The first Christmas at a strange place or in a new home is always full of mingled feelings. Even when the change has been a happy one, not brought about by sorrows of any kind, the old associations give a sort of melancholy to the thankfulness and joy we all wish to feel at this time. And for the young Mildmays it was more than natural that the sadness should predominate.
'Only a year agohowdifferent it was!' sighed Frances, the first morning of the holidays, when there was no school to hurry off to—nothing particular to do or look forward to. 'I shall be very glad when it's time to begin lessons again.'
'I don't see why you should feel so particularly gloomy just now,' said Jacinth, not unkindly. 'Things might have been a good deal worse than they are.'
'People can always say that,' replied Frances. 'If you've got to have a leg cut off, you can say to yourself it might have been both legs. I daresay having Robin Redbreast to go to makes it much nicer for you; I suppose you'll go there a good deal during the holidays. But it doesn't make much difference to me. Lady Myrtle doesn't ask me often, and I don't want her to. I'm quite glad for you to go there, but it's not the same for me.'
And again she sighed.
'Whatwouldmake you happier, then?' asked Jacinth.
'Oh, I don't know. Nothing that could be, I suppose. Nothing will make very much difference till papa and mamma come home. There are one or two things that are making me particularly unhappy, besides the thinking it's Christmas and how changed everything is, but—I daresay it's no good speaking of them.'
'I know what one of them is,' said Jacinth. 'I can guess it: shall I tell you what it is?'
'If you like,' Frances replied.
'It's about the Harpers—Bessie and Margaret—not coming back again to school,' said her sister.
'How did you know about it?' inquired Frances. 'They didn't tell even me—not really. But I know they were very sad about their father being so much worse, and once, a few days ago, Bessie said it was almost settled they were going to let their house at that place where they live, and that their father and mother were going to be a long time in London, and of course that will cost a lot of money—the going to London, I mean. And—I could tell,' and Frances's voice sounded rather suspicious—'I could tell—by the way, they kissed me—when—when they said good-bye—I couldtellthey weren't coming back,' and here the choking down of a sob was very audible.
For a wonder Jacinth did not seem at all irritated. Truth to tell, she, too, had felt very sorry for the Harper girls—Bessie especially—and as we know, though she did not allow it to herself, her conscience was not entirely at ease about them. Something had touched her, too, in Bessie's manner when they bade each other good-bye.
'Will you kiss me, Jacinth?' Bessie had said. 'I have been so glad to know you.'
'I have not felt sorry enough for them perhaps,' Jacinth had allowed to herself. 'But really, there are so many sad things in the world, one would wear one's self out with being sorry for everybody.'
'How did you know about it?' Frances repeated.
'I heard something a good while ago from Honor Falmouth; don't you remember?' said Jacinth. 'And last week she told me more, only she said they didn't want any fuss made about it. She heard it from friends. But Frances, do try and cheer up. You've been as kind—at least as affectionate—as you could be to the Harpers. We hadn't it in our power to ask them here or anything like that. I'm sure you tried to get Aunt Alison to ask them, over and over again. And you won't do them any good by crying about their troubles, you know, dear. Perhaps they may come back to school some time or other, even if they're away next term.'
'Thank you, dear Jass,' said Frances, wiping her eyes. 'You're very kind. I'll try and not be dull.'
She would perhaps have been less grateful for Jacinth's sympathy had she understood the relief it was to her sister, notwithstanding her genuine pity for them, to know that the Harpers were not likely to be associated with them any more. Their presence at Ivy Lodge, ever since the acquaintance with Lady Myrtle—more especially since Jacinth herself had become fully informed as to the whole history—had been a perpetual irritation and almost a reproach to her. And the pertinacity with which she repeated to herself that it was not her business to take up the cudgels in the Harpers' behalf, of itself suggested a weak point somewhere—a touch of the self-excusing which tries to whiten over the unacknowledged self-blame.
Now, Jacinth could afford to let herself feel sorry for Bessie and Margaret and their family—could even picture to herself ways in which some day, in some vague future, she and Frances might show kindness to their former school-fellows.
'If I were rich,' thought Jacinth, 'they're just the sort of people I'd love to be good to; of course one would have to do it very carefully, so as not to offend them.'
Frances was still looking somewhat lugubrious when the door opened and Miss Mildmay senior came in. It was not very often that their aunt paid the girls a visit in their own little sitting-room, and they both looked up with some curiosity.
'I had a letter from Lady Myrtle this morning,' she said. 'I did not want to speak about it before Eugene'—for Eugene had lately been promoted to breakfast down-stairs—'as I was not sure what you and Frances would wish about it. It is an invitation for you all—Eugene too—to spend Christmas at Robin Redbreast. Christmastime, I should say. Lady Myrtle invites you all three for a week, and Jacinth for a fortnight. What do you say?'
Frances said nothing, but Jacinth looked up quickly.
'I think it would be unnatural for us all to go away from you for Christmas, Aunt Alison,' she said.
Miss Mildmay smiled.
'A lonely Christmas would be nothing new to me, my dear child,' she said; but she spoke without any bitterness.
'I'llstay with you, Aunt Alison,' said Frances, eagerly. 'I really don't care about going to Robin Redbreast, and it's Jacinth Lady Myrtle wants. Do let me and Eugene stay here; Eugene needn't be told about it at all.'
'Thank you, my dear,' said their aunt. 'Thank youboth. But—do not think me ungracious—when I spoke of a lonely Christmas, I only meant that I have not been used to a family party. I am always very happy and very busy on Christmas—and I think I should be missed if I were not here. I should have told you that Lady Myrtle very kindly invites me too—for Christmas Day—but that would not suit me at all. Imustbe here in the evening, and indeed I am wanted all day; but I was trying to arrange to do less, so as to be with you three in the afternoon at least.'
'Then—to put it plainly—it would be rather a relief to you for us all to be away?' asked Jacinth.
'Well, yes—in a sense it would. That is to say, if I knew you were happy and well looked after,' said Miss Mildmay, smiling again.
'There, Francie,' said Jacinth, 'you see it is much the best thing that could have happened. And of course you and Eugene must come. I suppose we shall take Phebe, Aunt Alison?'
'Certainly, my dear.'
The mention of Phebe seemed to cheer Frances. 'I shouldn't mind so much, if Eugene and I could go walks,' she said. 'But you know, Aunt Alison, Jassmustbe a great deal with Lady Myrtle, and I shouldn't know what to do all day, and Eugene wouldn't either.'
'It'll be all right, you'll see,' said Jacinth, who, now that she was satisfied as to her aunt, felt in high spirits. 'You can go about just as you like with Phebe, and it's only for a week. I don't think I should stay more than a week, Aunt Alison?'
'I cannot say,' her aunt replied. 'I almost think you should, if Lady Myrtle wishes it. That week—the weekafter Christmas week—I think I could help to amuse Frances and Eugene. We shall be having our children's feasts, and they could be very useful.'
'Ishouldlike that!' said Frances eagerly.
So all seemed satisfactory, and Miss Mildmay left them, to write her answer to Lady Myrtle. Human nature is very inconsistent. The maiden lady of a certain age could not repress a sigh as she sat down at her desk: she had not realised till now that all was changed; how she had been looking forward to something like an orthodox Christmas for once, in her prim old house—how she had been planning about the plum-puddings and cakes, even while groaning a little over the reversal of her usual habits!
'But it is much better as it is,' she decided. 'They will be quite happy, and poor old Lady Myrtle will be less lonely than for many years. She may be a good friend to Eugenia and the children in the future. And as for me, I don't know how they would have managed without me at St Blaise's, after all.'
And the young Mildmays—Frances included—werevery happy at Robin Redbreast.
Things settled themselves very much as Jacinth had foreseen. Under Phebe's care the two younger ones were left free to run about as they chose during such parts of the day as Jacinth found that their hostess liked to have her with herself. And the children were much more accustomed to this sort of life than if they had ever known thorough home care. For even at Stannesley Mrs Denison's age and fragile health had often made it impossible for them to be with her as much as she would have liked: they had early learned to be 'very good at amusing themselves.'
On Christmas Day the large landau, quite roomy enough for half a dozen instead of four, took them all to Elvedon church, where they sat with Lady Myrtle in the square, be-curtained pew—one of those appropriated to the Court, which was kept for the lady from Robin Redbreast.
'It felt very like Stannesley,' was the verdict of the two younger ones, who had not been at Elvedon before, which seemed to please Lady Myrtle.
'Yes,' she said. 'I think you will feel more at home than if you spent the day at Thetford.'
And the prettily decorated rooms, and the old folk who came in for dinner in the servants' hall, and the roast turkey and flaming plum-pudding and snapdragon afterwards—yes, though they were only such a very small party, just they three and the old lady instead of their own granny, and no Uncle Marmy to make his jokes—still itwasmuch more homelike than No. 9 Market Square Place could possibly have been. And when Frances went to bed that night, glancing with pleasure at the pretty presents so thoughtfully provided for her—a dear little gold pencil-case in a bracelet from Lady Myrtle, a pair of gloves from Aunt Alison, and a handkerchief with a red embroidered border from Jacinth and Eugene—the child felt that she had indeed a great many 'good things' to be thankful for.
'If only'——she thought. 'Oh, how I would like to think that Bessie and Margaret are happy too! I am so afraid that they are very, very sad about their father.'
Christmas Day was a Thursday. It was always considered a lucky coincidence by the young Mildmays when letters from their far-off parents reached them on the very day of any anniversary. But this year the Christmas budget only arrived the morning before Frances and Eugene werereturning to Thetford. Miss Mildmay sent it on by a special messenger, knowing how anxious her nieces would be to get their letters. And a mysterious allusion in the little note from her which accompanied them made Jacinth start and call out to Frances.
'Look at what Aunt Alison says, before you read your letter, Francie. What can she mean?'
This was what Jacinth pointed to: 'I have heard from your father and mother also,' wrote Miss Mildmay. 'The great piece of news will surprise you as much as it has surprised me. I shall be glad to have you back again to talk it all over.' The sisters stared at each other, their lips parted and their breath coming quickly.
Then said Jacinth at last: 'It can't be anythingwrong, Francie. Aunt Alison never would have written of it like that, if it had been.'
'No,' said Frances, though her voice was rather tremulous; 'of course it can't be.'
'And,' continued Jacinth, 'how silly we are to sit here wondering about it, when we've only to look at our letters to know! Here goes, Francie!' and she tore open her own envelope; 'let's see which of us will get at it first.'
Frances unfastened her letter more deliberately. It was a much shorter one than Jacinth's, and she had scarcely glanced at the first few lines when she sprang from her seat with a sort of shriek.
'They're coming home, Jass! that's the secret. Oh Jass, Jass, listen: "As I may hope to see you before long, my darling, I won't attempt to write very much." That's it. Oh Jassie, sweet, they're coming home!'
Jacinth's face had grown pink, then white again, whiter than usual, as she rapidly ran through her own letter.
'Yes,' she said at last, 'it's—no, it's notquiteso good as that. Mamma's coming first: she'll be here in the spring; but papa's not coming for some months later. He's got to go somewhere for some kind of inspection, where mamma couldn't go with him, and after that, he's got six months' leave, which may or may not—I don't quite understand. Listen, Francie: "During this leave your father will have time to decide as to the future. It is possible he may have the offer of an appointment in England, which would obviate the necessity of our returning to India. But even if he has this chance, there are fors and againsts to consider: the appointment is not in some ways a very desirable one; it would oblige us to live for some, perhaps for several years in a large manufacturing town in the north of England, and it would be very hard work for your father. Still, we might—weshouldbe all together."'
Frances heaved a deep sigh of intense longing.
'Oh yes,' she said, 'that would beeverything.'
'No, I don't see that it would be,' said Jacinth. 'I shouldhateliving in a place like that; and then think of the hard work for papa. When he does come home I want him to be quite his own master, and, and—to be rather grand, you know. I should not mind his having an appointment in London, or some county thing that wouldn't give him much to do, about here perhaps. But to go and slave in some horrid dirty place where there would be no one we could speak to; that would be a come-down after the position he has had in India.'
'Oh Jass,' said Frances, 'don't let us spoil this beautiful news by thinking of anything disagreeable. Papa must know best, far better than we can. Do go on reading the letter. Mamma says I'm to ask you everything.'
Jacinth's eyes returned to the sheets in her hand. Her face cleared a little.
'There's something else,' she said. 'Oh, I should like thatfarbetter. Listen, Frances: "Your father has also the certainty of a good—as to position and agreeableness—appointment in London; but the pay would be much, much less, so he is not taking this into consideration. So the chances are that we may have to return to India after his leave is over, and be joined by you, dear Jass, a year later; though at worst I hope we shall be settled in England before my little Francie would be ready to come out. But I don't mean to think of anything at present but the unexpected joy of seeing you all three again so soon. I am writing to your aunt, to know if she can find a little house at Thetford where we can be together. You will just have been one year with her, and I do thank her for her care of you. It all seems to have fitted in so well. When you see Lady Myrtle Goodacre, thank her again from me for her kindness to you, and tell her what a pleasure it has been to me to think of it. Tell her, too, how much I am looking forward to meeting again my mother's dearest friend."'
'You will tell Lady Myrtle at once,' said Frances.
'Yes, of course,' said Jacinth, but she spoke half absently. Her eyes were still fixed on her mother's letter.
'Idon't see why he shouldn't even "take it into consideration,"' she repeated to herself. 'We can't be so desperately poor as all that.Ishall take it into consideration, any way, my dear mother;' and she smiled a little. 'Yes, Frances,' she went on, looking up, and speaking more decidedly; 'of course I'll tell Lady Myrtle. I think I'll go and tell her now. I know she is alone in the boudoir. And, Francie, you may tell Eugene.'
'May I?' exclaimed Frances, jumping up. 'Oh, thank you, Jass. I'm not sure,' she went on, 'I'm not sure that Eugene can feel quite so—sowildwith happiness as I do. Oh Jass, it is almost too much. It takes my breath away.' She was running out of the room, when she looked back for a moment.
'Jass,' she began with a little hesitation, 'does mamma say anything more about Mrs Lyle,theiraunt, you know? I wonder if she has seen her again?'
'She is sure to have seen her again. They are living close together,' said Jacinth. 'But she doesn't say anything about her in this letter. Why should she?' Jacinth's tone was growing a little acrid. 'May she not for once be taken up with our own affairs? what can be more important than all she has to tell us? I do wish, Frances, you wouldn't drag these Harpers into everything; it is really bad taste.'
Frances was not very clear as to what 'bad taste' meant, but she was very sorry to have vexed Jacinth.
'It was only,' she said, 'only that it seems as if all the happiness were coming to us, and all the troubles to them. And I was so glad mamma was sorry for them.'
'You speak as if they were our nearest relations,' said Jacinth, 'instead of being, as they are, actual strangers.'
But she was not sure if Frances heard her. She had already run off.
Jacinth followed her down-stairs more slowly. They had been sitting in the elder girl's bedroom, which, with its cheerful outlook and pleasant arrangements of writing-table and bookcases and sofa, and fire burning brightly, was rather a favourite resort of theirs in the morning, before Lady Myrtle was free from her various occupations. For she was a busy and methodical old lady.
The staircase was one of the pretty features of Robin Redbreast: though a spiral one, the steps were pleasantly shallow, and every here and there it was lighted by quaintly shaped windows.
'How I love this house!' said Jacinth to herself, as she passed out round the gallery, already described, on into the conservatory, even at that mid-winter season a blaze of lovely brilliant colour. 'If—oh, if it were going to be our home some time or other, how beautiful it would be to look forward to! how delightful it would make mamma's coming back! I can't bear to think of papa's having that horrid appointment up in the north. I'd rather keep on as we are, and go out to India when I'm old enough.'
She had loitered a moment among the flowers; the door of Lady Myrtle's boudoir was slightly ajar; the old lady's ears were quick; she heard even the slight rustle of Jacinth's skirts, and called out to her.
'Is that you, dear Jacinth? Come in—I have finished my letters and accounts, and was just going to send for you.'
And as the girl hastened in, Lady Myrtle looked up with a bright smile of welcome. It was pleasant to be thus greeted: a change from Aunt Alison's calm unimpassioned placidity.
'Dear Lady Myrtle,' said Jacinth, 'I don't know how to tell you our news. We have got our Christmas letters from papa and mamma; Aunt Alison sent out a messenger on purpose with them. And Francie and I have just read them. And—what do you think?'
She sat down on a stool at Lady Myrtle's feet and looked up in her face. The old lady laid her hand fondly on the girl's soft hair.
'Nothing wrong, dear; I can see by your face. What can it be? Not—it can't be that they are coming home?'
Jacinth's eyes sparkled.
'Yes, indeed,' she said; 'that's just what it is. At least it's not quite that they're coming home for good; I wish it were. But if you like, if it won't bother you, I'll read you mamma's letter.'
'Yes, do, dear,' said the old lady.
And Jacinth did so, congratulating herself on what had disappointed Frances, that there was no mention at all in this letter of the Harper family or Mrs Lyle.
Lady Myrtle listened with evidently extreme interest. When Jacinth had finished, there was a moment or two's silence. Then Lady Myrtle said quietly but decidedly: 'She must come straight here—your mother, I mean. I shall write to her myself. Don't you think that will be best? It will be the greatest satisfaction to me to see her—little Eugenia—how proud your dear grandmother was of her! A fair-haired, brown-eyed little creature. Not so like my Jacinth as you are, child. But that, one could not expect. It is not often that one sees such a likeness as yours to your grandmother. But I am so thankful to know I may hope to see your mother. Sometimes I have feared'——But here Lady Myrtle broke off without finishing her sentence. 'Jacinth, I want you to talk about it. What can I say to ensure her coming to me? I want to make her feel that it will be really like coming home?'
'Saythatto her, dear Lady Myrtle,' Jacinth replied. 'Nothing could touch her more. And I am sure she will love to come here, at any rate for a while, at first. You see she speaks of living at Thetford till papa comes—of having a little house there and us with her. There would not be room in Aunt Alison's house, and besides, I think mamma would like to feel more independent with us three.'
Jacinth sat down on a stool at Lady Myrtle's feet and looked up in her face.Jacinth sat down on a stool at Lady Myrtle's feet and looked up in her face.
'Of course. I would not at all advise her living in Market Square Place, even if there were room,' said Lady Myrtle. 'In a small house, and with your aunt being accustomed to be the authority—no, it would not do. But there would be no such difficulties here. Your mother must come to me first, and you three must be here, too, to meet her. And then, later on, if she thinks it better to take a little house—well, I shall not oppose her. I am not an unreasonable old woman, am I, my child?'
'No, indeed,' said Jacinth warmly. 'And'—with a little smile—'I know mamma is verysensible. I can tell it by her letters, and even by what I remember of her. She is eager and hearty—sometimes Francie reminds me of her—but she is never fanciful or obstinate. It sounds impertinent of me talking like that of her, but I think you will understand. And I am sure you and mamma will suit each other.'
'I am sure we shall, dear, though, in a sense,youwill always seem themostof your grandmother to me, Jacinth. You see my most vivid memory of her is about your age; it is really as if she had come back to me, sometimes.'
'I do so love you to say that,' said Jacinth.
'But I want to speak of all your mother writes,' the old lady went on. 'I—there can be no harm in my talking to you quite frankly, for I see your mother confides in you, and she is quite right to do so. Jacinth—I don't like the idea of that post, whatever it is, at Barmettle.'
Jacinth drew a deep breath of relief.
'Oh, I am so glad you think so,' she said. 'I scarcely liked to say it—it seems selfish—if it would save papa'sgoing out again, and he has had so much of India; but itwouldbe rather horrid, wouldn't it? And almost a come-down, it seems to me. The other appointment in London would be so much nicer, only living at allnicelyin London is so dear, and the pay is smaller. Perhaps it will end after all in papa and mamma going back to India, and my joining them in two or three years.'
Lady Myrtle put out her hand, and clasped Jacinth's firmly in hers.
'No, my child,' she said. 'That must not be. I think when one gets as old as I am, one may be a little selfish; that is to say, if one's selfishness does no one any harm. And your parents have had enough of India; there can be no necessity for their return there, nor for your joining them. No, I could not consent to lose you again—the one thing that has been sent to cheer me! Put all such possibilities out of your mind, my Jacinth. I will write to your mother.'
'And what shall I say to her?' asked Jacinth. 'About all you have said, I mean.'
'Refer her to me. But tell her how you are all—weare all—counting on her coming first to Robin Redbreast, and that then we shall be able to talk over everything. Tell her I cannot consent to giving you up; tell her, as I hope you can, that this place is beginning to feel like home to you.'
'You know I feel it so, dear Lady Myrtle,' said Jacinth simply. 'I think I have been happier here already than I have ever been anywhere else. And I am so glad this news has come while we were here. It makes it doubly delightful. And we shall remember that it came to us here—this Christmas week.'
There was a great writing of letters during the next day or two at Robin Redbreast. And both Lady Myrtle and the children found it difficult to give their attention to anything but the absorbing subject of Mrs Mildmay's return.
And in response to a pressing invitation from the old lady, Miss Mildmay actually managed to spare or make time to come out to Robin Redbreast to 'spend the day'—that is to say, three or four hours of it, so that she and Lady Myrtle might have a talk about the plans under discussion.
The day chosen was the one in which Frances and Eugene were to return to Market Square Place. The big carriage was to take them and their aunt and Phebe home in the afternoon, leaving Jacinth for another week at Robin Redbreast.
Never had her nieces found Miss Mildmay so pleasant and almost genial. She was greatly delighted at the news of her sister-in-law's return—delighted and relieved. For it had begun to strike her rather uncomfortably that what she had undertaken was all but an impossibility. She was very conscientious, as I have said, and no self-deceiver. She saw that the girls, as they grew older, were becoming not less but more in need of sympathy and guidance in theirout-of-school life—sympathy and guidance which at best she felt very doubtful of being able to give them,evenif she sacrificed all the other duties and occupations which had for so many years made her life, for their sakes. And the sacrifice would have been a very tremendous one.
The doubts and perplexities were increasing daily in her mind when there came this most welcome and little expected news, followed by the almost as welcome tidings of Lady Myrtle's eager offer of hospitality to the children's mother.
'It is very good, very, very kind and good of her,' said Miss Mildmay to herself. 'The children's making friends with her really seems to have brought good-luck. And she may be of lasting and substantial help to Frank and Eugenia. Not exactly because she is rich—Frank is far too proud to take anybody's money—but she may have interest that would be of use to him. And there would be nothing unnatural in her leaving something to Eugenia or to Jacinth. I don't suppose she means to leave everything to the Elvedons, for a good deal would have been her own share in any case, and a good deal her husband must have left her. By the bye, I have always forgotten to ask Miss Scarlett if the Harper girls she has, or had—some one said they had left—were any relation to the Elvedon family. Nice girls, evidently, but very badly off, I fancy.'
And then she forgot about the Harpers again.
But with her grateful feelings to Lady Myrtle, Miss Mildmay naturally felt that the least she could do was to clear a day for herself by working extra hard, so as to be able to spend part of it at Robin Redbreast, as the old lady much wished her to do.
And she was in her happiest and most cheerful mood, and all would have gone just as Jacinth wished, but for one unfortunate allusion, which came in the first place, strange to say, from considerate, cautious Miss Alison Mildmay herself.
Lady Myrtle and her new guest had a long talk by themselves in the first place. Then Jacinth, anxiously waiting, heard the boudoir-bell ring, and a message was brought to herself asking her to join them.
'Come in, my dear child,' said her old friend; 'your aunt and I have been enjoying a good talk. It is so pleasant when such things end in people quite agreeing with each other, is it not?' she added, turning to Miss Mildmay with a smile.
Jacinth's anxious face cleared.
'Then you do think Lady Myrtle's plan best, Aunt Alison?' she said.
'I think it a delightful one, for all concerned,' said Miss Mildmay. 'I have been explaining to Lady Myrtle all my—my conflicting feelings. For much as I should like to have your mother with me, I know it would not be as comfortable as I should wish, nor should I be able to see very much of her, unless'——
'Forgive my interrupting you, my dear Miss Mildmay,' interposed Lady Myrtle; 'but I wish you would not worry yourself about all these questions, now that they are settled and done with. Eugenia shall come straight to Robin Redbreast for as long as I can get her to stay, and that will be as long as she wishes. The children, as well as Jacinth,mychild'—and she glanced up affectionately at the young girl standing beside her—'shall be here to receive her, and you too, Miss Mildmay, if you will so far honour me.It will be about Easter probably; there are holidays then, I believe, which will be all the better. And there need never be any difficulty about sending you all three to school and fetching you, even when it is not holiday time. Then if Eugenia prefers to take a little house temporarily at Thetford, I shall leave her free to do so, though I may have my privatehopeson this matter.'
Lady Myrtle's eyes were quite sparkling, and there was a bright colour in her cheeks. It was very pleasant to see her so eager and happy. Jacinth, in spite of her aunt's repressing presence, could not help stooping down and gently kissing the soft old face.
'And to look further forward still,' Lady Myrtle continued, holding Jacinth's hand which she had possessed herself of, 'your aunt and I are of accord on another point, my child. Your father must not return to India; he has had enough of it. And your mother too.'
'Then you think he should accept'——began Jacinth.
'We will not go into particulars,' she replied, patting Jacinth's hand. 'To begin with, Colonel Mildmay has not consulted me. He must first get to know me. But—no, of course that dreadful Barmettle is out of the question. You might almost as well be all in India, as far as I am concerned, for all I should see of you. But all that is some way off still. The first thing to do is to get your mother's promise to come straight here.'
'I am sure she will,' said Jacinth. 'I don't feel any anxiety about that.'
'Nor do I,' said her aunt.
Just then the luncheon gong sounded, and they all went down-stairs in the best of spirits. In the dining-room they were joined by Frances and Eugene, who thanks to thegenial influences of the morning's news, ran up to Miss Mildmay, and kissed her much more effusively than was usual with them.
'How well you are both looking!' she said, and Lady Myrtle glanced round, pleased at the remark. 'I don't think his mother will recognise Eugene,' Miss Mildmay went on. 'Well, no, she could scarcely do that in any case. But I mean to say I think she will find it difficult to believe we are not cheating her altogether when she sees this great, strong, rosy fellow. He was such a poor little specimen!'
'He must have been brought home in time, however,' said Lady Myrtle. 'Ah, yes, our Indian possessions cost us dear in some ways. Though it is nothing to the old days; my people were soldiers for generations you know, so we had full experience of these difficulties. I and my brothers were born in India; my father was only captain in his regiment when he came into the Elvedon title and property unexpectedly. He would have lived to be very distinguished, I feel sure, if he had not left the army;' and she sighed a little.
'But you have distinguished relatives in the army still,' said Miss Mildmay. 'The Captain Harper who was wounded at——after his most gallant conduct. He is a relation, is he not? I heard about him from Miss Scarlett: you know his daughters were at Ivy Lodge, and'——
'Indeed!' said Lady Myrtle, and a very strange expression came into her voice—not annoyance, not even constraint—more like a sort of repressed anxiety and painful apprehensiveness. 'Indeed! No, I do not remember—what were you going to say?'
For Miss Mildmay had stopped abruptly. She was seatedopposite Jacinth, and as she got to her last words, some consciousness made her glance across the table at her elder niece. In an instant she saw her mistake, and recalled her own vague warnings to the girls to avoid allusions to Lady Myrtle's family history. But she was far from cowardly, and essentially candid. And in her mind there had been no mingling of any selfish motive; nothing but the desire to prevent any possible annoyance to their kind old friend had prompted her few words of advice to the girls. And now the strange look—a look almost of restrained anger—on Jacinth's face positively startled her.
'I may have been mistaken in my impression that the family in question was in any way related to you,' she said quietly. 'One should be more cautious in such matters.'
'Yes,' said Lady Myrtle, nervously, 'I think you must have been mistaken. I do not know anything of such people, and Harper is not a very uncommon name. By the way, that reminds me—was it you, my dear?' and she turned somewhat abruptly to Frances—'was it not you who once mentioned some school-fellows of the name, and afterwards something was said which removed the impression that they could possibly be Elvedon Harpers? I am confused about it.'
All this time Frances's eyes had been fixed on her plate; she had scarcely dared to breathe since her aunt's allusion. Now she looked up, bravely, though her cheeks were flaming and her heart beating as if to choke her. An inner voice seemed to tell her that the moment had come forsomethingto be said—the something which even Camilla Harper in her letter had not debarred her from, which her own mother had hoped some opportunity might arise for.
And in spite of Jacinth's stony face, and her aunt's evident wish to change the subject which she herself had brought on to thetapis, Frances spoke out.
'Yes, Lady Myrtle,' she said clearly. 'It was I that spoke about Bessie and Margaret Harper. They were at school with us then, and before that, their big sister Camilla was there. But they've left now, I'm afraid,' and her voice trembled a little. 'I think it's because their father's very ill, and it costs a lot, and they're not at all rich. They're the very nicest girls in the world; oh, theyareso good and nice.—You said so too, Jacinth?'
Lady Myrtle's eyes turned to Jacinth.
'Yes,' the elder girl replied coldly; 'I believe they are very nice girls. But I did not know them nearly as well as you, Frances. I do not care for making friends as you do.'
'No,' said Frances, rather lamely. 'I know you don't; but still I'd like you to tell Lady Myrtle how nice they are.'
'Why should it interest Lady Myrtle to hear about your school-fellows, my dear?' said Miss Mildmay, surprised and a little annoyed by Frances's rather pertinacious manner. 'These girls are very nice, I have no doubt; indeed I recollect Miss Scarlett speaking very highly of them; but no one doubts it. I think all your school-fellows must be nice girls—not only the Harpers. And the name may be a mere coincidence. I have never heard certainly that they were of the Elvedon family.'
Lady Myrtle had not seemed to be attending to what Miss Mildmay said. She was speaking to herself.
'"Camilla,"' she murmured softly, '"Camilla" and "Margaret." Not "Bessie;" no I never heard of a Bessie, and"Margaret" is not uncommon. But "Camilla"—yes, I suppose it must be.'
But just as she said this, Miss Mildmay's last words—the good lady had rather an emphatic way of speaking—rang out clearly: 'I have never heard certainly that they were of the Elvedon family.'
'That's just it,' said Frances, and by this time Lady Myrtle's attention was fully caught. 'Of course I don't mean to contradict you, Aunt Alison, but Idoknow they're the same family, and so they are relations of Lady Myrtle's. And it's not only that I like them. I'm so very sorry for them, soverysorry. They are all so good, and they have so very, very many troubles,' and here the irrepressible tears rose to poor Frances's eyes, and she turned her head away abruptly.
Lady Myrtle glanced at her and then at Jacinth. Jacinth's face was quiet and very grave.
'You are a very loyal friend, I see, Frances,' said the old lady; and rather to every one's surprise the words were accompanied by a little smile, and then she turned to Jacinth.
'I don't think you have ever named these—these Harpers—to me, have you, my dear?' she asked.
Jacinth looked up at once.
'No,' she said; 'I have not, and I have refrained from doing so on purpose. I—I did not think it concerned me, and you might not have liked it. I—I should be so sorry to vex you.'
The appeal in her eyes touched Lady Myrtle more than Frances's tears. And in what she said, so far as it went, Jacinth was sincere. She did shrink from any possible allusion that could annoy or upset her kind friend; and theselfish motives underlying the prejudice, almost amounting to positive dislike, which she had allowed to take root in her feelings to the Harpers, she blinded herself to, or called by some other name.
Lady Myrtle was silent, but there was no resentment in her face. She only looked sad—very, very sad.
'You know these girls very much less well than Frances did,' said Miss Mildmay, whose sympathies were just now all with Jacinth. 'You see,' she went on, turning to her hostess, 'Frances has been in the habit of spending holiday afternoons at school—sometimes when you had kindly invited Jacinth here, on a Saturday, for instance.'
Lady Myrtle started a little. Her thoughts had been far away. She leaned forward and took hold of Jacinth's hand—Jacinth was sitting next to her, and the servants had left the room—and patted it affectionately.
'Of course. I know Jacinth is very, very thoughtful for me,' she said. 'And I see that you understand it, my dear Miss Mildmay. Not that I am vexed with little Frances. I like children to be children, and of all things I like a loyal friend.'
Then she at once and with evident intention, which the others were quick to read, changed the subject of conversation. On the whole, vexed though she was with Frances's persistence—'self-willed obstinacy' as she called it to herself—Jacinth felt that the dreaded crisis had passed off better than might have been expected, and in some things it was a relief. Things were on a clearer basis now.
'It was bound to come, I suppose,' she said to herself. 'Mamma seems almost as impulsive and quixotic as Frances—quite bewitched by these people. But at worst there'snothing more to tell now, and Lady Myrtle appreciates my feelings if no one else does.'
Frances, on her side, though her heart was still beating tumultuously, felt glad that she had had the courage and opportunity to say what she had. But for her dread of a private reprimand from Jacinth afterwards, the little girl would on the whole have had a somewhat lightened heart about her friends. For, as she said to herself, 'Lady Myrtle had certainly not seemed angry.'
Strange to say, the anticipated reproof from Jacinth never came. It was true there was not much time for any private talk between the sisters, for Frances and Eugene went back to Market Square Place that same afternoon with their aunt. But even when, a week later, Jacinth herself rejoined them there a day or two before the reopening of Ivy Lodge school, there was no mention of the Harpers, and no allusion to what had passed at luncheon the day of Miss Mildmay's visit to Robin Redbreast.
'Can it be that Lady Myrtle is really going to be kind to them, and that she told Jacinth not to be vexed with me?' thought sanguine little Frances. She would have felt less hopeful had she known that not one word had passed between her sister and the old lady on the subject of her unknown relations. And Jacinth had simply made up her mind to think no more about them; her conscience now being, or so at least she told herself, completely at rest—the matter entirely out of her hands.
It was the easier to carry out this resolution that Bessie and Margaret's places were vacant, though no one seemed very clearly to understand why they had not returned, and the Misses Scarlett expressed the heartiest regret that they had not done so. Honor Falmouth too had left, but thishad been known by anticipation to her companions for some time. And in the little world of a school, as in the bigger world outside, it is not for long that the circles in the waters of daily life mark the spot of any disappearance; it has to be so, and does not necessarily imply either heartlessness or caprice. We are limited as to our powers in all directions—the more marvellous that somewhere, invisible, unsuspected, our innermost self lives on. And far down, below the surface restlessness and change, may we not hope that we shall find again the fibres of loving friendships and pure affections whose roots were deep and true, though at times it may seem that like other precious and beautiful things they were but as a dream?
Frances missed her friends sadly, the more so that not knowing their exact address, and half afraid also to do such a thing on her own responsibility, she could not write to them. But nothing depressed Frances now for very long or very deeply. She had found a panacea. All would be right soon, 'when mamma comes home.'