimed in his wife, while Mrs Asplin gasped and looked askance at the extraordinary trio who began to discuss the furnishings of a house before they had even ascended the staircase. She coughed in a deprecatory manner, and said:“The reception rooms are certainly fine—they have always been considered the strong point of the house, but the bedroom accommodation is not nearly so good. There are fewer rooms than you would expect, and they are mostly small. I’m afraid you will be disappointed when you see them.”“If there are three or four decent rooms, that is all we need. I want my home for myself, and not for a crowd of visitors. One spare room, or two at most, is all I would have furnished if there were a dozen empty. Give me retirement and a quiet home life!” cried the colonel, whereat his wife and daughter exchanged glances of amusement, for if ever there lived a man who adored his fellow-creatures, and delighted in crowding his house from floor to ceiling with unexpected guests, that man was Colonel Saville, and would be until his death.Mrs Asplin understood the meaning of that glance, and giving up the colonel as a hopeless case, addressed herself instead to his wife.“And I am afraid the pantry is poor, and the scullery also. Mrs Selby used to complain of them and of the lack of conveniences. There are no cupboards, and the—”It was of no use. Mrs Saville was as intractable as her husband, and refused to listen to any warning.“Dear Mrs Asplin,” she said sweetly, “I don’t know anything about cupboards. We never worried about these things in India; the servants managed somehow, and I presume they can manage here. The entertaining rooms are large enough to take in our furniture, and Peggy likes them. Those are the great points which we have to consider. If there are enough bedrooms to take us in, I think we shall be satisfied.”This Saville trio was the most impracticable party of house-hunters whom the vicar’s wife had ever known, and she wondered no longer at the difficulty they had experienced in finding a house to their taste, when she noted the spirit in which they surveyed the present premises. A convenience was not a convenience at all if it interfered with a fad or fancy, and a serious drawback was hailed with delight if it appeared in quaint or unexpected fashion. As a matter of fact, the purchase of the house had been a foregone conclusion, since the moment when Peggy had beheld the oak walls of the dining-room, and within twenty-four hours from that moment it was a concluded fact.Ah, then and there was hurrying to and fro, and endless journeys up to town, and interviews with obstinate decorators, who would insist on obtruding their own ideas, and battles waged with British workmen, who could not understand why one shade of a colour was not as good as another, or wherein lay the deadly necessity that they should match. Peggy put a penny in the slot and weighed herself on the machine at the station every second or third day, to verify her statement that she was wasting to a shadow beneath the nervous strain. She was left at the vicarage in order to superintend the workmen, while Colonel and Mrs Saville stayed in town to interview furniture dealers and upholsterers; and every morning she walked over to Yew Hedge and made a procession round the rooms, to note what progress had been made since the day before. Half-a-dozen men were at work, or, to be strictly accurate, wereengagedto work, at the house; but beyond the fact that it grew steadily dirtier and dirtier, and that the splashes of whitewash and shavings of paper stretched further and further down the drive, it was difficult to see what progress was being made.Then Peggy made a desperate resolve, begged a bundle of sandwiches from the old cook, packed it with sundry other properties in a basket, and announced her intention of spending the day at Yew Hedge, and keeping the men up to their work by the influence of her presence. Mrs Asplin laughed at the idea of their being awed by anything so small and dainty, but small as she was Miss Peggy had contrived to instil a very wholesome awe of herself among the workmen. She never expressed open disapproval, and was invariably courteous in manner, but there was a sting in her stately speeches which made them wince, though they would have found it difficult to explain the reason of their discomfiture. On the present occasion the usual group of idlers was discovered lazing in the hall when the little white figure appeared suddenly among them. They flushed and slouched away, but the young lady was all smiles and amiability.“Good-morning!” she cried. “I have brought my tools with me to-day, for I am going to stay and garden. If you can spare the time, I shall be much obliged if you will boil some water for me later on, but it will do when you make your own tea. Don’t let me interrupt your work! I shall be in the garden, if you want to consult me at any time, so we shall all be busy together!”The abashed faces stared at her in a solid wall of discomfiture, and Peggy retreated hastily, and paused behind a harberry fence to have her laugh out, before repairing to the shed where the gardening tools were stored. Then she unrolled an apron, tied it over her skirt, rolled up her sleeves to protect the starched little cuffs, took a rake in one hand and a hoe in the other, and surveyed the prospect. With ambition untempered by ignorance, she had openly avowed her intention of possessing the finest flowers in the county, and giving an object-lesson in gardening to ignorant professors of the art, so that it was more than time to begin preparation.“The finest garden in the county!” Even allowing for the prejudices of possession, it was impossible to bestow such a title upon Yew Hedge in its present unkempt condition. The house had been unlet for two years, during which time the grass had grown coarse and rank, wallflowers and forget-me-nots were dying a lingering death in the borders, and nothing was coming on to take their place. It was not the first time that Peggy had given her mind to this subject, but so far she had not succeeded in finding a solution of the difficulty, nor had the suggestion of the village gardener met with her approval.“It’s bedding-out as you want,” he had explained. “You must bed out. That’s the tastiest thing for those ’ere round beds, and the tidiest too. They last well on into the autumn, if it comes in no sharp frosts. There’s nothing like them for lasting!”“Likewhat? Do you mean geraniums?”“Ay, geraniums for sure, and calcies, and lobelias, and a nice little hedge of pyrethrum. Can’t do better than that, can yer? Geraniums in the centre,”—he drew a circle on the ground with the end of his stick, and prodded little holes here and there to illustrate his plan. “A nice patch of red, then comes yellar, then the blue, then the green. In circles or in rows, according as you please.”“I seem to have seen it somewhere! I have certainly seen it,” mused Peggy solemnly, so solemnly, that the poor man took her words in good faith, and looked at her with wondering pity.“I should say you ’ad! You couldn’t travel far without seein’ of ’em in the summer time. There’s nuthin’ else to see in a manner of speaking, for they all ’as ’em. ’Igh and low, gentle and simple.”“Then I won’t!” quoth Peggy unexpectedly. “Henceforth, Bevan, when sightseers come to the neighbourhood, send them up to Yew Hedge to inspect the one garden in England which does not go in for bedding-out! If I want fireworks, I’ll have them in gunpowder on the fifth of November, but not in flowers if I know it! It’s an insult to Nature to rule a garden in lines and transform a bed into a mathematical figure!”The old gardener looked at her more in sorrow than in anger, and shook his head dejectedly as he went back to his work. He had the gravest doubts about the sanity of a young lady who objected to “bedding-out;” but if Peggy gained no approval from him for her new-fangled notions, she reaped her reward in Rob’s unaffected delight, when the conversation was detailed for his benefit.“Bravo, Mariquita!” he cried. “I recognise in you the instinct of the true gardener—a rare thing, let me tell you, to find in a woman. Women like show and colour, a big effect, rather than interesting detail, but I’m thankful to find you are an exception. Come over to-morrow and seemygarden! I keep a corner for myself at the end of the shrubbery, and forbid any of the men to touch it, and I flatter myself I have some treasures you won’t find in any other garden in England. I brought them home from my travels, and have coaxed them to grow by looking after them myself and studying their little ways. They need a lot of care, and get sulky if they are not humoured, but it’s the whole interest of gardening to master these little eccentricities.”“Just my sentiments!” cried Peggy; but when in due time Rob escorted her to see his precious garden, her face was blank with disappointment. Two straggling beds with a rockery filling up the corner, and scarcely a gleam of colour from one end to another! That at least was the effect from a distance, but as the proprietor pointed out his treasures, insignificant little blossoms were distinguishable among the greenery, and flowers the size of a threepenny piece were produced proudly from lurking-places and exhibited for admiration. They all came from some unheard-of spots at the other side of nowhere, had been reared with prodigious difficulty, and were of such rarity and value that the heads of public gardens had paid special pilgrimage to The Larches in order to behold them. Peggy’s eyebrows went up in a peak, and her face lengthened, but it was no use, she could not be enthusiastic, could not even affect an interest in the struggling little lives.After exclaiming: “How strange!” “How odd!” and “Fancy that!” a dozen times in succession, her very powers of exclamation seemed to depart, and she was reduced to sighs and grunts of response. In the middle of the history of a jungle plant which was the glory of the collection, Rob suddenly lifted his head and put a startling question:“Are you interested? Do you care to hear about it?”Peggy looked at him and made a little sign of apology.“Not—much, Rob! It’s curious, of course, but very ‘niggly,’ don’t you think? It makes no effect at all in the bed.”Rob rose from his knees, flicked the dust off his trousers, and cleared his throat in that dry sepulchral manner which people adopt when they long to say something sharp and cutting, but are too high-minded to allow themselves to do so. Then he pushed his cap back from his head, whistled three bars of a popular tune, and said politely:“There are some pink peonies coming out in the drive. Better come along and see them.”“Robert Darcy, I will—not—be—patronised!” cried Peggy, flashing indignant eyes upon him from the altitude of his highest waistcoat button. “Don’t pink peony me, if you please! If it comes to a matter of taste, I prefer my own to yours. You have an interesting museum, sir, but, allow me to tell you, a most inadequate garden!”Then Rob was obliged to laugh, and in that laugh lost the last trace of vexation.“Sorry, Peg! I’m a crusty beggar, but it’s your own fault if I expected too much. You were always so patient with my hobbies that I thought you would be interested in this too. I’ll do penance for baring you by helping to arrange your garden in the way youdolike. We’ll draw out our plans together, or rather you shall give the orders, and I’ll do the work. Any leading ideas to offer?”“Harmony of colour, and sequence of effect. A constant succession of flowers, assorted as to size, and forming agreeable contrasts to their neighbours. No red and magentas next door to each other inmygarden, thank you! Order in disorder, and every season well represented!”“I see,” said Rob gravely. “It’s an admirable idea, Mariquita, admirable! We’ll set to work at once. By means of digging up everything that is in the beds at present, working diligently, and waiting until you are old and grey-headed, there is no reason why you should not attain your ambition in the course of the next twenty years!”But Peggy had no intention of waiting twenty years, or twenty months either. Immediate effect was what she demanded, and she said as much to Rob, and repeated the words with much emphasis, backing into a bed as she spoke, and trampling some cherished seedlings to pieces with her sharp little heels, whereupon Rob hastily called her attention in an opposite direction, and promised meekly to further her desire.Not for worlds would she have acknowledged the fact to another, but as Peggy stood this afternoon surveying the empty beds before her, sundry prickings of conscience began to rise, lest perchance she had been too hasty in her decision to have naught to say to bedding-out plants. Something must be done, and that quickly, or she trembled to think what her friends and relatives would have to say upon the subject of the “finest garden in the county.” With a vision of a prophetess she saw before her paths of green sward arched with roses, a lily garden, sweet and cool, and fragrant harmonies of colour massed against the trees; but these were in the future, and in the present there were only empty beds, with little sprigs of green peering up here and there through the dry caked soil.“At least I can dig up the beds and get rid of the weeds, and then perhaps for this summer only we might take refuge in geraniums and begonias. Just for one summer, till something else will grow.” She sighed, and set to work with her spade, giving it a push into the ground with her foot in professional style, and pausing to gasp and straighten her back between every second or third attempt. Astonishing what hard work it was, and how hot one got all of a sudden! Peggy gathered the weeds together, moralised darkly on their number, and set to work on the surrounding beds, digging so vigorously that in an hour’s time she felt as if a week in bed would be barely sufficient to recoup her exhausted energies. Too weary to cross to a seat, she was holding on to her spade, and slowly straightening her back, when she became conscious that the foreman had approached from the house, and was regarding her with curious eyes.“There’s two pieces short of that there paper for the drawing-room,” he announced. “I thought fourteen pieces would ha’ done it; but it’s been a mistake, it seems. ’Ave to get it made, I suppose, to finish the corner.”“Oh, how dreadfully, dreadfully tiresome! We will have to wait weeks and weeks before we can get it, and it will keep everything back.”Peggy wrung her tired hands and looked the image of despair.“You said that you were sure fourteen pieces would be enough; and we told you at the time to be careful, as it had to be made!”“Ay, it do seem a pity, don’t it? They rarely ever gets it the same shade a second time,” the man replied blandly. Then he jerked his thumb towards the flower-beds, and put a deprecatory question: “Didn’t you like them, then? Wasn’t they your fancy?”“I don’t know what you are talking about. Was what my fancy?”“Those ’ere things as they put in yesterday. I thought, maybe, they was something special, from the care they took about ’em.” He gave an explanatory kick with his foot to the weeds piled up on the gravel path, and there was a pause of two whole minutes before a weak little voice inquired faintly:“Who took such care? Who put them in? I don’t understand.”“The young master up at The Larches and one of his gardeners. They was here for a good two hours. We wondered to see you scratching them up. Joe says to me, he says, ‘Go down and tell her,’ he says. ‘Oh,’ I says, ‘she knows what she’s about!’ I says. ‘She’s not the sort to do a trick like that,’ I says.”Peggy’s lips positively ached with the effort of twisting them into a smile.“That was very kind of you,” she said. “It would be a silly trick, would it not? Do you think you could boil the kettle for me now? I feel badly in need of some tea.”

When Peggy had been staying a week at the vicarage, her parents came down from town on a two days’ visit, especially arranged to give them an opportunity of looking over Yew Hedge. Colonel Saville’s scant supply of patience was fast giving out beneath the strain of disappointment, and he declared his intention of buying the first habitable house he saw, while his wife and daughter were reluctantly forced to the conclusion that it was impossible to procure an ancestral estate at the price of a suburban villa. Yew Hedge, therefore, appeared the refuge of the destitute, and a fly being hired from the village inn, and Mrs Asplin invited to take the fourth seat, the little party drove off to inspect the house in mingled hope and fear.

The thick hedge which gave the name to the house skirted the country road for some hundreds of yards, while a carriage drive of commonplace propriety led up to a square stone house, which could by no possibility have been termed either beautiful or picturesque. Mrs Saville’s face fell into an expression of martyr-like despair, and the colonel looked fierce and frowning; but, like many good things, and people also, Yew Hedge showed its worst points on the surface, and modestly hid its Virtues out of sight. There was a large flower and vegetable garden behind the house, the entrance hall was roomy with an old-fashioned fireplace in the corner, the drawing-room contained an abundance of those nooks and corners beloved of modern decorators, and Peggy fairly capered about with exultation when she entered the dining-room and beheld panelled oak walls and a frescoed ceiling.

“Father, it’s settled! We take this house on the spot. These walls decide it. Think how inspiring it will be to live our lives against a background of carved oak!” she cried in a rapture, and the colonel tugged at his moustache with a smile of complacent satisfaction.

“Looks about right, Peg, doesn’t it? That Indian furniture would look well in here, and the old delf. We’ll put all the delf here, I fancy, and—”

“And have blue walls in the drawing-room—blue paper and white wood, and a touch of yellow in the draperies. I saw some brocade at Liberty’s which would be the very thing!” chimed in his wife, while Mrs Asplin gasped and looked askance at the extraordinary trio who began to discuss the furnishings of a house before they had even ascended the staircase. She coughed in a deprecatory manner, and said:

“The reception rooms are certainly fine—they have always been considered the strong point of the house, but the bedroom accommodation is not nearly so good. There are fewer rooms than you would expect, and they are mostly small. I’m afraid you will be disappointed when you see them.”

“If there are three or four decent rooms, that is all we need. I want my home for myself, and not for a crowd of visitors. One spare room, or two at most, is all I would have furnished if there were a dozen empty. Give me retirement and a quiet home life!” cried the colonel, whereat his wife and daughter exchanged glances of amusement, for if ever there lived a man who adored his fellow-creatures, and delighted in crowding his house from floor to ceiling with unexpected guests, that man was Colonel Saville, and would be until his death.

Mrs Asplin understood the meaning of that glance, and giving up the colonel as a hopeless case, addressed herself instead to his wife.

“And I am afraid the pantry is poor, and the scullery also. Mrs Selby used to complain of them and of the lack of conveniences. There are no cupboards, and the—”

It was of no use. Mrs Saville was as intractable as her husband, and refused to listen to any warning.

“Dear Mrs Asplin,” she said sweetly, “I don’t know anything about cupboards. We never worried about these things in India; the servants managed somehow, and I presume they can manage here. The entertaining rooms are large enough to take in our furniture, and Peggy likes them. Those are the great points which we have to consider. If there are enough bedrooms to take us in, I think we shall be satisfied.”

This Saville trio was the most impracticable party of house-hunters whom the vicar’s wife had ever known, and she wondered no longer at the difficulty they had experienced in finding a house to their taste, when she noted the spirit in which they surveyed the present premises. A convenience was not a convenience at all if it interfered with a fad or fancy, and a serious drawback was hailed with delight if it appeared in quaint or unexpected fashion. As a matter of fact, the purchase of the house had been a foregone conclusion, since the moment when Peggy had beheld the oak walls of the dining-room, and within twenty-four hours from that moment it was a concluded fact.

Ah, then and there was hurrying to and fro, and endless journeys up to town, and interviews with obstinate decorators, who would insist on obtruding their own ideas, and battles waged with British workmen, who could not understand why one shade of a colour was not as good as another, or wherein lay the deadly necessity that they should match. Peggy put a penny in the slot and weighed herself on the machine at the station every second or third day, to verify her statement that she was wasting to a shadow beneath the nervous strain. She was left at the vicarage in order to superintend the workmen, while Colonel and Mrs Saville stayed in town to interview furniture dealers and upholsterers; and every morning she walked over to Yew Hedge and made a procession round the rooms, to note what progress had been made since the day before. Half-a-dozen men were at work, or, to be strictly accurate, wereengagedto work, at the house; but beyond the fact that it grew steadily dirtier and dirtier, and that the splashes of whitewash and shavings of paper stretched further and further down the drive, it was difficult to see what progress was being made.

Then Peggy made a desperate resolve, begged a bundle of sandwiches from the old cook, packed it with sundry other properties in a basket, and announced her intention of spending the day at Yew Hedge, and keeping the men up to their work by the influence of her presence. Mrs Asplin laughed at the idea of their being awed by anything so small and dainty, but small as she was Miss Peggy had contrived to instil a very wholesome awe of herself among the workmen. She never expressed open disapproval, and was invariably courteous in manner, but there was a sting in her stately speeches which made them wince, though they would have found it difficult to explain the reason of their discomfiture. On the present occasion the usual group of idlers was discovered lazing in the hall when the little white figure appeared suddenly among them. They flushed and slouched away, but the young lady was all smiles and amiability.

“Good-morning!” she cried. “I have brought my tools with me to-day, for I am going to stay and garden. If you can spare the time, I shall be much obliged if you will boil some water for me later on, but it will do when you make your own tea. Don’t let me interrupt your work! I shall be in the garden, if you want to consult me at any time, so we shall all be busy together!”

The abashed faces stared at her in a solid wall of discomfiture, and Peggy retreated hastily, and paused behind a harberry fence to have her laugh out, before repairing to the shed where the gardening tools were stored. Then she unrolled an apron, tied it over her skirt, rolled up her sleeves to protect the starched little cuffs, took a rake in one hand and a hoe in the other, and surveyed the prospect. With ambition untempered by ignorance, she had openly avowed her intention of possessing the finest flowers in the county, and giving an object-lesson in gardening to ignorant professors of the art, so that it was more than time to begin preparation.

“The finest garden in the county!” Even allowing for the prejudices of possession, it was impossible to bestow such a title upon Yew Hedge in its present unkempt condition. The house had been unlet for two years, during which time the grass had grown coarse and rank, wallflowers and forget-me-nots were dying a lingering death in the borders, and nothing was coming on to take their place. It was not the first time that Peggy had given her mind to this subject, but so far she had not succeeded in finding a solution of the difficulty, nor had the suggestion of the village gardener met with her approval.

“It’s bedding-out as you want,” he had explained. “You must bed out. That’s the tastiest thing for those ’ere round beds, and the tidiest too. They last well on into the autumn, if it comes in no sharp frosts. There’s nothing like them for lasting!”

“Likewhat? Do you mean geraniums?”

“Ay, geraniums for sure, and calcies, and lobelias, and a nice little hedge of pyrethrum. Can’t do better than that, can yer? Geraniums in the centre,”—he drew a circle on the ground with the end of his stick, and prodded little holes here and there to illustrate his plan. “A nice patch of red, then comes yellar, then the blue, then the green. In circles or in rows, according as you please.”

“I seem to have seen it somewhere! I have certainly seen it,” mused Peggy solemnly, so solemnly, that the poor man took her words in good faith, and looked at her with wondering pity.

“I should say you ’ad! You couldn’t travel far without seein’ of ’em in the summer time. There’s nuthin’ else to see in a manner of speaking, for they all ’as ’em. ’Igh and low, gentle and simple.”

“Then I won’t!” quoth Peggy unexpectedly. “Henceforth, Bevan, when sightseers come to the neighbourhood, send them up to Yew Hedge to inspect the one garden in England which does not go in for bedding-out! If I want fireworks, I’ll have them in gunpowder on the fifth of November, but not in flowers if I know it! It’s an insult to Nature to rule a garden in lines and transform a bed into a mathematical figure!”

The old gardener looked at her more in sorrow than in anger, and shook his head dejectedly as he went back to his work. He had the gravest doubts about the sanity of a young lady who objected to “bedding-out;” but if Peggy gained no approval from him for her new-fangled notions, she reaped her reward in Rob’s unaffected delight, when the conversation was detailed for his benefit.

“Bravo, Mariquita!” he cried. “I recognise in you the instinct of the true gardener—a rare thing, let me tell you, to find in a woman. Women like show and colour, a big effect, rather than interesting detail, but I’m thankful to find you are an exception. Come over to-morrow and seemygarden! I keep a corner for myself at the end of the shrubbery, and forbid any of the men to touch it, and I flatter myself I have some treasures you won’t find in any other garden in England. I brought them home from my travels, and have coaxed them to grow by looking after them myself and studying their little ways. They need a lot of care, and get sulky if they are not humoured, but it’s the whole interest of gardening to master these little eccentricities.”

“Just my sentiments!” cried Peggy; but when in due time Rob escorted her to see his precious garden, her face was blank with disappointment. Two straggling beds with a rockery filling up the corner, and scarcely a gleam of colour from one end to another! That at least was the effect from a distance, but as the proprietor pointed out his treasures, insignificant little blossoms were distinguishable among the greenery, and flowers the size of a threepenny piece were produced proudly from lurking-places and exhibited for admiration. They all came from some unheard-of spots at the other side of nowhere, had been reared with prodigious difficulty, and were of such rarity and value that the heads of public gardens had paid special pilgrimage to The Larches in order to behold them. Peggy’s eyebrows went up in a peak, and her face lengthened, but it was no use, she could not be enthusiastic, could not even affect an interest in the struggling little lives.

After exclaiming: “How strange!” “How odd!” and “Fancy that!” a dozen times in succession, her very powers of exclamation seemed to depart, and she was reduced to sighs and grunts of response. In the middle of the history of a jungle plant which was the glory of the collection, Rob suddenly lifted his head and put a startling question:

“Are you interested? Do you care to hear about it?”

Peggy looked at him and made a little sign of apology.

“Not—much, Rob! It’s curious, of course, but very ‘niggly,’ don’t you think? It makes no effect at all in the bed.”

Rob rose from his knees, flicked the dust off his trousers, and cleared his throat in that dry sepulchral manner which people adopt when they long to say something sharp and cutting, but are too high-minded to allow themselves to do so. Then he pushed his cap back from his head, whistled three bars of a popular tune, and said politely:

“There are some pink peonies coming out in the drive. Better come along and see them.”

“Robert Darcy, I will—not—be—patronised!” cried Peggy, flashing indignant eyes upon him from the altitude of his highest waistcoat button. “Don’t pink peony me, if you please! If it comes to a matter of taste, I prefer my own to yours. You have an interesting museum, sir, but, allow me to tell you, a most inadequate garden!”

Then Rob was obliged to laugh, and in that laugh lost the last trace of vexation.

“Sorry, Peg! I’m a crusty beggar, but it’s your own fault if I expected too much. You were always so patient with my hobbies that I thought you would be interested in this too. I’ll do penance for baring you by helping to arrange your garden in the way youdolike. We’ll draw out our plans together, or rather you shall give the orders, and I’ll do the work. Any leading ideas to offer?”

“Harmony of colour, and sequence of effect. A constant succession of flowers, assorted as to size, and forming agreeable contrasts to their neighbours. No red and magentas next door to each other inmygarden, thank you! Order in disorder, and every season well represented!”

“I see,” said Rob gravely. “It’s an admirable idea, Mariquita, admirable! We’ll set to work at once. By means of digging up everything that is in the beds at present, working diligently, and waiting until you are old and grey-headed, there is no reason why you should not attain your ambition in the course of the next twenty years!”

But Peggy had no intention of waiting twenty years, or twenty months either. Immediate effect was what she demanded, and she said as much to Rob, and repeated the words with much emphasis, backing into a bed as she spoke, and trampling some cherished seedlings to pieces with her sharp little heels, whereupon Rob hastily called her attention in an opposite direction, and promised meekly to further her desire.

Not for worlds would she have acknowledged the fact to another, but as Peggy stood this afternoon surveying the empty beds before her, sundry prickings of conscience began to rise, lest perchance she had been too hasty in her decision to have naught to say to bedding-out plants. Something must be done, and that quickly, or she trembled to think what her friends and relatives would have to say upon the subject of the “finest garden in the county.” With a vision of a prophetess she saw before her paths of green sward arched with roses, a lily garden, sweet and cool, and fragrant harmonies of colour massed against the trees; but these were in the future, and in the present there were only empty beds, with little sprigs of green peering up here and there through the dry caked soil.

“At least I can dig up the beds and get rid of the weeds, and then perhaps for this summer only we might take refuge in geraniums and begonias. Just for one summer, till something else will grow.” She sighed, and set to work with her spade, giving it a push into the ground with her foot in professional style, and pausing to gasp and straighten her back between every second or third attempt. Astonishing what hard work it was, and how hot one got all of a sudden! Peggy gathered the weeds together, moralised darkly on their number, and set to work on the surrounding beds, digging so vigorously that in an hour’s time she felt as if a week in bed would be barely sufficient to recoup her exhausted energies. Too weary to cross to a seat, she was holding on to her spade, and slowly straightening her back, when she became conscious that the foreman had approached from the house, and was regarding her with curious eyes.

“There’s two pieces short of that there paper for the drawing-room,” he announced. “I thought fourteen pieces would ha’ done it; but it’s been a mistake, it seems. ’Ave to get it made, I suppose, to finish the corner.”

“Oh, how dreadfully, dreadfully tiresome! We will have to wait weeks and weeks before we can get it, and it will keep everything back.”

Peggy wrung her tired hands and looked the image of despair.

“You said that you were sure fourteen pieces would be enough; and we told you at the time to be careful, as it had to be made!”

“Ay, it do seem a pity, don’t it? They rarely ever gets it the same shade a second time,” the man replied blandly. Then he jerked his thumb towards the flower-beds, and put a deprecatory question: “Didn’t you like them, then? Wasn’t they your fancy?”

“I don’t know what you are talking about. Was what my fancy?”

“Those ’ere things as they put in yesterday. I thought, maybe, they was something special, from the care they took about ’em.” He gave an explanatory kick with his foot to the weeds piled up on the gravel path, and there was a pause of two whole minutes before a weak little voice inquired faintly:

“Who took such care? Who put them in? I don’t understand.”

“The young master up at The Larches and one of his gardeners. They was here for a good two hours. We wondered to see you scratching them up. Joe says to me, he says, ‘Go down and tell her,’ he says. ‘Oh,’ I says, ‘she knows what she’s about!’ I says. ‘She’s not the sort to do a trick like that,’ I says.”

Peggy’s lips positively ached with the effort of twisting them into a smile.

“That was very kind of you,” she said. “It would be a silly trick, would it not? Do you think you could boil the kettle for me now? I feel badly in need of some tea.”

Chapter Twelve.Rob received Peggy’s confession of her latest gardening exploit with a roar of good-natured laughter. She had been afraid lest he might be angry, or—what would have been even worse—superior and forbearing; but he was neither the one nor the other. Such a genuine, Peggy-Pickle trick, he declared, was worth taking some trouble to enjoy, and went far towards consoling him for the advent of a fashionable young lady in the place of his mischievous little friend. His generosity was not sufficient, however, to prevent him from enlarging on the exceeding beauty of the seedlings which had been so ruthlessly disturbed, and Peggy listened in an agony to a string of names wherein syllables ran riot.Salpiglossis! Alas, alas! she had not the faintest idea what the flower was like, but the name was exquisite, all-satisfying. It rolled off her tongue with sonorous effect. To speak of it alone would have been joy. She looked so meek and wretched that Rob nerved himself to fresh efforts, and wrought miracles on her behalf, so that if by any chance she admired a plant in The Larches’ garden, that plant was transplanted bodily to Yew Hedge, and smiled a welcome to her on her next approach.The gardener pointed out the folly of moving plants in bloom, and prophesied failure; but no failure came, for plants have their likes and dislikes, like other living creatures, and there is no doubt that they are more amiably disposed to some people than to others. If another man had been rash enough to disturb their flowering, they would have sulked for the rest of the season, and made him suffer for his boldness; but no plant ever sulked at Robert Darcy. He had simply to lay it down in any spot he liked, and, behold, it grew and flourished! His fingers seemed to possess the power to impart health and strength, and, thanks to his care, Peggy soon felt safe from ridicule, at least on the score of her garden, and could devote herself with an easy mind to the work indoors. She experienced the usual string of aggravations which are known to every one moving into a new house; tradesmen took twice the allotted time to fulfil an order, and eventually sent home the wrong article; patterns selected were invariably “out of stock”; escapes of gas made it necessary to deface newly decorated walls; and effects which were intended to be triumphs of artistic beauty, turned out snares and disappointments. From the lofty frame of mind which aims at nothing short of perfection, Peggy subsided by degrees into that resigned melancholy in which the exhausted strugglers feel that “anything will do,” if only, by chance, a house may be made fit to live in.It was on the occasion of a final visit to town, two days before the removal, that Mrs Asplin surprised Peggy by expressing a desire to bear her company.“I have several things to do, and I should like to go when I can have your help,” she said; and the vicar’s face instantly assumed an expression of the profoundest dejection. He knew that his wife’s expeditions into town invariably demanded toll in the shape of a nervous headache the next day, and hastened to raise his usual note of protest. Why need she go? Could she not send her order by post, or could not Peggy buy what was wanted? Why tire herself needlessly, when she had no strength to spare? She knew very well—“How unwell I shall be!” concluded his wife for him with a laugh. “Really and truly, Austin dear, I want to do something this time that no one else can do for me. I’ll promise to be careful, and drive about all the time, and get a good lunch.”“Penny omnibuses, and tea and scones! I know your days in town. Ah, well, a wilful woman must have her way! If you have made up your mind to go, it’s no use arguing; but I don’t know what it can be you need so badly. We seem to have everything we need.”“Blessed, blessed, ignorance of man!” cried Peggy, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. “It’s all very well for you, sir, who can never wear anything but a black coat and hat, but consider the fascinations of summer fashions to poor defenceless women! Mrs Asplin and I want to look at the shops, and groan in chorus over all the distracting fripperies which we want so badly, and can’t afford. We pretend we have weighty business; but that is the true explanation, isn’t it, dear?”“Oh yes—I love shop windows!” replied Mrs Asplin vaguely. She had wandered to the window, and stood looking out on to the garden, with her back turned to her companions. Peggy would have followed, but, on her approach, the other walked quickly forward and began stooping over the flower-beds, and snipping off the withered blossoms. For some reason it was evident that she did not wish to be followed, and Peggy felt an uneasy pang at the sight of her flushed, exhausted face. During her lengthened visit to the vicarage she had become more and more conscious of the lack of strength shown by the dear mistress of the house. Her spirit was as cheery as ever, but she no longer raced up and down in her old impetuous manner, but rather spent half her time resting on the sofa, with the busy hands lying idly on her lap.She did not like to make any protest, since Mrs Asplin’s mind was evidently set on going to town, but she privately registered a determination to charter a hansom by the hour, and see that the shopping expedition was conducted in the most luxurious manner possible.It did not seem as if there was much to be done after all, for Peggy’s business being concluded, her companion invested in a yard of ribbon, and some Berlin wool, and then pronounced her shopping finished.“But there is something else I have to do, dear,” she explained, catching the girl’s glance of amazement. “The real reason why I came up to-day was to see a doctor. I did not wish to distress them at home, but I’ve not been feeling well, Peg; I have not been well for a long time. I have made an appointment with a doctor in Harley Street, and if you will go with me I’ll be very grateful. I am not nervous, but—but it feels a little bit lonesome to go alone!”She turned her face towards the girl and smiled at her, with sweet, tired eyes, and Peggy’s heart gave a sickening throb of apprehension. She put out her hand and slid it lovingly through the other’s arm.“Of course I’ll go, and proud that you ask me! Poor darling! so that is the way you do your shop-staring! It is just like you to allow yourself to be blamed, rather than give pain or anxiety. I thought you were looking ill, and am so glad you have made up your mind to consult a first-rate man. He will find out what is the matter, and put you right again in no time.”“He can’t put new works into an old machine. Not even the cleverest doctor can do that. The springs are giving out, Peg, and I can only be repaired, not cured. I don’t expect to be made well, but I want to keep going if possible, for the sake of Austin and the children. I have been intending to pay this visit for a year back, but I kept putting it off and off. I was afraid of what he might say.”“Nonsense! Afraid, indeed! He’ll laugh at your fears, and give you a tonic which will make you perfectly well again.”Mrs Asplin smiled, and was silent. Twenty-one could not be expected to realise the weakness and pain which come as companions, and not as guests; the weakness which must grow greater instead of less; the pain which cannot be charmed away. It is not to be wished that it should, for youthful optimism has its own work to accomplish in the world; but it would tend to a better understanding between old and young, if the latter would remember that it is the lack of hope which makes the bitterest drop in the cup of age! To bear the weary ache, and know that it will grow worse; to feel one power after another slipping away, and to realise that it is for ever; to be lonely, and to see the loneliness closing in ever deeper and deeper. Ah, think of it, young impatient soul! Think of it and be tender, be loving! Spare not the sweet gift of sympathy. The time will come when you will long to have done still more.Peggy held Mrs Asplin’s hand in her own as they sat waiting together in the doctor’s study, and kept her seat sturdily through the interview which followed. She felt instinctively that her presence was a support to her friend, and that the consciousness of her sympathy was a support during the trying ordeal. The doctor questioned, and the patient replied. He scanned her face with his practised eyes, felt her pulse, and produced a stethoscope from the table. Then for a time there was silence, while he knelt and listened, and listened again, and Peggy heard her own heart throb through the silence. He was an old man, with an expression full of that large tenderness which seems the birthmark of the true physician, and he lingered over his task, as if unwilling to face what lay beyond. At last he rose and laid the stethoscope carefully on the table, letting his fingers linger over the task. Peggy heard him catch his breath in a struggling sigh, and for a moment his eyes met her own, anxious and troubled.“Well?” queried Mrs Asplin gently. “Well, tell me the verdict!”—and the doctor crossed the room again and seated himself by her side.“My dear lady, you ask a hard question. It is difficult to say in a few words all that one thinks of a case. You are not strong; you need rest. I will prescribe for you, and see you again later on, and meanwhile I should like to see your husband, if he could have a talk with me here. There are certain rules which I should like you to observe, but we don’t care to trouble patients with these matters. It is simpler and better to instruct their friends.”Mrs Asplin looked at him steadily, a smile lighting up her face.“Ah, doctor, it won’t do. You can’t take me in at all!” she cried in her winsome Irish voice. “It’s the truth I want, and no pretence. My husband believes that I am shop-gazing in Regent Street, and that’s all he is going to hear about this visit. He is delicate himself, and puts an altogether exaggerated value on his old wife. Indeed, he’d worry us both to death if he knew I were ill. Don’t be frightened to speak plainly. I am not a coward! I can bear the truth, whatever it may be. It is the heart that is wrong?”“Yes,” he said, and looked at her with kindly eyes. There was an invincible fascination about Mrs Asplin which strangers were quick to acknowledge, and it was easy to see that admiration and respect combined to make his task exceptionally trying. “Yes, the heart is very weak. It can never have been strong, I think, and you have not spared yourself. You are the kind of woman who has lived, in the fullest sense of the word; lived in every faculty—”“Every single one, and I’m thankful for it! I’ve been so happy, so rich, so sheltered! Whatever happens now, I have been one of the most fortunate of women, and dare not complain. So tell me, please, what does it mean? To what must I look forward?”“You must face the fact that you can no longer afford to live at full pressure. You must be content to let others work, and to look on quietly. I fear you must face increasing weakness and languor.”“And for—how long? My children are still young. I should like to see them settled. I should like to feel my husband had other homes open to him when he was left alone. If I amverycareful—for how long?”Peggy closed her eyes with a feeling of suffocation. The pulses in her ears were beating like hammers, the floor seemed to rock to and fro beneath her feet, and the doctor’s voice sounded from an immense distance.“Perhaps three years. I don’t think more. If you ask me for an honest opinion, I should say probably three years—”Three years to live, and then—death. Three years longer in that happy home, and then good-bye to all who loved her. Three years! Three years! The words repeated themselves over and over in Peggy’s brain as she sat motionless in her chair, staring at the opposite wall. Outside in the street an organ was grinding out a popular air, the front door opened and shut, and footsteps passed along the hall, a little heathen idol upon the mantelpiece nodded his head at her in mocking fashion. Some one was talking at the other end of the room in a quiet, level tone, as if nothing extraordinary had happened. It was surely—surely not Mrs Asplin herself?“Thank you! It is kinder to tell me the truth; but the time is shorter than I expected. I should like to ask one more question. Shall I be doing my husband a wrong in keeping this from him? Could he do anything to prolong my life? I am most anxious not to throw this shadow over our home; but if he could help in any way, it would, of course, be my duty to spare him the pain of knowing afterwards that more might have been done.”“He could do nothing except shield you from exertion, and that you can do for yourself. I should say, on the whole, that it would be better for you, even physically speaking, to secure the cheerfulness of surrounding that would come from ignorance, than to be continually reminded of yourself by the anxiety of your family. Remember always that you are your own best doctor! I have told you the worst, and now I may add that I have known people in as precarious a condition as yourself live twice, and even three times the time specified by their doctors. You know what is needful—a peaceful life without excitement; fresh air, rest, and, above all things, the specific which our Quaker friends have named for us, ‘The quiet mind.’”His voice dropped to a softened cadence as he spoke those last words, and the tears started in the listener’s eyes.“Yes—yes! I know. I’ll remember that. Thank you, thank you for all your kindness!”The eyes of doctor and patient met in a long, steady glance, which had in it a light, as of recognition. They were friends indeed, though they met for the first time to-day; for they were bound together by the closest of ties, in that they both served and trusted a common Master! In that moment, when as it seemed she stood upon the brink of death, Mrs Asplin’s mind travelled with lightning speed over the years which had passed since she first gave herself and her concerns into the hands of her Saviour, and trusted Him to care for her in this world and the next. Had He ever failed her? A thousand times, no! Sickness, anxiety, even death itself, had visited her home, but the peace which was Christ’s parting gift to His disciples had dwelt in her heart, and He Himself had never seemed so near as when trouble fell, and for a time hid the sun in the skies. If she had known beforehand that she was to lose her first-born darling, to spend long years in painful anxiety about her husband’s health, and to see her children’s future crippled for lack of means to give them the best opportunities, her heart would have sunk with fear, and she would have declared the trial too great for her strength; yet He had enabled her to bear them all, and with each fresh trial had given a fresh revelation of His mercy. She had submitted to His will, weeping, it may be, but without bitterness or rebellion, and the reward had come in the serene peacefulness which possessed her soul. Christ had done all this for her, and now in this latest trial she looked to Him to support and comfort to the end.“Thank you, doctor,” she murmured once more; and a moment later Peggy and Mrs Asplin were in the passage, following the old butler towards the door. It seemed years and years since they had paced it last, but nothing had changed. The man let them pass out without a glance in their direction, as though it were the most commonplace thing in the world for people to receive a death-warrant in the course of half an hour’s visit. The pavement outside was flooded with sunshine, carriages were driving to and fro; two men walking along together broke into a peal of laughter as they passed; a newsboy shouted out some item of popular interest. Nobody knew, nobody cared! The great, noisy, cruel world jostled on its way as if such things as death and parting had no meaning in its ears. Peggy’s young heart swelled with bitterness. She dared not speak to Mrs Asplin, dared not trust her own voice, but she drew the thin hand through her arm, and gripped it with passionate fervour. They walked on in silence the length of the block, then stopped instinctively, and exchanged a long, earnest look. Mrs Asplin’s eyes were shining with a deep inward glow, the colour had come back to her cheeks, her expression was calm and peaceful.“Peggy, child!” she exclaimed softly; “you are so white! This has been a strain for you, dearie. You must have lunch at once.”Even at this supreme moment of her life her first thought was for others, not herself!

Rob received Peggy’s confession of her latest gardening exploit with a roar of good-natured laughter. She had been afraid lest he might be angry, or—what would have been even worse—superior and forbearing; but he was neither the one nor the other. Such a genuine, Peggy-Pickle trick, he declared, was worth taking some trouble to enjoy, and went far towards consoling him for the advent of a fashionable young lady in the place of his mischievous little friend. His generosity was not sufficient, however, to prevent him from enlarging on the exceeding beauty of the seedlings which had been so ruthlessly disturbed, and Peggy listened in an agony to a string of names wherein syllables ran riot.Salpiglossis! Alas, alas! she had not the faintest idea what the flower was like, but the name was exquisite, all-satisfying. It rolled off her tongue with sonorous effect. To speak of it alone would have been joy. She looked so meek and wretched that Rob nerved himself to fresh efforts, and wrought miracles on her behalf, so that if by any chance she admired a plant in The Larches’ garden, that plant was transplanted bodily to Yew Hedge, and smiled a welcome to her on her next approach.

The gardener pointed out the folly of moving plants in bloom, and prophesied failure; but no failure came, for plants have their likes and dislikes, like other living creatures, and there is no doubt that they are more amiably disposed to some people than to others. If another man had been rash enough to disturb their flowering, they would have sulked for the rest of the season, and made him suffer for his boldness; but no plant ever sulked at Robert Darcy. He had simply to lay it down in any spot he liked, and, behold, it grew and flourished! His fingers seemed to possess the power to impart health and strength, and, thanks to his care, Peggy soon felt safe from ridicule, at least on the score of her garden, and could devote herself with an easy mind to the work indoors. She experienced the usual string of aggravations which are known to every one moving into a new house; tradesmen took twice the allotted time to fulfil an order, and eventually sent home the wrong article; patterns selected were invariably “out of stock”; escapes of gas made it necessary to deface newly decorated walls; and effects which were intended to be triumphs of artistic beauty, turned out snares and disappointments. From the lofty frame of mind which aims at nothing short of perfection, Peggy subsided by degrees into that resigned melancholy in which the exhausted strugglers feel that “anything will do,” if only, by chance, a house may be made fit to live in.

It was on the occasion of a final visit to town, two days before the removal, that Mrs Asplin surprised Peggy by expressing a desire to bear her company.

“I have several things to do, and I should like to go when I can have your help,” she said; and the vicar’s face instantly assumed an expression of the profoundest dejection. He knew that his wife’s expeditions into town invariably demanded toll in the shape of a nervous headache the next day, and hastened to raise his usual note of protest. Why need she go? Could she not send her order by post, or could not Peggy buy what was wanted? Why tire herself needlessly, when she had no strength to spare? She knew very well—“How unwell I shall be!” concluded his wife for him with a laugh. “Really and truly, Austin dear, I want to do something this time that no one else can do for me. I’ll promise to be careful, and drive about all the time, and get a good lunch.”

“Penny omnibuses, and tea and scones! I know your days in town. Ah, well, a wilful woman must have her way! If you have made up your mind to go, it’s no use arguing; but I don’t know what it can be you need so badly. We seem to have everything we need.”

“Blessed, blessed, ignorance of man!” cried Peggy, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. “It’s all very well for you, sir, who can never wear anything but a black coat and hat, but consider the fascinations of summer fashions to poor defenceless women! Mrs Asplin and I want to look at the shops, and groan in chorus over all the distracting fripperies which we want so badly, and can’t afford. We pretend we have weighty business; but that is the true explanation, isn’t it, dear?”

“Oh yes—I love shop windows!” replied Mrs Asplin vaguely. She had wandered to the window, and stood looking out on to the garden, with her back turned to her companions. Peggy would have followed, but, on her approach, the other walked quickly forward and began stooping over the flower-beds, and snipping off the withered blossoms. For some reason it was evident that she did not wish to be followed, and Peggy felt an uneasy pang at the sight of her flushed, exhausted face. During her lengthened visit to the vicarage she had become more and more conscious of the lack of strength shown by the dear mistress of the house. Her spirit was as cheery as ever, but she no longer raced up and down in her old impetuous manner, but rather spent half her time resting on the sofa, with the busy hands lying idly on her lap.

She did not like to make any protest, since Mrs Asplin’s mind was evidently set on going to town, but she privately registered a determination to charter a hansom by the hour, and see that the shopping expedition was conducted in the most luxurious manner possible.

It did not seem as if there was much to be done after all, for Peggy’s business being concluded, her companion invested in a yard of ribbon, and some Berlin wool, and then pronounced her shopping finished.

“But there is something else I have to do, dear,” she explained, catching the girl’s glance of amazement. “The real reason why I came up to-day was to see a doctor. I did not wish to distress them at home, but I’ve not been feeling well, Peg; I have not been well for a long time. I have made an appointment with a doctor in Harley Street, and if you will go with me I’ll be very grateful. I am not nervous, but—but it feels a little bit lonesome to go alone!”

She turned her face towards the girl and smiled at her, with sweet, tired eyes, and Peggy’s heart gave a sickening throb of apprehension. She put out her hand and slid it lovingly through the other’s arm.

“Of course I’ll go, and proud that you ask me! Poor darling! so that is the way you do your shop-staring! It is just like you to allow yourself to be blamed, rather than give pain or anxiety. I thought you were looking ill, and am so glad you have made up your mind to consult a first-rate man. He will find out what is the matter, and put you right again in no time.”

“He can’t put new works into an old machine. Not even the cleverest doctor can do that. The springs are giving out, Peg, and I can only be repaired, not cured. I don’t expect to be made well, but I want to keep going if possible, for the sake of Austin and the children. I have been intending to pay this visit for a year back, but I kept putting it off and off. I was afraid of what he might say.”

“Nonsense! Afraid, indeed! He’ll laugh at your fears, and give you a tonic which will make you perfectly well again.”

Mrs Asplin smiled, and was silent. Twenty-one could not be expected to realise the weakness and pain which come as companions, and not as guests; the weakness which must grow greater instead of less; the pain which cannot be charmed away. It is not to be wished that it should, for youthful optimism has its own work to accomplish in the world; but it would tend to a better understanding between old and young, if the latter would remember that it is the lack of hope which makes the bitterest drop in the cup of age! To bear the weary ache, and know that it will grow worse; to feel one power after another slipping away, and to realise that it is for ever; to be lonely, and to see the loneliness closing in ever deeper and deeper. Ah, think of it, young impatient soul! Think of it and be tender, be loving! Spare not the sweet gift of sympathy. The time will come when you will long to have done still more.

Peggy held Mrs Asplin’s hand in her own as they sat waiting together in the doctor’s study, and kept her seat sturdily through the interview which followed. She felt instinctively that her presence was a support to her friend, and that the consciousness of her sympathy was a support during the trying ordeal. The doctor questioned, and the patient replied. He scanned her face with his practised eyes, felt her pulse, and produced a stethoscope from the table. Then for a time there was silence, while he knelt and listened, and listened again, and Peggy heard her own heart throb through the silence. He was an old man, with an expression full of that large tenderness which seems the birthmark of the true physician, and he lingered over his task, as if unwilling to face what lay beyond. At last he rose and laid the stethoscope carefully on the table, letting his fingers linger over the task. Peggy heard him catch his breath in a struggling sigh, and for a moment his eyes met her own, anxious and troubled.

“Well?” queried Mrs Asplin gently. “Well, tell me the verdict!”—and the doctor crossed the room again and seated himself by her side.

“My dear lady, you ask a hard question. It is difficult to say in a few words all that one thinks of a case. You are not strong; you need rest. I will prescribe for you, and see you again later on, and meanwhile I should like to see your husband, if he could have a talk with me here. There are certain rules which I should like you to observe, but we don’t care to trouble patients with these matters. It is simpler and better to instruct their friends.”

Mrs Asplin looked at him steadily, a smile lighting up her face.

“Ah, doctor, it won’t do. You can’t take me in at all!” she cried in her winsome Irish voice. “It’s the truth I want, and no pretence. My husband believes that I am shop-gazing in Regent Street, and that’s all he is going to hear about this visit. He is delicate himself, and puts an altogether exaggerated value on his old wife. Indeed, he’d worry us both to death if he knew I were ill. Don’t be frightened to speak plainly. I am not a coward! I can bear the truth, whatever it may be. It is the heart that is wrong?”

“Yes,” he said, and looked at her with kindly eyes. There was an invincible fascination about Mrs Asplin which strangers were quick to acknowledge, and it was easy to see that admiration and respect combined to make his task exceptionally trying. “Yes, the heart is very weak. It can never have been strong, I think, and you have not spared yourself. You are the kind of woman who has lived, in the fullest sense of the word; lived in every faculty—”

“Every single one, and I’m thankful for it! I’ve been so happy, so rich, so sheltered! Whatever happens now, I have been one of the most fortunate of women, and dare not complain. So tell me, please, what does it mean? To what must I look forward?”

“You must face the fact that you can no longer afford to live at full pressure. You must be content to let others work, and to look on quietly. I fear you must face increasing weakness and languor.”

“And for—how long? My children are still young. I should like to see them settled. I should like to feel my husband had other homes open to him when he was left alone. If I amverycareful—for how long?”

Peggy closed her eyes with a feeling of suffocation. The pulses in her ears were beating like hammers, the floor seemed to rock to and fro beneath her feet, and the doctor’s voice sounded from an immense distance.

“Perhaps three years. I don’t think more. If you ask me for an honest opinion, I should say probably three years—”

Three years to live, and then—death. Three years longer in that happy home, and then good-bye to all who loved her. Three years! Three years! The words repeated themselves over and over in Peggy’s brain as she sat motionless in her chair, staring at the opposite wall. Outside in the street an organ was grinding out a popular air, the front door opened and shut, and footsteps passed along the hall, a little heathen idol upon the mantelpiece nodded his head at her in mocking fashion. Some one was talking at the other end of the room in a quiet, level tone, as if nothing extraordinary had happened. It was surely—surely not Mrs Asplin herself?

“Thank you! It is kinder to tell me the truth; but the time is shorter than I expected. I should like to ask one more question. Shall I be doing my husband a wrong in keeping this from him? Could he do anything to prolong my life? I am most anxious not to throw this shadow over our home; but if he could help in any way, it would, of course, be my duty to spare him the pain of knowing afterwards that more might have been done.”

“He could do nothing except shield you from exertion, and that you can do for yourself. I should say, on the whole, that it would be better for you, even physically speaking, to secure the cheerfulness of surrounding that would come from ignorance, than to be continually reminded of yourself by the anxiety of your family. Remember always that you are your own best doctor! I have told you the worst, and now I may add that I have known people in as precarious a condition as yourself live twice, and even three times the time specified by their doctors. You know what is needful—a peaceful life without excitement; fresh air, rest, and, above all things, the specific which our Quaker friends have named for us, ‘The quiet mind.’”

His voice dropped to a softened cadence as he spoke those last words, and the tears started in the listener’s eyes.

“Yes—yes! I know. I’ll remember that. Thank you, thank you for all your kindness!”

The eyes of doctor and patient met in a long, steady glance, which had in it a light, as of recognition. They were friends indeed, though they met for the first time to-day; for they were bound together by the closest of ties, in that they both served and trusted a common Master! In that moment, when as it seemed she stood upon the brink of death, Mrs Asplin’s mind travelled with lightning speed over the years which had passed since she first gave herself and her concerns into the hands of her Saviour, and trusted Him to care for her in this world and the next. Had He ever failed her? A thousand times, no! Sickness, anxiety, even death itself, had visited her home, but the peace which was Christ’s parting gift to His disciples had dwelt in her heart, and He Himself had never seemed so near as when trouble fell, and for a time hid the sun in the skies. If she had known beforehand that she was to lose her first-born darling, to spend long years in painful anxiety about her husband’s health, and to see her children’s future crippled for lack of means to give them the best opportunities, her heart would have sunk with fear, and she would have declared the trial too great for her strength; yet He had enabled her to bear them all, and with each fresh trial had given a fresh revelation of His mercy. She had submitted to His will, weeping, it may be, but without bitterness or rebellion, and the reward had come in the serene peacefulness which possessed her soul. Christ had done all this for her, and now in this latest trial she looked to Him to support and comfort to the end.

“Thank you, doctor,” she murmured once more; and a moment later Peggy and Mrs Asplin were in the passage, following the old butler towards the door. It seemed years and years since they had paced it last, but nothing had changed. The man let them pass out without a glance in their direction, as though it were the most commonplace thing in the world for people to receive a death-warrant in the course of half an hour’s visit. The pavement outside was flooded with sunshine, carriages were driving to and fro; two men walking along together broke into a peal of laughter as they passed; a newsboy shouted out some item of popular interest. Nobody knew, nobody cared! The great, noisy, cruel world jostled on its way as if such things as death and parting had no meaning in its ears. Peggy’s young heart swelled with bitterness. She dared not speak to Mrs Asplin, dared not trust her own voice, but she drew the thin hand through her arm, and gripped it with passionate fervour. They walked on in silence the length of the block, then stopped instinctively, and exchanged a long, earnest look. Mrs Asplin’s eyes were shining with a deep inward glow, the colour had come back to her cheeks, her expression was calm and peaceful.

“Peggy, child!” she exclaimed softly; “you are so white! This has been a strain for you, dearie. You must have lunch at once.”

Even at this supreme moment of her life her first thought was for others, not herself!

Chapter Thirteen.The pre-occupation of Peggy’s manner during the next week was easily attributed to the responsibility of superintending the settling down in the new house. From morning until night she was rushing about from one worker to another, planning, instructing, superintending, and when night came she crawled into bed, a weary, sore-footed little mortal, to fall asleep before her head well touched the pillow. The revelation of Mrs Asplin’s danger lay like a shadow across her path, but beyond a few brief words in the train, the subject had never been mentioned between them after leaving the doctor’s study.“I hope I have not been selfish, Peggy, in taking you with me to-day,” Mrs Asplin had then said anxiously. “I can only tell you that you have helped me greatly, and thank you with all my heart for your sympathy. Later on, dearie, we will have a talk together, and I will tell you what is in my mind; but first of all I must fight my own battles, and gain the prize of which the doctor spoke. ‘The quiet mind,’ Peg! When that comes, it will take away the sting!”That was all, nor through the weeks that followed did ever a word or a look in the presence of her family betray the dread that lay at Mrs Asplin’s heart. Peggy, running in and out of the vicarage, would always find a smile awaiting, and a cheery word of greeting. At first she felt awkward and constrained, but by degrees the first painfulness of the impression wore away, and with the natural hopefulness of youth it seemed that the doctor must have taken an unnecessarily gloomy view of the case, since a patient in so precarious a condition could surely not be so bright, so cheery, so interested in the affairs of others! On her first few visits to the vicarage, the girl had felt that it would be sacrilege to smile or jest as of yore, but it was impossible to keep up this attitude when Mrs Asplin herself sparkled into mischief and led the bursts of laughter. That dreadful half-hour grew more and more unreal, until at times it seemed a veritable dream.A fortnight after the removal into Yew Hedge, a letter arrived from Mrs Rollo, inviting Peggy to come up to town on a two or three days’ visit, to attend some festivities, and enjoy her brother’s society. Arthur had not been able to leave town during the last few weeks, and the desire to see more of him, and to be able to help him if possible, were powerful inducements in his sister’s mind. She anxiously considered if by any possibility the household could exist deprived of her important services, and slowly accepted the assurance that it could! The furniture had been arranged, pictures hung and re-hung, and what remained to be done in the way of blind-fitting, curtain-hanging, and the like, could surely be managed without the assistance of a master mind. She was sorry to leave the dear, new home, but three days would quickly pass, while, apart from the joy of seeing Arthur, it would be delightful to get to know something more about that baffling personage, Miss Eunice Rollo.Eunice was at the station to meet her visitor, all propriety and polite condolence on the fatigue of the journey; and Peggy, never to be outdone in grandeur of diction, replied in Mariquita fashion, so that an elaborate conversation all about nothing was carried on throughout the drive home. Mrs Rollo was out, Arthur busy in the study, and three long hours loomed ahead before it would be time to prepare for dinner.“This is dreadful! We seem to be beginning all over again, from the very first moment we met!” sighed Peggy to herself. “What on earth can I talk about next? If I could only make her laugh, we should get on better, but I can’t be funny to order. At the present moment I have not a joke in my composition, and it’s getting serious, for we have exhausted the weather and the miseries of removing into a new house, and the health of every single person we know. There’s nothing for it but books! I’ll turn her on to books, and dispute everything she says, and that ought to keep us going for an hour at least.” She cleared her throat, and was just beginning an insinuating, “Have you read—” when she met an earnest look from the grey eyes, and Eunice said miserably:“I know what you are thinking! I saw you looking at the clock. You don’t know how to pass the time, or what to say next. I’m dreadfully sorry to be so stupid, but the more I want to talk, the more dumb I become. I can’t describe the sensation, but perhaps you have felt it for yourself. Do tell me! Do you know what it is like to be shy? Did you ever feel it?”Peggy cudgelled her brains, unwilling to admit that any human experience was beyond her ken, but no! not one single instance of the kind could she remember. She had felt lonely at times, silent and unsociable, but never shy! She shook her head.“No—never! I love meeting strangers. It is like opening a new book. You can never tell what good friends you may become. When I meet some one for the first time, I look into her eyes, and say to myself—‘What is she? Why is she? What does she think? Right away down at the bottom of her heart, what is she like? Do we belong to each other at all, or is there no single point where we can meet?’ It is so interesting! I assure you I drove through the City the other day in an omnibus, and discovered an affinity on the opposite seat! We just looked at each other, and a sort of flash passed from her eyes to mine, and I said to myself, ‘Oh, Idolike you!’ and I knew as well as possible that she was thinking the same of me. We never spoke, and may never meet again, but wewerefriends all the same, and when I went away I said in my heart, ‘Good-bye, dear, good luck! So pleased to have met you!’ At other times I’ve seen people—Gr–r–r!” she hitched her shoulders to her ears and spread out her hands in disgust, “quite respectable and ordinary-looking creatures, but there! I wouldn’t touch them with the end of my umbrella!”Eunice regarded her with pensive envy.“Oh dear, I wish I felt like that! It would be like a book, as you say. I love reading, but I always think real life is so different.”“And so much better! It’strue,” cried Peggy ardently, “and the other is pretence. I think it’s a glorious thing to live, and just most marvellously and wonderfully interesting. Why, think of it—every day is a mystery. You make your plans in the morning, but you know nothing of what may happen before night! People sigh and moan over the uncertainty of life, but that is ungrateful, for there are happy surprises as well as sad, and all sorts of pleasant things cropping up which one never expects. And it ought to go on growing more and more beautiful as we grow older, and can appreciate and understand.”“Yes,” sighed Eunice softly. “Oh yes, and so it will—for you, Peggy, at least, for you have the gift of happiness. I feel things too, but I can’t express my feelings. I want to act, and I hang back trembling until some one else steps forward. I try to speak, and my lips won’t move. You don’t know how dreadful it is to feel as if two iron bands were placed round your mouth and would notletyou speak!”Peggy laughed in conscience-stricken fashion.“I—don’t!” she cried comically, and her eyebrows went up in a peak. “I have a pretty considerable fluency of language, as an American cousin would say, and the worst of it is, I speak first and think afterwards! Your iron bands remind me of the man in the dear old fairy-tale who was under the spell of a wicked magician, and had iron straps bound round his heart. There was only one way in which they could be broken, and no one knew what it was, but one day a peasant woman took pity on his sufferings and tried to nurse him, and snap! one of the bands broke off and fell to the ground. Another time a little child brought him some food, and snap again! another disappeared. Last of all the beautiful princess chose him for her husband before all her rich suitors, and dropped two things upon his cheek—a kiss and a tear, and at that all the other bands broke at once, and he was free. Perhaps that story really meant that the man was shy and reserved, as you are, Eunice, and could never show his real self until he found friends to love and understand. I am not going to shed tears over you, my dear, but may I kiss you, please? You only shook hands when we met at the station.”Eunice rose up swiftly and knelt down at Peggy’s feet. Her face was lifted to receive the offered kiss, and the flush upon her cheeks, the smile on her lips revealed such unexpected possibilities of beauty as filled the other with admiration. The features, were daintily irregular, the skin fine and delicate as a child’s, the hair rolled back in a soft, smoke-like ripple. The two girls looked at one another long and steadily, until at last Eunice said falteringly:“What do you see inmyeyes, Peggy?” and Peggy answered promptly:“I see a friend! Please let me go on seeing her. While I’m here, Eunice, give the carpet a rest and look at me instead. You can’t deny that I’m better worth seeing.”“Oh, you are, especially when you pull faces!” responded Eunice unexpectedly. “Peggy, some day, when there is nothing else to do and you are not tired, will you imitate people for me again? Will you? Will you do Hector Darcy and Miss Asplin and your father when he is angry? I have never laughed as much in my life as when you imitated the National Gallery pictures, and Mr Saville says that these are even funnier. It must be delightful to be able to mimic people, if you are sure they won’t think it unkind.”“Oh, but I invariably do it before them, and they don’t mind a bit. It amuses them intensely, and it’s such a joke to see their faces. They wear such a funny, sheepish, found-out sort of expression. Certainly, I’ll give you aséancewhenever you like. How would it be if I began by imitating Miss Rollo and the iron bands, welcoming a young friend from the country?”Eunice gasped and fell back in her chair; whereupon, taking silence for consent, Peggy placed her cup on the table, and crossed to the end of the room, where she went through a life-like pantomime of the scene which had happened on the station platform an hour before. The bows, the hand-shakes, the strained smiles of greeting were all repeated, and two chairs being drawn together to represent a carriage, Miss Peggy seated herself on the nearer of the two, and went through so word-perfect a repetition of the real dialogue as left her hearer speechless with consternation. Eunice heard her own voice bleat forth feeble inanities, saw her lips twist in the characteristic manner which shefeltto be so true, listened to Mariquita’s gracious responses, and saw, (what she had not seen before), the wide yawns of weariness which Peggy averted her head to enjoy. The tremulous movement of her body grew more and more pronounced, until presently the tears were rolling down her cheeks, and she was swaying in her chair in silent convulsions of laughter. To see her laugh sent Peggy into responsive peals of merriment; to hear Peggy laugh heightened Eunice’s amusement; so there they sat, gasping, shaking, no sooner recovering some degree of composure than a recurring chuckle would send them off into a condition more helpless than the last.In the midst of one of these paroxysms the door opened, and Arthur stood upon the threshold transfixed with surprise. To see Peggy laughing was no uncommon circumstance, but it was a different matter where Miss Rollo was concerned. During the months which he had spent beneath her father’s roof, Arthur had been sorry for the girl who was left to her own devices by her pre-occupied parents, and had thought how few pleasures she enjoyed, but had consoled himself by the reflection that she had little taste for the ordinary amusements of youth. Like a quiet little mouse she slipped in and out, never voluntarily opening a conversation, nor prolonging it a moment longer than was necessary. A struggling smile had seemed the height of merriment to which she could attain, so that to see the quivering shoulders and streaming eyes was indeed a revelation of the unexpected. Arthur’s feelings were curiously contradictory at that moment. He was gratified at the tribute to his sister’s fascination, and yet in some inexplicable manner conscious of a jarring note in his satisfaction. He himself had always been regarded as a sufficiently witty and interesting personage. How had it happened that he had failed where Peggy had succeeded?When Eunice left the room to allow brother and sister to enjoy a confidential chat, the conversation soon drifted to the subject of her own personality.“Why did you never tell me what a darling she was?” Peggy demanded. “I love her already, and I am going to love her a great deal more. She is just as sweet as can be, and here have you been living in this house for months, and never a word have you told me about her, except that therewasa daughter, and that she was twenty-two. It’s not like you to be so unappreciative, my dear! Don’t you think she deserves more attention than that?”“I don’t think I thought much about her in anyway,” replied Arthur, with that air of masculine superiority which never failed to rouse his sister’s ire. “She seems a nice quiet sort of girl.”Peggy sniffed contemptuously, and tossed her head in the air.“Nice quiet girl indeed! Is that your verdict? She is ch–arming, my dear, that’s what she is, and as for looks—Well, she may not be striking to the casual observer, but if you take the trouble to look at her face, it’s like a beautiful old miniature. Did youeversee anything like her eyelashes? They come half-way down her cheeks, and her eyes are the sweetest I have ever seen, except Mrs Asplin’s.”“Eyes!” echoed Arthur vaguely. “Eyelashes! Really!—I’m afraid I have never noticed.”“Then please notice at once. It’s time you did. Don’t let me have a bat for a brother, if you please. Some people look so much at other people that they can’t see the people who are staring them in the face!” cried Miss Peggy elegantly, whereupon Arthur suddenly discovered that it was time to dress for dinner, and hurried her upstairs to her own room.

The pre-occupation of Peggy’s manner during the next week was easily attributed to the responsibility of superintending the settling down in the new house. From morning until night she was rushing about from one worker to another, planning, instructing, superintending, and when night came she crawled into bed, a weary, sore-footed little mortal, to fall asleep before her head well touched the pillow. The revelation of Mrs Asplin’s danger lay like a shadow across her path, but beyond a few brief words in the train, the subject had never been mentioned between them after leaving the doctor’s study.

“I hope I have not been selfish, Peggy, in taking you with me to-day,” Mrs Asplin had then said anxiously. “I can only tell you that you have helped me greatly, and thank you with all my heart for your sympathy. Later on, dearie, we will have a talk together, and I will tell you what is in my mind; but first of all I must fight my own battles, and gain the prize of which the doctor spoke. ‘The quiet mind,’ Peg! When that comes, it will take away the sting!”

That was all, nor through the weeks that followed did ever a word or a look in the presence of her family betray the dread that lay at Mrs Asplin’s heart. Peggy, running in and out of the vicarage, would always find a smile awaiting, and a cheery word of greeting. At first she felt awkward and constrained, but by degrees the first painfulness of the impression wore away, and with the natural hopefulness of youth it seemed that the doctor must have taken an unnecessarily gloomy view of the case, since a patient in so precarious a condition could surely not be so bright, so cheery, so interested in the affairs of others! On her first few visits to the vicarage, the girl had felt that it would be sacrilege to smile or jest as of yore, but it was impossible to keep up this attitude when Mrs Asplin herself sparkled into mischief and led the bursts of laughter. That dreadful half-hour grew more and more unreal, until at times it seemed a veritable dream.

A fortnight after the removal into Yew Hedge, a letter arrived from Mrs Rollo, inviting Peggy to come up to town on a two or three days’ visit, to attend some festivities, and enjoy her brother’s society. Arthur had not been able to leave town during the last few weeks, and the desire to see more of him, and to be able to help him if possible, were powerful inducements in his sister’s mind. She anxiously considered if by any possibility the household could exist deprived of her important services, and slowly accepted the assurance that it could! The furniture had been arranged, pictures hung and re-hung, and what remained to be done in the way of blind-fitting, curtain-hanging, and the like, could surely be managed without the assistance of a master mind. She was sorry to leave the dear, new home, but three days would quickly pass, while, apart from the joy of seeing Arthur, it would be delightful to get to know something more about that baffling personage, Miss Eunice Rollo.

Eunice was at the station to meet her visitor, all propriety and polite condolence on the fatigue of the journey; and Peggy, never to be outdone in grandeur of diction, replied in Mariquita fashion, so that an elaborate conversation all about nothing was carried on throughout the drive home. Mrs Rollo was out, Arthur busy in the study, and three long hours loomed ahead before it would be time to prepare for dinner.

“This is dreadful! We seem to be beginning all over again, from the very first moment we met!” sighed Peggy to herself. “What on earth can I talk about next? If I could only make her laugh, we should get on better, but I can’t be funny to order. At the present moment I have not a joke in my composition, and it’s getting serious, for we have exhausted the weather and the miseries of removing into a new house, and the health of every single person we know. There’s nothing for it but books! I’ll turn her on to books, and dispute everything she says, and that ought to keep us going for an hour at least.” She cleared her throat, and was just beginning an insinuating, “Have you read—” when she met an earnest look from the grey eyes, and Eunice said miserably:

“I know what you are thinking! I saw you looking at the clock. You don’t know how to pass the time, or what to say next. I’m dreadfully sorry to be so stupid, but the more I want to talk, the more dumb I become. I can’t describe the sensation, but perhaps you have felt it for yourself. Do tell me! Do you know what it is like to be shy? Did you ever feel it?”

Peggy cudgelled her brains, unwilling to admit that any human experience was beyond her ken, but no! not one single instance of the kind could she remember. She had felt lonely at times, silent and unsociable, but never shy! She shook her head.

“No—never! I love meeting strangers. It is like opening a new book. You can never tell what good friends you may become. When I meet some one for the first time, I look into her eyes, and say to myself—‘What is she? Why is she? What does she think? Right away down at the bottom of her heart, what is she like? Do we belong to each other at all, or is there no single point where we can meet?’ It is so interesting! I assure you I drove through the City the other day in an omnibus, and discovered an affinity on the opposite seat! We just looked at each other, and a sort of flash passed from her eyes to mine, and I said to myself, ‘Oh, Idolike you!’ and I knew as well as possible that she was thinking the same of me. We never spoke, and may never meet again, but wewerefriends all the same, and when I went away I said in my heart, ‘Good-bye, dear, good luck! So pleased to have met you!’ At other times I’ve seen people—Gr–r–r!” she hitched her shoulders to her ears and spread out her hands in disgust, “quite respectable and ordinary-looking creatures, but there! I wouldn’t touch them with the end of my umbrella!”

Eunice regarded her with pensive envy.

“Oh dear, I wish I felt like that! It would be like a book, as you say. I love reading, but I always think real life is so different.”

“And so much better! It’strue,” cried Peggy ardently, “and the other is pretence. I think it’s a glorious thing to live, and just most marvellously and wonderfully interesting. Why, think of it—every day is a mystery. You make your plans in the morning, but you know nothing of what may happen before night! People sigh and moan over the uncertainty of life, but that is ungrateful, for there are happy surprises as well as sad, and all sorts of pleasant things cropping up which one never expects. And it ought to go on growing more and more beautiful as we grow older, and can appreciate and understand.”

“Yes,” sighed Eunice softly. “Oh yes, and so it will—for you, Peggy, at least, for you have the gift of happiness. I feel things too, but I can’t express my feelings. I want to act, and I hang back trembling until some one else steps forward. I try to speak, and my lips won’t move. You don’t know how dreadful it is to feel as if two iron bands were placed round your mouth and would notletyou speak!”

Peggy laughed in conscience-stricken fashion.

“I—don’t!” she cried comically, and her eyebrows went up in a peak. “I have a pretty considerable fluency of language, as an American cousin would say, and the worst of it is, I speak first and think afterwards! Your iron bands remind me of the man in the dear old fairy-tale who was under the spell of a wicked magician, and had iron straps bound round his heart. There was only one way in which they could be broken, and no one knew what it was, but one day a peasant woman took pity on his sufferings and tried to nurse him, and snap! one of the bands broke off and fell to the ground. Another time a little child brought him some food, and snap again! another disappeared. Last of all the beautiful princess chose him for her husband before all her rich suitors, and dropped two things upon his cheek—a kiss and a tear, and at that all the other bands broke at once, and he was free. Perhaps that story really meant that the man was shy and reserved, as you are, Eunice, and could never show his real self until he found friends to love and understand. I am not going to shed tears over you, my dear, but may I kiss you, please? You only shook hands when we met at the station.”

Eunice rose up swiftly and knelt down at Peggy’s feet. Her face was lifted to receive the offered kiss, and the flush upon her cheeks, the smile on her lips revealed such unexpected possibilities of beauty as filled the other with admiration. The features, were daintily irregular, the skin fine and delicate as a child’s, the hair rolled back in a soft, smoke-like ripple. The two girls looked at one another long and steadily, until at last Eunice said falteringly:

“What do you see inmyeyes, Peggy?” and Peggy answered promptly:

“I see a friend! Please let me go on seeing her. While I’m here, Eunice, give the carpet a rest and look at me instead. You can’t deny that I’m better worth seeing.”

“Oh, you are, especially when you pull faces!” responded Eunice unexpectedly. “Peggy, some day, when there is nothing else to do and you are not tired, will you imitate people for me again? Will you? Will you do Hector Darcy and Miss Asplin and your father when he is angry? I have never laughed as much in my life as when you imitated the National Gallery pictures, and Mr Saville says that these are even funnier. It must be delightful to be able to mimic people, if you are sure they won’t think it unkind.”

“Oh, but I invariably do it before them, and they don’t mind a bit. It amuses them intensely, and it’s such a joke to see their faces. They wear such a funny, sheepish, found-out sort of expression. Certainly, I’ll give you aséancewhenever you like. How would it be if I began by imitating Miss Rollo and the iron bands, welcoming a young friend from the country?”

Eunice gasped and fell back in her chair; whereupon, taking silence for consent, Peggy placed her cup on the table, and crossed to the end of the room, where she went through a life-like pantomime of the scene which had happened on the station platform an hour before. The bows, the hand-shakes, the strained smiles of greeting were all repeated, and two chairs being drawn together to represent a carriage, Miss Peggy seated herself on the nearer of the two, and went through so word-perfect a repetition of the real dialogue as left her hearer speechless with consternation. Eunice heard her own voice bleat forth feeble inanities, saw her lips twist in the characteristic manner which shefeltto be so true, listened to Mariquita’s gracious responses, and saw, (what she had not seen before), the wide yawns of weariness which Peggy averted her head to enjoy. The tremulous movement of her body grew more and more pronounced, until presently the tears were rolling down her cheeks, and she was swaying in her chair in silent convulsions of laughter. To see her laugh sent Peggy into responsive peals of merriment; to hear Peggy laugh heightened Eunice’s amusement; so there they sat, gasping, shaking, no sooner recovering some degree of composure than a recurring chuckle would send them off into a condition more helpless than the last.

In the midst of one of these paroxysms the door opened, and Arthur stood upon the threshold transfixed with surprise. To see Peggy laughing was no uncommon circumstance, but it was a different matter where Miss Rollo was concerned. During the months which he had spent beneath her father’s roof, Arthur had been sorry for the girl who was left to her own devices by her pre-occupied parents, and had thought how few pleasures she enjoyed, but had consoled himself by the reflection that she had little taste for the ordinary amusements of youth. Like a quiet little mouse she slipped in and out, never voluntarily opening a conversation, nor prolonging it a moment longer than was necessary. A struggling smile had seemed the height of merriment to which she could attain, so that to see the quivering shoulders and streaming eyes was indeed a revelation of the unexpected. Arthur’s feelings were curiously contradictory at that moment. He was gratified at the tribute to his sister’s fascination, and yet in some inexplicable manner conscious of a jarring note in his satisfaction. He himself had always been regarded as a sufficiently witty and interesting personage. How had it happened that he had failed where Peggy had succeeded?

When Eunice left the room to allow brother and sister to enjoy a confidential chat, the conversation soon drifted to the subject of her own personality.

“Why did you never tell me what a darling she was?” Peggy demanded. “I love her already, and I am going to love her a great deal more. She is just as sweet as can be, and here have you been living in this house for months, and never a word have you told me about her, except that therewasa daughter, and that she was twenty-two. It’s not like you to be so unappreciative, my dear! Don’t you think she deserves more attention than that?”

“I don’t think I thought much about her in anyway,” replied Arthur, with that air of masculine superiority which never failed to rouse his sister’s ire. “She seems a nice quiet sort of girl.”

Peggy sniffed contemptuously, and tossed her head in the air.

“Nice quiet girl indeed! Is that your verdict? She is ch–arming, my dear, that’s what she is, and as for looks—Well, she may not be striking to the casual observer, but if you take the trouble to look at her face, it’s like a beautiful old miniature. Did youeversee anything like her eyelashes? They come half-way down her cheeks, and her eyes are the sweetest I have ever seen, except Mrs Asplin’s.”

“Eyes!” echoed Arthur vaguely. “Eyelashes! Really!—I’m afraid I have never noticed.”

“Then please notice at once. It’s time you did. Don’t let me have a bat for a brother, if you please. Some people look so much at other people that they can’t see the people who are staring them in the face!” cried Miss Peggy elegantly, whereupon Arthur suddenly discovered that it was time to dress for dinner, and hurried her upstairs to her own room.

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