Jacinth was quick of observation. They had not been many minutes seated at table before it struck her that Frances was unusually silent—or rather, absent and preoccupied, for the mere fact of her not speaking much in her aunt's presence was not remarkable.
She glanced at Frances once or twice inquiringly, then she tried to draw her into the conversation, but only succeeded in extracting monosyllables in reply. Still her sister did not look depressed, certainly not cross; it was much more as if her thoughts were elsewhere.
'What are you dreaming about, Frances?' said Jacinth at last with a touch of sharpness. 'Are you very tired?'
'Did you not enjoy yourself this afternoon?' asked Miss Mildmay, following suit.
Frances started, and pulled herself together.
'Oh yes,' she said, 'verymuch. I never enjoyed myself more. I was only—oh, I was only thinking of things.'
'What sort of things?' asked her aunt good-humouredly. 'Had you much grave and learned discussion at Ivy Lodge?'
Frances reddened a little.
'We did talk quietly part of the time,' she said. 'We weren't playing gamesallthe afternoon. I was a goodwhile walking up and down with Margaret, and afterwards with Bessie.'
Miss Mildmay glanced inquiringly at her elder niece.
'Yes,' said Jacinth, replying to the unspoken question. 'Those are the girls Frances is so fond of—the Harpers.'
'Oh yes, I remember,' said Miss Mildmay. 'Their mother is an old friend of the Scarletts, and the good souls were delighted to take the girls at'——She stopped suddenly, aware that she had been on the point of betraying a confidence, realising, too, that the subject of it was scarcely suited for her young auditors, for Frances especially. But in her slight confusion she stumbled on the very thing she was anxious to avoid, so that it required little 'putting of two and two together' for Jacinth to complete to herself, with an inward smile, her aunt's broken-off sentence. 'They are not—the Harpers, I mean—they are not at all well off, and—a large family, I fancy,' Miss Mildmay went on.
'No,' said Frances in her clear young voice, rather to her hearers' surprise, 'no, they are notat allrich.'
Then she started, grew crimson, and looked round in affright: had she said something she should not have said? A strange, silly, nervous feeling came over her; as if she must, in another moment, burst into tears.
'Frances,' said Jacinth, 'what are you looking so terrified about? There's no harm in what you said. It's no secret; Aunt Alison said it herself first.'
Her tone was not unkindly, though slightly sharp. But a look of relief overspread her sister's face.
'No, of course not. I'm very silly,' she murmured.
'I think you must be a little over-tired,' said Miss Mildmay vaguely. She had not specially noticed Frances's expression. 'I wonder,' she went on, 'I wonder if those Harpersare any relation to the Elvedons? I can't quite remember what Miss Scarlett said about them. It was their mother she was interested in, though—not their father. If they were Elvedon Harpers, Lady Myrtle would know about them; at least'——
'Harper isn't at all an uncommon name,' interrupted Jacinth.
But Miss Mildmay did not resent the little discourtesy—her mind was pursuing its own train of thought. 'I don't know that itwouldfollow that she could know anything of them,' she said. 'Some of the last generation of Harpers were sadly unsatisfactory, and I believe the old man, Lady Myrtle's father, disinherited one or more of his sons. So if you ever go to Robin Redbreast, girls, I think it would be just as well not to mention your school-fellows of the name.'
Jacinth shot a rather triumphant glance at her sister.
'It is generally better, and more well-bred, not to begin about "Are you related to the so-and-so's?" or "I have friends of your name," and remarks like that; isn't it, Aunt Alison?' she said. 'I was telling Frances so, only yesterday.'
Frances reddened again.
'Well, yes,' said Miss Mildmay. 'Still, one cannot make a hard and fast rule about such matters. It calls for a little tact.'
She was very inconsistent; who is not? Something in Jacinth's premature wisdom—almost savouring of 'worldly' wisdom—rather repelled her, careful and unimpulsive though she herself was. Then she felt annoyed with her own annoyance: it was unjust to blame the girl, when she herself had been inculcating caution.
'In this case,' she added, 'I am sure it is best to keep off family affairs, you being so young and Lady Myrtle Goodacre so old; and as I know, there have been sore spots in her history.'
Then she rose from the table.
'Francie, dear, I think you had better go to bed early. Youarelooking tired,' she said kindly, and as she kissed the little girl she almost fancied—was it fancy?—that she felt a touch of dew on her cheek.
'I'm afraid I don't understand children at all,' she thought to herself, though with a little sigh. 'What in the world can Frances be crying about?'
Jacinth, once they were alone, did not spare her sister.
'I do think you are too silly,' she said. 'If you go on so oddly after having an afternoon's play, I am sure Aunt Alison won't let you go again. First you seemed half asleep, then you jumped and looked terrified for nothing at all, and now you are actually crying. Whatisthe matter?'
'I didn't mean'——began Frances.
'I believe it's those girls,' continued Jacinth, working herself up to rare irritation, for as a rule she was gentle to her sister. 'They really seem to bewitch you. Are you crying because you're not a boarder at school, so that you could be always beside them?' she added ironically.
'No, of course not. I wouldn't be so silly,' said Frances, with a touch of her usual spirit.
'Then whatareyou crying about?'
Frances murmured something about 'thinking Jacinth was vexed with her.'
'Nonsense,' said Jacinth. 'You know I wasn't in the least till you got so silly. I don't understand you to-night one bit, but I will say I think it has something to do withthe Harpers, and if they begin coming between you and me, Frances, I shall end by really disliking them.'
'I think you dislike them already,' retorted Frances, 'and I'm sure I don't know why.'
To this Jacinth vouchsafed no reply. She would have said the accusation was not worth noticing. But yet at the bottom of her heart she knew there was something in it. A vague, ridiculous, unfounded sort of jealousy of the Harpers had begun to insinuate itself.
'I wish their name had been anything else,' she said to herself. 'I don't believe they are really any relation to Lady Myrtle—at least not anything countable. But it is so disagreeable to have the feeling of knowing anything of people whomaybe—well, rather objectionable relations of hers. Well, no; perhaps that's putting it too strong. I mean relations she doesn't want to have to do with, and I don't see why sheshouldwant to have to do with them. I shall take care, I know, not to speak of them to her, for it would only annoy her, and it's no business of mine. I do wish Frances hadn't taken them up so, she is so silly sometimes.'
Frances on her side began to think she had gone too far. She glanced up at Jacinth, and saw that her face was very grave.
'Jass,' she said, stealing up to her and speaking in a soft apologetic tone, 'I'm very sorry for being cross. I think Iamrather tired, though I did so enjoy myself this afternoon. Perhaps I'd better go to bed, for I want to write most of my letter to mamma to-morrow. I want to write her a good long one this time.'
'Very well,' said Jacinth as graciously as she could. 'I'm sure I haven't meant to be cross either, Francie; but—I don't like the idea ofany onecoming between you and me.'
'Of course not; nobodycould, never,' said Frances eagerly. 'Kiss me, Jass. I really don't know what made me begin to cry; it was a mixture.'
Her voice trembled a little again. In terror of incurring Jacinth's displeasure, Frances tugged at her pocket-handkerchief. Out came, for the second time that day, the old Christmas card.
'What's that?' said Jacinth.
Frances smoothed it out and showed it her, reminding her of its history.
'I think it was that that made me feel rather—queer—this afternoon, first,' she said. 'It brought things back so.'
'Well, dear, go to bed and have a good night. And to-morrow you'll be fresh for a nice long letter to mamma in the afternoon, when we come back from the children's service; there's always plenty of time. I want to write her a long letter too.'
The letters were written, neither sister reading the other's. This was a recognised rule, and a wise one, as it kept each child more directly in touch with the absent mother, and also enabled her to judge of her children's gradually developing characters. The very way in which the same occurrence was related by each threw many an unsuspected light on the 'Jacinth' and 'Frances' she had personally so sadly little knowledge of.
And then for some days life at Number 9 Market Square Place, which had been to a certain extent enlivened or disturbed, seemed to revert again to its usual monotony. It was almost like a dream to Jacinth to recall the strange visit to the quaint old house and the unexpected confidences of Lady Myrtle Goodacre; the more so that she had at first allowed her imagination to run wild on all the possibilitiesthus opened up. And to Frances it was even more bewildering to remember the glimpse vouchsafed to her by her young friends into their past family history. For though they were both as affectionate and friendly as before—more so, indeed, it seemed to her—neither by word nor allusion was the Saturday's conversation referred to. Margaret had evidently promised Bessie to keep off the subject, and Frances of course could but do the same.
'Perhaps,' she thought to herself, 'they will never speak of it again to me; perhaps that is what their mother has told them she wished. But after all, it doesn't look as if this would much matter, for there is no sign that Lady Myrtle means to take any more notice of us, not even of poor Jass. I'm not surprised; any one that can be so unkind about her own relationscan'tbe very nice.'
Frances was sorry for Jacinth, and a little disappointed for herself, and there had still lingered in her some dim hopes that possiblysomehowtheir own acquaintance with the old lady might have been of use to her friends. Jacinth, though she said nothing, was feeling very chagrined indeed, and not a little bitter.
What could have happened to change Lady Myrtle so? Could it be that she was really very fanciful and whimsical? It scarcely seemed so, considering that she had written so promptly to Miss Mildmay, not losing even one post! And this thought suggested another explanation. Could their aunt's letter in reply have contained something to annoy the old lady? Jacinth began to be very much afraid it must be so, and it made her very vexed with Miss Mildmay, though she did not in the least suppose it had been doneintentionally.
'Aunt Alison is perfectly straightforward,' thought thegirl. 'If she meant to stop our going to Robin Redbreast, she would have said so right out. But she may have written in a stiff, stuck-up way, as if it would be a great favour to let us go, which would very likely offend Lady Myrtle. I do think she might have told me what she said.'
And but for Miss Mildmay's being particularly busy that week, and very engrossed by some unexpected difficulties which had arisen in connection with one of her benevolent works, she could scarcely have failed to notice Jacinth's extremely icy manner and unusual silence.
But on Friday morning came a thaw.
Miss Mildmay looked up with a smile—her smiles were somewhat rare, but not without a certain charm—as the girls entered the dining-room,eventhough they were too late for prayers.
'We are so sorry, Aunt Alison,' said Frances eagerly. 'Wejustgot to the door in time to be too late.'
'Well, I must forgive you, for I cannot say that it often happens. And—I have something to tell you, Jacinth,' was the gracious reply.
Two things had pleased Miss Mildmay that morning: a letter with the welcome news that, thanks to her judicious management, the difficulty alluded to had been got over, and another letter from Lady Myrtle Goodacre, with a cordial invitation to her elder niece. For Miss Mildmay herself, though it was not her way to express such things, had felt a little annoyed and considerably surprised at no further communication from the owner of Robin Redbreast.
Now, however, all was cleared up. The old lady had been ill, 'otherwise,' she wrote with studied courtesy, 'she had hoped before this to have had the pleasure of calling.' Butunder the circumstances she felt sure that Miss Mildmay would excuse her, and in proof of this, would she allow her niece Jacinth to spend Sunday at Robin Redbreast? by which she explained that she meant from Saturday to Monday morning.
'My carriage shall call for her about noon,' wrote Lady Myrtle, 'and she shall be sent home, or straight to school, at any hour she names on Monday.'
Jacinth's eyes sparkled. This was just the sort of thing she had been hoping for, but with the self-restraint peculiar to her, unusual in one so young, she said nothing till her aunt directly addressed her, after reading aloud Lady Myrtle's note.
'Well, what do you say to it? Would you like to go?' asked Miss Mildmay.
'Very much indeed,' Jacinth replied, 'except'——And as her eyes fell on her sister she hesitated. 'I wish Frances had been invited too,' she was on the point of saying, but she changed the words into, 'I hope Frances won't be dull without me.'
'Oh no, don't think about that,' said the younger girl. 'I really and truly would not like to go; I shouldn't care about it in the least, and I amveryglad I'm not asked.'
And Jacinth saw that Frances thoroughly meant what she said.
Before the day was over, Frances felt still more glad that she had not been included in the invitation, for as soon as morning lessons were finished, and the day-scholars were getting ready to go, Bessie Harper came running to her with a letter in her hand.
'This is for you, Frances,' she said. 'It is from mysister Camilla, who was here, you know, when you first came, for a little.'
Frances was staring at the letter in surprise.
'I scarcely knew your sister at all,' she said. 'She was so big compared with me—even with Jacinth.'
'Ah well, you will understand when you've read it. It came inside one to me,' said Bessie. 'It'll be all right when you've read it. But I must go.' And off she ran.
Frances looked again at the envelope and then deposited the letter in her pocket. She had a feeling that she would read it when she was alone, for she began to have some idea what it was about. She read it at home that afternoon. It ran as follows:
Southcliff,October 7th.My dear Frances—I am writing to you instead of my mother, for as you and I were, though only for a short time, school-fellows, we think perhaps I can explain better what Bessie's letter makes us think necessary to say. Mother is not vexed with Margaret for what she told you, for there is nothing secret about us or our history, though there have been sad things in father's family long ago, as you know. Bessie told us of your kind feelings about us, and though I saw so little of you, I can well believe them. But with regard to our great-aunt, both my father and mother hope she will hear nothing about us. Father has long left off any thought of friendly relations with her. Of course there is no reason why our name should not be mentioned to her by yourself, or your sister, if it happened to come up in conversation; but we should be sorry for her to think we murmured about being poor, or that any of us ever thought of her as a rich relation who might help us. So we shall all be very glad indeed if you will try to forget that you know anything of us Harpers except as school-fellows who will always be pleased to count you a true friend. Mother wishes you to do just what you think best aboutshowing this letter to your sister or not. And of course you will tell your mother anything or everything about the matter. Yours affectionately,
Southcliff,October 7th.
Southcliff,October 7th.
My dear Frances—I am writing to you instead of my mother, for as you and I were, though only for a short time, school-fellows, we think perhaps I can explain better what Bessie's letter makes us think necessary to say. Mother is not vexed with Margaret for what she told you, for there is nothing secret about us or our history, though there have been sad things in father's family long ago, as you know. Bessie told us of your kind feelings about us, and though I saw so little of you, I can well believe them. But with regard to our great-aunt, both my father and mother hope she will hear nothing about us. Father has long left off any thought of friendly relations with her. Of course there is no reason why our name should not be mentioned to her by yourself, or your sister, if it happened to come up in conversation; but we should be sorry for her to think we murmured about being poor, or that any of us ever thought of her as a rich relation who might help us. So we shall all be very glad indeed if you will try to forget that you know anything of us Harpers except as school-fellows who will always be pleased to count you a true friend. Mother wishes you to do just what you think best aboutshowing this letter to your sister or not. And of course you will tell your mother anything or everything about the matter. Yours affectionately,
Camilla Harper.
Camilla Harper.
Frances gave a sigh.
'I won't show it to Jacinth,' she thought. 'Aunt Alison said it was better for her not to speak about the Harpers to Lady Myrtle, so there's no use in saying anything about them. And it's more comfortable not to have something in your head you're not to tell. I suppose I must try to put it all out of my head, but itwouldhave been nice to help to make that old aunt of theirs like them. I'll put the letter in an envelope ready addressed to mamma—that'll keep any one from touching it—and I'll send it to her in my next letter.'
But it called for some self-control not to tell it all to her sister, even at the risk of her displeasure. And Frances was conscious of a very slight feeling of relief when Jacinth, evidently in high spirits, though quiet as she always was, set off in state the next day for her visit to Robin Redbreast.
She had made up her mind to enjoy herself and to be pleased with everything, and it was not difficult to carry out this programme. Everything Lady Myrtle could think of to make her young guest feel at home had been done, and Jacinth was both quick to see this and most ready to appreciate it.
She drew a deep breath of satisfaction when she found herself seated in Lady Myrtle's comfortable brougham, which, though a trifle old-fashioned, was, like everything belonging to the Robin Redbreast establishment, thoroughly good of its kind.
'It is like being at Stannesley again,' thought Jacinth,'only poor granny's carriage and horses, and old Simpson the coachman, weren't half so nice as all this is.'
And, to confess the truth, I think a passing regret went through her that the road to her destination lay straight out from the town on the Market Square Place side, so that there was no chance of her meeting any of her school-fellows and giving them a smiling nod of recognition.
The door was opened by the neat parlour-maid, but behind her appeared—to do special honour to the young lady, no doubt—a functionary whom Jacinth had not seen before—no less a personage than Mr Thornley, Lady Myrtle's old, not to say aged butler. He came forward gently rubbing his hands, and bending with a decorous mixture of paternal solicitude and deference which Jacinth by no means objected to, though it made her inclined to smile a little.
'Miss Mildmay, I presume?'
'Miss Mildmay' was quite equal to the occasion. She bent her head graciously.
'Her ladyship is awaiting you in her boudoir, if you will have the goodness to follow me,' the old man proceeded.
They were standing in the hall. It was large—at least it seemed so in comparison with the impression given by the outside of the house, which Jacinth knew so well, and which was really cottage-like. The hall was wainscoted in oak half-way up, where the panels met a bluish-green Japanese-looking paper. A really old oriental paper it was, such as is not even nowadays to be procured in England, so thickly covered with tracery of leaves and flowers and birds and butterflies in a delightful tangle, that the underlying colour was more felt than seen. A short staircase of wide shallow steps ran up one side, disappearing apparently into the wall, and up this staircase, rather toJacinth's surprise—for there were several doors in the hall leading, no doubt, to the principal ground-floor rooms—stepped Thornley in a gingerly manner till he reached the little landing at the top. There he threw open a door, papered like the walls so cleverly as to be invisible when closed, though it was a good-sized door—wide and high. And as soon as the girl, following behind, caught sight of the vista now revealed, she wondered no more, as she had been doing, at Lady Myrtle's choosing an up-stairs room for her boudoir.
'In a town it would be different,' Jacinth had been saying to herself, 'but in the country it's so much nicer to be able to get out into the garden at once.'
But she did not understand the peculiar architecture of Robin Redbreast. A glow of colour met her eyes, for the door in the wall opened on to a gallery, three sides of which ran round an inner hall on the ground-floor, while the fourth—that facing her—was all conservatory, and conservatory of the most perfect kind. The girl started, half-dazzled by the unexpected radiance, and drew a quick breath of satisfaction, as the butler passed along the side of the gallery and threw open a door leading in among the flowers—she, following closely, lingered a moment while the old servant passed on, partly to give him time to announce her, partly to enjoy for half an instant the fragrance and beauty around her.
Then came a voice, and a figure in the inner doorway—the figure that already seemed so familiar to her, though she had seen it but once.
'My dear child—my dear Jacinth,' and she felt two kind arms thrown round her, and the soft withered cheek of the old lady pressed against her own. 'This is delightful—to have you all to myself—my own child for the time.'
Jacinth's usually cold unimpulsive nature was stronglymoved; there is always something impressive and touching in the emotion of the aged. And Lady Myrtle, one felt by instinct, was rarely demonstrative.
The girl looked up in her face, and there came a slight mistiness over the hazel eyes, which her new old friend seemed to know so well—oh so well!—the sight of them carried her back half a century; and, above all, when Jacinth began to speak, she felt as if all the intervening years were a dream, and that she was again a girl herself, listening to the voice of Jacinth Moreland.
'I am so very pleased to come. I have been longing to see you again,' said her young guest. Thornley had discreetly withdrawn. 'And how lovely it is here! You don't know how I enjoy seeing flowers again like these.'
'Itispretty, isn't it?' said Lady Myrtle, pleased by the frank admiration. 'In cold weather I am sometimes shut up a good deal, and my garden is my great delight. So I tried to make myself a little winter garden, you see. I have had to stay up here the last few days, but I hope to go about again as usual to-morrow. And of course I shall go down to luncheon and dinner to-day. I waited to ask you to come, my dear, till I was better. I could not have let you be all by yourself in the dining-room.'
'Oh,' exclaimed Jacinth, with sudden compunction, 'I should have asked if you were better. How could I forget?'
'Why, you have not been two minutes here, my dear child. And I wrote that I was better. It was only a cold. But at my age, "only a cold" may come to be a great deal, and I have got into the way of taking care of myself, I scarcely know why; it is natural, I suppose, and after all, however alone one is, life is a gift. We mustnot throw it away. I am notquitewell yet'—she had coughed more than once while speaking—'but the weather is milder again.'
'Yes,' said Jacinth, 'a sort of St Martin's summer. I hope,' she added gently, 'you will let me wait upon you a little while I am here. Wouldn't you like the door shut?'
Lady Myrtle smiled. She liked the allusion to St Martin's summer; it seemed like a good omen. Was this bright young life, so strangely associated with her own youth, to bring back some spring-time to her winter?—was Jacinth to be a St Martin's summer to her?
'Thank you,' she said. 'Yes, please shut the outer door. Poor old Thornley often thinks he has closed it when he hasn't; his hands are so rheumatic. I like the door into the conservatory left open. Yes, that's right. And now come and talk to me for a few minutes before you take off your things. There is still half an hour to luncheon. Tell me what you have been doing these last few days—busy at lessons? That fair-haired little sister of yours doesn't look as if sheoverworked.'
Jacinth smiled.
'No,' she said, 'I don't think Francieoverworks, but she does very well. The being at school has really been a good thing for her, for she feels herself that she is the better for emulation.'
'And the Scarletts are gentlewomen, thorough gentlewomen,' said Lady Myrtle, musingly. 'That makes a difference. And I suppose a good many of the pupils are really nice—lady-like and refined?'
'Yes,' said Jacinth, readily. 'The boarders are all nice—some of them really as nice in every way as they can be,clever, too, and anxious to learn. I don't seem to know them quite as well as Frances does, for, somehow, I am not very quick at making friends,' and she looked up at Lady Myrtle with a slight questioning in her eyes. The confession did not sound very amiable. But the old lady nodded reassuringly.
'Just as well or better that it should be so,' she said. 'Few friends and faithful has been my motto. Indeed, as forgreatfriends I never had but one, and you know who that was, and I verily believe she never had any one as much to her as I was.' She sighed a little. 'Your sister is quite a child—a very nice child, I am sure, but she is not a Moreland at all. I have heard of some girls at Miss Scarlett's—let me see, who were they? What are the names of the ones you like best?'
Jacinth hesitated.
'There are the—the Eves,' she said, 'two sisters, and the Beckinghams, and Miss Falmouth. She is almost too old for us.'
But the Harpers she did not name, saying to herself that her aunt had advised her not to do so. In this she deceived herself. Miss Mildmay would never have counselled her direct avoidance of mention of the two girls whom Frances—and she herself in her heart—thought the most highly of among their companions.
Lady Myrtle caught at the last name.
'Falmouth,' she repeated. 'Yes, it must have been of her I heard. I know her aunt. Very nice people.'
Then she went on to talk a little of Jacinth's own special tastes and studies, to ask what news the girls had last had from India, how often they wrote, and so on, to all of which Jacinth replied with her usual simple directness,for she felt perfectly at ease with her hostess. And the little reminiscences and allusions to the long-ago days when all the young interests of Jacinth Moreland and Myrtle Harper were shared together, with which the old lady's talk was so interspersed, in no way bored or wearied this girl of to-day, as it might have done some of her contemporaries. On the contrary, such allusions made Jacinth feel more on a level with her companion, and flattered her by showing her the confidence with which she was regarded.
'I don't suppose she would speak of those past times toany onebut me,' thought Jacinth proudly. 'Except, of course, perhaps to mamma.'
The two days at Robin Redbreast passed most satisfactorily, and long before they came to an end Jacinth felt completely at home. It would have been almost impossible for her or for any girl not to feel grateful for Lady Myrtle's extreme kindness, but besides this, everything in the life suited Jacinth's peculiar character. She liked the perfect order, the completeness of the arrangements, just as—in very different surroundings—she liked and appreciated the same qualities in her aunt's sphere. Mere luxury or display would not have pleased her in the same way, and except in the one matter of flowers and all expenses connected with her garden, Lady Myrtle lived simply. The house itself, though in perfectly good taste, was decidedly plain; the furniture belonged to a severe and unluxurious date. The colouring was harmonious, but unobtrusive.
But Jacinth thought it perfection. Her own room—the one which the old lady had specially chosen for her, and which she impressed upon her she must think of as appropriated to her—was exactly what she liked. The chintz hangings—pale pink rosebuds on a white ground—the quaint spindle-legged dressing-tables and chairs, the comfortably spacious but undecorated wardrobe of dark old mahogany, the three-cornered bookcases fitted in to the angles of thewalls with their lozenge-paned glass doors—all was just as she liked.
'It's so beautifullyneat,' she said to Lady Myrtle. 'I like a house to be almost primly neat. Frances says she's sure I shall be an old maid, and I daresay I shall be. I shouldn't mind, if I had a house of my own like this to live in.'
Lady Myrtle glanced at her with one of her peculiar but approving smiles.
'That is another point in common between us,' she said. 'I have always felt like you, and when—let me see, it must be fully twenty years ago now—when, for the first time I really was perfectly free to furnish a house to suit myself, you see I carried out my own ideas.'
'Oh, I thought Robin Redbreast was really old—furniture and all,' said Jacinth with a slight tone of disappointment.
'So it is,' said Lady Myrtle. 'A good deal of it was here in the house, and I had it done up—and some things I brought from Goodacre. My brother-in-law who succeeded there kindly let me choose out things of my favourite date. And they did not suit Goodacre, which is very grand and heavy, and, to my mind, ugly.'
'I know what you mean,' said Jacinth, eagerly—'enormous mirrors with huge gilt frames, and enormous gilt cornices over the window curtains, and great big patterns on the carpets. There was a house near Stannesley like that. It was interesting, something like an old palace, and grand; but I shouldn't like to live in a house of that kind.'
'No, there seems nothing personal about it. One's own little self makes no impression; you feel that you are just passing through it for the time. Elvedon was rather like that,though the present tenants have managed to lighten it a good deal. But our other place—I mean my own family's place, up in the north, where I knew your dear grandmother—though not so grand, is much more homelike than Elvedon. My nephew and his wife live there when they are not in London. It is not so expensive as the place here.'
Jacinth grew a little nervous and said exactly what she did not mean to say.
'Are they not very rich, then?' and instantly blushed crimson, which Lady Myrtle took as an expression of fear lest she had been indiscreet. And she hastened to answer so as to put the girl at ease again.
'No,' she said; 'far from it. But they will be better off some day, and it has been for their good that they have not been rich hitherto. The sins of the fathers are visited on the children, as you cannot fail to see for yourself, my dear, when you come to know more of life.' Lady Myrtle sighed. 'My poor brother Elvedon was very weak and foolish, led into all kinds of wild extravagance by—by another, much, much worse than he;' and here the old lady's face hardened. 'And naturally,' she went on, 'we—my father and I—dreaded what his son might turn out. Poor Elvedon, my nephew I mean, is far from a clever man, but he is sensible and steady, and so are his two sons. So, as I was saying, some day they will be better off.'
Jacinth listened with the utmost attention. She was much gratified by her hostess's confidence, and relieved, too, that no mention had been made of any other Harper relatives.
'Bessie and Margaret are not Lord Elvedon's daughters, of course,' she said to herself, 'so it does not seem as ifthey were near relations; perhaps, after all, they are not relations at all. So I don't see that I need bother my head about them; I might have mentioned them to Lady Myrtle among the girls at school without her noticing it, I daresay.'
'This is too old talk for you, my dear,' said the old lady, after a little silence.
'No, no indeed,' said Jacinth eagerly. 'I am so pleased you don't treat me as a child, dear Lady Myrtle. And I love to think of you and my grandmother long ago, when your families were almost relations, weren't they?'
'Yes, truly—Jacinth and I often said we loved each other more than if we had been sisters. That reminds me, my dear, that nice little sister of yours must come to see me some day soon, and the boy too, the next time you come. When shall that be?'
'Whenever you like, dear Lady Myrtle,' Jacinth replied.
'Well then, supposing you come again in a fortnight—next Saturday week, that is to say. I will send for you as before, and the two children must come with you and stay till six or seven; then I will send them home again and you will remain with me till Monday morning. I must not be selfish, otherwise I would gladly have you every week. But that would not be fair to your aunt.'
'It wouldn't matter so much for Aunt Alison,' said Jacinth; 'I really don't think she would mind. But Francie and Eugene would not like me to be away every Sunday.'
'Then let us try to make it every other,' said Lady Myrtle. 'My dearest child,' and she pressed the girl's hand, 'how I wish I could have you with me altogether. But no, that would not do—it would not be a right life for her'—she seemed as if she were speaking to herself. 'Tell me, dear,'she went on, 'you do feel alreadyat homeat Robin Redbreast? I want you to learn to love the little place as well as its old owner—who can't be its owner for ever,' she added in a lower voice, so that less quick ears than Jacinth's would scarcely have caught the words.
'I love it already dearly,' she replied. 'For your sake first of all, of course, but for its own too. I couldn't imagine a more perfect old house than it is.'
They were walking in the garden, for the weather was mild and Lady Myrtle had been able to go to church that morning. It was Sunday and late afternoon. The long level rays of the evening sun fell on the large lawn—smooth and even as a bowling-green—along one side of which, on the broad terrace, the two were pacing up and down. Lady Myrtle stopped short, she was holding the girl's arm, and looked up at the windows, glinting cheerily in the red glow beginning to be reflected from the sky.
'Yes,' she said, 'it really is a dear old place. And for any one who cared to fit it for a larger family there is plenty of space and convenience for extending it.'
'It seems a very good size already,' said Jacinth, 'though of course I cannot judge very well.'
'You must see it all,' said Lady Myrtle; 'the next time you come I hope I shall be quite well and able to show you all over it. No, it would scarcely need building to; but there are several rooms at the other side in rather an unfinished condition, because I really had no use for them. The last tenant was on the point of completing them when he left. He had a large family, and it was getting too small for them, but he unexpectedly came into a property elsewhere, and then my father gave me this place. There are some very nice rooms you have not seen. Have youbeen in the one where my old pensioners come for their dinner every Saturday?'
Jacinth shook her head.
'That would make a capital billiard room,' Lady Myrtle went on, Jacinth listening to all she said with the greatest interest. 'Indeed, Robin Redbreast has everything needed for a comfortable roomy house. It is too large for me, unless I had a good many visitors. When your father and mother come from India, Jacinth, I must have you all to stay with me.'
Jacinth's eyes sparkled.
'Oh how delightful that would be!' she said. 'I have often thought how they will miss Stannesley when they come home. For it is let for a long time. And wasn't it funny, Lady Myrtle, that last morning when we were saying good-bye to Uncle Marmy at the gate, we looked in at this garden, and said how lovely it would be if papa and mamma had come home, and we were all living together in a house like this! And to think itmaycome true, if you ask us all to stay with you.'
Lady Myrtle stroked Jacinth's hand fondly.
'Yes, dear,' she said, 'it may come true, and I trust it will.'
This conversation took place, as I said, on the Sunday afternoon. Very early the next morning the brougham took Jacinth back to Market Square Place, in time for her to start for school with Frances at their usual hour.
Frances did not receive with rapturous delight the news of her invitation to Robin Redbreast.
'Must I go?' she said. 'Wouldn't it do for just Eugene to go with you, Jacinth? He would enjoy it.'
'Yes, I should,' said Eugene, 'pertickerly if we have some of those little brown cakes for tea.'
'Eugene,' said Frances in a tone of disgust, 'I'm sure Lady Myrtle would not have asked you if she had known you were such a greedy little boy.'
They were in the dining-room waiting for their aunt, who, for once, was a few minutes late for dinner. Just then she came in. She greeted Jacinth pleasantly, and seemed glad to hear that she had enjoyed herself. Then she was told of the invitation for the following week, and Frances appealed to her to say she 'needn't go.' But Frances's hopes were speedily disappointed.
'Not go!' said Miss Mildmay; 'of course you must go. It would be most ungrateful to Lady Myrtle, and would, besides, put Jacinth in a very disagreeable position. You are the grand-daughter of Lady Myrtle's old friend as well as Jacinth, even though her special interest may be in Jacinth.'
'It would make me look so selfish too,' said Jacinth, who, now that she felt sure of her own place with the old lady, was far from wishing to deprive Frances of her share in the pleasures and advantages of their acquaintance with Robin Redbreast.
So Frances had to give in.
And when the day came she enjoyed the visit, on the whole, very much.
'If only,' she said to herself before starting, 'if only I could have got mamma's letter in answer to mine before going. I would have known then exactly how to do about the Harpers. Of course I can't tell stories, andtheywould never have wanted me to do that. I only hope nothing will be said about school or about anything to do with them.'
Then she tried to recall the exact words of CamillaHarper's letter, by this time two-thirds on its way to India to her mother.
Jacinth said nothing at all about the Harpers in connection with Lady Myrtle, and Frances began to think her sister had forgotten all about the question of their possible relationship, which in the meantime at least the younger girl was not sorry for.
It was again a lovely day—the weather seemed to favour the visits to Robin Redbreast—even milder than the Saturday of Jacinth's first stay there. And this time, instead of the brougham, a large roomy pony carriage came to fetch them, a spring cart having already called for Jacinth's portmanteau that morning.
'How lovely!' said Frances, as she and Eugene took their seats with great satisfaction opposite her sister and the coachman; 'I am so glad it is an open carriage. I wish Lady Myrtle would send us home in it again this evening: don't you, Eugene?'
'I'm sure her ladyship will be quite pleased to do so, miss, if you just mention that you would like it,' said the man, a staid unexceptionable old servant, though many years younger than Thornley.
'Oh well, I will. I may, mayn't I, Jass?' said Frances, her eyes sparkling with pleasure, only damped by Jacinth's grave expression. Did Jass think she was chattering too much already? High spirits were Francie's native air: it was very difficult for her to be quiet and subdued for long together. But Jacinth really loved to see Frances happy, and she knew that Lady Myrtle would feel the same.
'She thinks her such a mere child,' thought the elder girl. So she smiled reassuringly as she replied: 'Of course, dear,you can ask Lady Myrtle. I am sure she won't mind if it keeps fine; and there is no sign of rain, is there?' she said turning to the coachman.
'No indeed, ma'am,' he replied. 'We shall have no rain just yet a bit.'
'It's aperfectday,' said Frances. 'I really sometimes think I like autumn as well as spring.'
'I have always liked it much better,' said Jacinth calmly.
Lady Myrtle was walking up and down the terrace, waiting for them. She was much better—for her, indeed, quite well—she said, and her face lighted up with pleasure as she kissed Jacinth tenderly. Then she turned to the younger ones and kissed them too.
'I must have a good look at you, Frances,' she said. 'No—you are not a Moreland, and yet—yes, there is a slightsomething—in spite of your blue eyes and shaggy hair,' and she patted Frances's head. 'And you, my boy;' and she examined Eugene in his turn. 'His eyes are more like his grandmother's; nothing approaching your eyes, Jacinth, but still they are more of the colour.'
'Eugene is very like mamma,' said Frances eagerly. 'Everybody says so.'
'And I'm called after her,' added Eugene.
'So that's quite as it should be,' said Lady Myrtle. 'And some day I hope I may have the great pleasure of comparing mamma and her boy together. Now dears, listen to my plan—would you like to go a drive this afternoon, or would you rather play about the garden and the little farm? I mean Frances and Eugene—Jacinth, of course, is quite at home here.'
The two younger ones looked at each other.
'Oh please,' said Frances, 'if we may go home in the open carriage, I think that would be enough driving. And—it's so long since we've had a nice big place to run about in, and—pigs and cows, you know, like at home? Wouldn't you like that best, Eugene?'
'May we see the cows milked?' said Eugene, prudently making his conditions, 'and, oh please, if we find any eggs,mightwe take one home for breakfast to-morrow?'
Lady Myrtle looked much amused.
'I will put you under Barnes's charge,' she said. 'Barnes is the under-gardener, and whatever he lets you do will be quite right. You and I, Jacinth, will have a long drive to-morrow, as I always go to Elvedon church once a month, and to-morrow is the day. So I daresay you will manage to entertain yourself at home to-day. We can go through the houses in the afternoon.'
'Yes, thank you,' said Jacinth. 'And the house—you said you would show me all over the house, dear Lady Myrtle.'
'Of course; that will amuse Frances and Eugene too, I daresay, when they have had enough running about. Now your sister will go with you to your room to take her things off;' and as the two set off, she added playfully, 'Jacinth has a room of her very own here, you know, Frances.'
The younger girl was breathless with interest and pleasure, and the first sight of the interior of the quaint old house—above all, of the lovely conservatory, past which Jacinth took care to convoy her—impressed her as much as her sister.
'Oh Jass,' she said, when they found themselves in the pleasant, rather 'old-world-looking' bedroom, where a tiny wood-fire sparkling in the grate gave a cheery feeling ofwelcome as they entered—'Oh Jass, isn't it like adream? That we should really be here in this dear old house, treated almost as if we were Lady Myrtle's own grandchildren, and you staying here, and this called your room, and—and'——
She stopped, at a loss for words to express her feelings.
Jacinth smiled, well pleased.
'Yes,' she said, 'it really is like a fairy-tale. And'——She hesitated a little. 'You don't know, Francie, what more may not come. Do you remember our saying that morning to Marmy, how lovely it would be if some day we had a house like this for our home, and how he and we would pay visits to each other?'
Frances's face grew rather pink.
'Do you mean if,' she said, her voice growing lower and lower—'if Lady Myrtleleftit to us, to you? I don't like, Jass, to'——
'Oh, how matter-of-fact you are!' said Jacinth impatiently; 'I don't mean anything but what I say. Lady Myrtle says she is going to invite us all—papa and mamma and us three—to stay with her when they come home, and it's a very big house, and she has no relations she cares for. It might get to be almost like our home. And Lady Myrtle is the sort of person that often speaks of getting old and—and dying. I daresay she makes plans for what she'd like to be done with her things—I know I should—though I hope she'll live twenty years, and I daresay she will, dear old thing.'
Frances would have accepted this simply enough, and after all, Jacinth felt as she said. The thought that 'some day' Robin Redbreast might be her home would be quite enough for her, and she already loved her kind old friend sincerely. But one sentence in her sister's speech startled Frances with a quick sharp stab: 'No relations that she cares for.'
Somehow, in the pleasure and excitement of coming to Robin Redbreast, she had forgotten about the Harpers. Now all her old feelings of chivalry for them, and wishes that she could be the means of helping them, rushed back upon her, and she felt as if she had, in some queer way, been faithless, even though she was debarred from doing anything, debarred even from telling Jacinth all she knew. And Frances was unaccustomed to hide her feelings; her face at once grew grave and almost distressed looking.
'What is the matter, Frances?' said Jacinth. 'You are such a kill-joy. What are you looking so reproachful about?'
'I didn't mean—I'm not looking reproachful,' said Frances; 'it was only—oh, just something of my own I was thinking of.'
'Well then, I wish you would think of something cheerful, and not screw your face up as if you were going to cry. I don't want Lady Myrtle to think we've been quarrelling up here.'
Frances swallowed down a lump in her throat, which was far too apt to come there on small provocation.
'Of course Lady Myrtle would never think such a thing, or if she did, she would only think I was naughty or silly or something. She'd never dream ofyoubeing anything but perfect, Jass. I do like her for that,' said Frances.
'You should like her for everything. I'm sure she's as kind as she can possibly be,' said Jacinth.
'Yes,' said Frances, 'she is.'
Then they ran down-stairs again to the library, where Lady Myrtle had told them she would be. They found her improving her acquaintance with Eugene, who waschattering away in a most confiding and friendly fashion, even retailing to her his self-congratulation at having been the first cause of their making friends.
'For you see if I hadn't been so fir—wursty,' with a great effort, 'that day, andmadeJacinth let me ask; no,' suddenly recollecting himself, 'she didn't let me, but you heard me over the wall, Lady Myrtle; that was it, wasn't it? So it did come of me being wursty, didn't it?'
'Yes, my dear, of course it did,' the old lady replied, with a smile.
But just then the luncheon gong sounded and they all made their way into the dining-room. All went well till about half-way through the meal, when a sudden thought struck Lady Myrtle.
'Oh Jacinth, my dear,' she said, 'I was forgetting to tell you. Your young friend at school, Honor Falmouth,isthe niece of my friend. I was writing to her husband the other day about a business matter—he is one of my trustees—and I asked the question. I thought it would interest you to hear it.'
'Yes,' said Jacinth, 'of course it does. She is a very nice girl indeed, but she is a good deal older than I. She plays beautifully, and next term she is going somewhere—to Germany, I think—for the best music lessons she can have. Did you play the harp, when you were a girl, Lady Myrtle?' she went on rather eagerly. She was vaguely anxious to change the conversation, for she had still a half-nervous fear of Frances's indiscretion should the subject of their school-fellows be entered upon.
'The harp!' repeated Lady Myrtle, half-absently; 'no, my love, I never was very musical. But your grandmother sang charmingly.' And Jacinth, believing she was launchedon long-ago reminiscences, began to breathe freely, when suddenly the old lady reverted to the former topic.
'How much older than you is Honor?' she inquired.
'About three years. I think she is eighteen, but I'm not quite sure,' said Jacinth.
'I was wondering,' said Lady Myrtle, 'if she would like to come to luncheon some day when you are with me. Or is there any other among your friends you care more for?'
'No,' said Jacinth, 'I think I like Honor as much as any.'
Frances was listening with the greatest interest; her mouth half-open, her knife and fork suspended in their operations. Lady Myrtle caught sight of her absorbed face and smiled.
'Haveyouany friend you would like to ask to come here some day?' she said, kindly. 'If it were summer it would be different; we might have a strawberry feast.'
Frances grew crimson, painfully crimson.
'Ohhowsilly she is!' thought Jacinth.
'Thank you,' stammered Frances. 'I—I don't know. I don't think so.'
'Come, you must think it over,' said Lady Myrtle, imagining the child was consumed with shyness. 'Who are your favourite friends, or have you any special favourites?'
'Yes,' replied Frances, in an agony, increased by the consciousness of Jacinth's eye, but fully remembering, too, that in replying truthfully she was violating no confidence; 'yes, I'm much the fondest of Bessie and Margaret, but they mightn't come. I don't think it would be any use inviting any of them, except a big one like Honor, thank you.'
'Ah! well I know Miss Scarlett is strict, and rightly so, I daresay,' said the old lady. 'Who are these friends of yours—Bessie and Margaret what?'
'Bessie and Margaret Harper,' said Frances, bluntly; 'that's their name.'
A look of perplexity crossed Lady Myrtle's face. 'Harper,' she repeated. 'Bessie and Margaret Harper. No, I never heard of them. But still'——And the lines on her face seemed visibly to harden. 'Ah well, I will only ask Honor Falmouth then. You must see about it, Jacinth, and let me know when I should write to her or to Miss Scarlett.'
And then they talked of other things, Jacinth exerting herself doubly, to prevent Lady Myrtle's noticing Frances's silence and constraint. But afterwards, when they were by themselves for a moment, she took her sister to task.
'Why did you speak of the Harpers?' she said; 'and why, still worse, if you thought you shouldn't have named them, did you look so silly and ashamed as if you had done something wrong? I daresay you felt uncomfortable because, as Aunt Alison said, there have been such disagreeables in Lady Myrtle's family, and these Harpers may be some relations of hers. But—couldn't you have managed not to mention them?'
Frances looked quite as distressed as Jacinth could have expected—or more so. 'I'm sure I didn't mean to speak of them,' she said. Her meekness disarmed Jacinth.
'Well never mind,' she said reassuringly. 'I daresay Lady Myrtle didn't notice; at least, if she did, she couldn't have thought you knew anything about her family affairs.Idon't want to hear about them; I'd rather not knowwhat sort of relations the Harpers are, or if they're any. Don't think any more about them.'
And with this, Frances had to be or to appear content. But besides the little Jacinth knew, she had her own sorer feelings. Though Bessie and Margaret had scrupulously carried out the advice, Frances could see, they had received from home, and while as affectionate as ever to her, refrained from the very slightest allusion to family affairs or even to Robin Redbreast, yet, now that her eyes were opened as it were, Frances noticed many things that had not struck her before. As the season advanced and the weather grew colder, most of the girls appeared in new and comfortably warmer garments, for Thetford stands high and is a 'bracing' place. Well-lined ulsters, fur-trimmed jackets, muffs and boas, were the order of the day. But not so for Bessie and Margaret. They wore the same somewhat threadbare serges; the same not very substantial gray tweeds on Sundays, which had done duty since they came to school; the same little black cloth jackets out-of-doors, with only the addition of a knitted 'cross-over' underneath. And one day, admiring Frances's pretty muff, and congratulating her on the immunity from chilblains it must afford, poor little Margaret confided to her impulsively that she had never possessed such a treasure in her life.
'It is one of the things I have always wished for so,' she said simply, 'though these woollen gloves that Camilla knits us are really very good.'
Then on another occasion both sisters consulted their friend on a most important matter. It was going to be mother's birthday. Theymustsend her something; they had never been away from her on her birthday before, and at home one could always make something or find out what shewanted a good while before, so as to prepare.CouldFrances think of anything? She must be used to thinking of things that could go by post because of her mother being in India; only—and here Bessie's eager face flushed a little, and Margaret's grave eyes grew graver—'you see it mustn't cost much; that's the worst of it.'
Frances tried not to look too sympathising.
'I know,' she said. 'I quite understand, for of course we haven't ever much money to spend. I will try to think of something.'
And for once she thoroughly enlisted Jacinth's sympathy for her friends. Possibly, far down in Jacinth's heart, candid and loyal by nature, lay a consciousness that, notwithstanding the plausible and, to a certain extent, sound reasons for not meddling in other people's affairs, and for refraining from all 'Harper' allusions to Lady Myrtle, she was going farther than she needed in her avoidance of these girls, in her determination not to know anything about their family or their possible connection with her old lady. Her conscience was not entirely at rest. And in a curious undefined way she was now and then grateful for Frances's ready kindness to Bessie and Margaret: it seemed a vicarious making up for the something which she felt she herself was withholding. And this little appeal touched her sympathy; so that with a good deal of tact—more tact than Frances, blunt and blundering, could have shown—she helped to suggest and carry out a really charming little birthday present, most of the materials for which she had 'by her,' lying useless, only asking to be made into something.
Never had Bessie Harper felt so ready to make a friend of the undemonstrative girl; never had Francie herself felt more drawn to her elder sister.
And the little present was carefully packed and sent off; and the tender mother's letter of thanks, when it came, was read to the Mildmays as but their due, and for a while it seemed as if the friendship was to extend from a trio into a quartette!
But alas! a very few days after the cheery letter from Southcliff, Frances, spending a holiday afternoon at Ivy Lodge, as often happened, especially when Jacinth was with Lady Myrtle, found Bessie Harper pale and anxious, and Margaret's eyes suspiciously red. What was the matter?
'We didn't want to tell you about our home troubles,' said Bessie. 'I'm sure it's better not, because of—you know what. But I must tell you a little. It's—it's a letter from Camilla. Father has been so much worse lately, and they didn't want to tell us. They hoped it was only rheumatism with the cold weather. But—mother managed to get him up to London to see the great doctor, and—he gave a very bad report.'
Here Bessie's voice failed.
'He's not going to die?—oh don't say that!' burst out Frances in her heedless way.
Margaret flung out her hands wildly.
'Oh Bessie,' she cried, 'is that what it really means?'
Bessie looked almost angrily at Frances.
'No, no,' she exclaimed; 'of course not. Frances, why did you say that? Margaret, you are so fanciful. Of course it is not that. It is just that the doctor says his leg is getting stiffer and stiffer, and unless something can be done—some treatment in London first, and afterwards a course of German baths—he is afraid dad must becomequitea cripple—quite helpless. And that would be dreadful. It's bad enough when people are rich'—it was sad to hear theold sad 'refrain' of poverty, from lips so young—'but when they're poor! Oh no, I can't face the thoughts of it. What would his life be if he could never get out—he is so active in spite of his lameness—if he had to lie always in his poky little room? How would darling mother bear it?'
And then brave Bessie herself broke down and fled away to the house—they were in the garden—to hide herself till she had recovered some degree of calm.