SHEILA.ByEVELYN EVERETT-GREEN, Author of “Greyfriars,” “Half-a-dozen Sisters,” etc.CHAPTER VIII.MONCKTON MANOR.“Theyought to have asked me too,” said Effie, looking rather black. “I call it quite rude; but these grand county people always are so rude.”“Oh, but, Effie, I am only going to practise accompaniments! I go to River Street for that, and you don’t mind. Why should you mind this? We never can get those difficult passages right without a proper, long, steady practice, and one can’t get it at the hall. Everybody is wanting their turn; and I get flurried with so much chattering and noise. I thought it such a good idea when Miss Lawrence asked me to come to the Manor.”“She should have asked me too, then,” said Effie, with a pout. “Notthat I care about going. I’m not such a great admirer of May Lawrence or her voice; it’s too low and gruff for me.”“Oh, not gruff; it’s a beautiful, rich contralto. It’s quite a pleasure to hear her.”“Oh, you think so because she likes your playing, and butters you up! But, anyhow, I don’t think much of it, and I do say she ought to have asked me too.”“People know you are delicate; they don’t like to bother you to take long drives,” suggested Sheila pacifically; but Effie was cross and would not be amiable, though she ceased to make complaints about not being asked with Sheila to the Manor.“How are you going?”“I thought I would ride Shamrock. Then I should be quite independent. Cyril is going there for a day’s fishing, and he can bring me back.”Again Effie’s face darkened. She did not say anything this time, but she had a feeling as though Sheila was cutting her out of everything. She was keenly alive to the fact that, though Cyril’s visits were paid more frequently now, it was Sheila who engrossed the bulk of his notice. Effie, with all her tendency to selfishness, fostered by her mode of life, had not naturally an ignoble disposition, and her ideals were high. She fought rather hard against the tide of rising jealousy, and had never betrayed it either to Sheila or to her mother; but the pain of seeing another preferred to herself rankled rather keenly; and during these past days—indeed for a week or two now—it had been hard work to keep down the unworthy feeling.All the young people of Isingford were keenly excited about the forthcoming effort which was to extinguish the debt upon the two churches. All were eager to help, and Effie herself had been roused to desire to do something. She had practised with new energy, so as to be able to take part in the concert of local talent, and her song was already selected and placed in the programme. But she did not think anybody showed any enthusiasm over her performance. Perhaps her voice had deteriorated somewhat, though nobody said so. She was listened to quite kindly, and her friends said her song would be certain to “go down”; but that was all. Whereas, over May Lawrence’s performance there was a little furore, and she was entreated to sing twice, and was called quite openly theprima donna. Effie had not expected that title for herself, yet she was not quite pleased by the treatment she received.And then Sheila was in such request. Sheila was so popular. It was quickly discovered that, though no very brilliant performer on the piano as a soloist, she had a very pretty gift for accompanying. Her touch was soft and sympathetic; she never played wrong notes, even if she missed the right ones. It became quite the usual thing for the soloists to beg her to play for them, and, as she was delighted to please and very fond of this sort of work, she soon became the acknowledged accompanist of the concert, and a person in great demand.May Lawrence was one of those who had taken a great fancy to her, and this invitation to Monckton Manor, a place Effie had only seen once upon a formal call, was rather galling to her.Sheila started out a little depressed in spirits, for she disliked the feeling that Effie was “cross with her.” She was sensitive, like all young things, to the disapproval of those about her, and thought it very hard to be blamed when she had really done no harm. Sheila was for the first time tasting a little of the discipline of life, and she did not enjoy the experience. She wanted it always to be sunshine about her. She liked to be petted and caressed. She was ready to love everybody, if they would only love her. It seemed to her very hard when she was criticised for something that was not the least wrong. It had never been so in old days, and why should it be now?However, upon her arrival at the Manor House all troubled thoughts were quickly dissipated by the warm reception she met with. May Lawrence met her with a kiss. The two girls fell into Christian names almost at once. The pleasant old semi-Tudor house was delightful to Sheila, reminding her in many ways of her own home. Mrs. Lawrence welcomed her kindly, saying she had heard a great deal about her and her pretty playing, and May took her into the orchard-house and regaled her with delicious peaches before they did a note of practising.“And we have such a nice visitor here now, Sheila,” she explained, “an old friend of mother’s, though she is not really old—Miss Adene; only she makes me call her Cousin Mary. She had a very lovely voice when she was young, and it’s quite pretty still, though she laughs when I tell her so. She has given me a lot of hints about my songs. She sings little bits to show me how to do it. She must have been splendidly taught herself! Let’s come to the music-room! Perhaps she will come and listen.”Sheila followed her willingly, and on their way to the house May exclaimed, “Oh, there she is!” and the next minute Sheila was shaking hands with Miss Adene.Somehow Sheila’s heart went out at once to this stranger lady. She could not say how it was, but she felt at home with her almost immediately; and Miss Adene seemed to take a liking for the big-eyed, soft-voiced Sheila. She asked her questions about herself, gave her hints about her playing, and was altogether so friendly and kindly that Sheila felt almost more at home in this house after two hours than she had done at Cossart Place after two months.Cyril appeared at luncheon in company with some of the Lawrence sons. They had known each other at Cambridge, and saw a fair amount of one another in the vacation. May was the only daughter; but she had several brothers, and was good at most games herself, and would have liked to play tennis with Sheila, only that her habit was rather against any such plan.“But you must come another day—you must come often. I have so few girl-friends here. There are not many houses where mother cares for me to be intimate. But I should like to have you for a friend! I hope you will come often!”“I should like to,” said Sheila eagerly, “but I don’t know if I can. There is Effie! I am supposed to be her companion. I could not leave her very often.”“I don’t see why not,” said May, with some of the frank and unconscious selfishness of the present-day girl. “You’re not her nurse or her white slave, I suppose?”Sheila laughed and blushed, and Miss Adene came unexpectedly to her assistance.“One need not be a nurse or a white slave, and yet one may have duties and little kindly offices to fulfil. The happy people in this world, May, are those who do their duty from a sense of love, and not compulsion; and we idle people must not tempt them away from the place where they are wanted.”Sheila looked up with a heightened colour to say—“I’m afraid I don’t always love my duties. Sometimes they seem very tiresome. And I’m sure you’re not an idle person, Miss Adene; but I am very often. Sometimes I think I’m no real good to anybody.”“Then you must make yourself some good, dear; though I do not think that any of us can quite help being of some service to our friends and fellow-creatures. You have a delicate cousin to cheer up and help back to health and strength; and you must do your best to be kind and patient. And you will soon find how much pleasure there is in such a task, and gain yourself a sister, since you say you have never had one of your own.”Sheila’s day at the Manor was a very happy one, and she particularly enjoyed her bits of talk with Miss Adene, who promised to help at the bazaar and, if needed, to give some assistance at the glee club, where extra voices were wanted with a view to the coming concert.May and one of her brothers rode part of the way back with Sheila and Cyril, the girls in front, the young men behind.“Do you like your cousin Cyril?” asked May with the freedom only possible between quite young people.“Yes, rather,” answered Sheila. “I liked him very much at first. He seemed more like the people I had been used to, but I think I get rather tired of him. Do you like him?”“Not very much,” answered candid May. “The boys get on pretty well with him; but they call him rather a bounder all the same.”“What’s that?” asked Sheila, laughing.“Well, I’m not quite sure if I know; but it’s not a thing he’d like to be called. What the boys mean about him is that he’s half ashamed of his ownfamily, and the way in which his father has made his money, and that’s always awfully snobbish. Why, to my thinking, the other brother, North, is much more a true gentleman. I despise people who are ashamed of their origin. It is nice to be a landed proprietor and a country gentleman, of course; but there’s no disgrace in honest trade. Why, three of our boys have had to go into business in some of its forms; but do you think they’d be ashamed of it, or that we should be ashamed of them? I should despise myself for ever if I were!”“Yes, I suppose he is rather ashamed of the works,” said Sheila slowly. “He never would have anything to do with them. I don’t quite know what he does want for himself. Sometimes he talks about the Bar, and sometimes the Church, and sometimes he thinks he’ll take up literature. I suppose he’s clever.”“The boys don’t think so; he only got a pass, you know. And I don’t think I like men to take to the Church just for a profession. I’ve got a brother a clergyman; but I know how he felt about it before he took Orders. He used sometimes to talk to me. He felt that he had been called; that is a very different thing from choosing for yourself, and shilly-shallying as Cyril is doing.”Sheila began to see that May, although not much older than herself, thought things out more deeply than she had ever done.“The boys have always talked to me, you know,” she said, “and Arnold in particular. He is the clergyman, you know. That made one think. It would be nicer to believe in everybody; but perhaps it’s better sometimes to see below the surface. Sometimes I wish almost that something would happen just to try the metal we and our friends are made of. In olden times, when there were wars and dangers, it must have been so much easier to know what they were like; but nothing ever does happen in the nineteenth century—not in that sort of way.”Nevertheless, a good deal was happening in other ways, and the excitement increased as the time for the bazaar arrived.The town hall was a spacious building, and it was decorated in an effective fashion with festoons of greenery and paper and tinsel flowers. Some people called it trumpery stuff; but it looked well, and was cheap, and to keep down expenses was one of the chief aims of the assistants.The bazaar was held in the great hall; but there were two smaller rooms, off-shoots from this, reached by short wide flights of steps, and in these rooms the supplementary entertainments were to be held.One was a museum of curiosities and beautiful things lent, for which extra admission was charged; the other was given over to entertainments. On the first day there was to be a phonograph and some experiments with electrical apparatus, in which Oscar was to assist. On the second the concert, and on the third some tableaux.The whole town was in excitement over the affair, and upon the first day the thoroughfares were quite crowded with carriages and foot passengers. Everything went off beautifully. A great deal was sold; the refreshments were excellent, the band good; and the people went away declaring they should come again upon the morrow, which accordingly they did.The concert was almost the most exciting experience for Sheila—she had so much accompanying to do; but she soon lost her first feeling of nervousness, and forgot everything in the effort to help everything to go well.It was all a great success. Effie sang her song very creditably, and got an encore; though some people did say it was her father who so stubbornly led the rounds of applause. May’s singing delighted everybody, and the glees went beautifully; Miss Adene was there, kindly and encouraging, giving steadiness to any wavering part by her clear rounded tones, and taking the greatest interest in everything.Indeed, all the Monckton Manor party had come in force; and they were to appear also upon the next day, for May had a part in several of the tableaux, and two of the brothers also, and they were both very clever and helpful as scene shifters. For everything was done as far as possible by volunteers, and there was no professional aid which could possibly be dispensed with.The third day was in some sort the grandest, for, though the things from the bazaar were mostly sold off, there was great interest over the tableaux; and there was to be a troop of performing dogs in the great hall for the young folks, since the upper room would not hold everybody, and all must be entertained. Also the tea was to be on a grander scale; and the hall was early thronged with eager buyers and spectators.There was nothing, perhaps, very original in the tableaux, but they were very prettily got up, and it was interesting to the spectators because they knew the actors in them.One of the most effective ones was the presentation of the French ambassadors at Queen Elizabeth’s court after the massacre of St. Bartholomew. Effie was the sharp-featured Queen in sable robes, and the stage was crowded by her black-robed courtiers and ladies-in-waiting; whilst Oscar, Cyril, Fred Monckton, and a few more, in their gorgeous frippery, stood evidently taken aback and confounded by the unwonted sight of this evidence of stern woe and regal horror and offence.The applause for this picture was loud and long, and the curtain was just rising again when in the hush that had succeeded the clamour there penetrated a sound of noise and confusion from the hall below, and then the clear terrible cry:“Fire! Fire!”(To be continued.)
ByEVELYN EVERETT-GREEN, Author of “Greyfriars,” “Half-a-dozen Sisters,” etc.
MONCKTON MANOR.
“Theyought to have asked me too,” said Effie, looking rather black. “I call it quite rude; but these grand county people always are so rude.”
“Oh, but, Effie, I am only going to practise accompaniments! I go to River Street for that, and you don’t mind. Why should you mind this? We never can get those difficult passages right without a proper, long, steady practice, and one can’t get it at the hall. Everybody is wanting their turn; and I get flurried with so much chattering and noise. I thought it such a good idea when Miss Lawrence asked me to come to the Manor.”
“She should have asked me too, then,” said Effie, with a pout. “Notthat I care about going. I’m not such a great admirer of May Lawrence or her voice; it’s too low and gruff for me.”
“Oh, not gruff; it’s a beautiful, rich contralto. It’s quite a pleasure to hear her.”
“Oh, you think so because she likes your playing, and butters you up! But, anyhow, I don’t think much of it, and I do say she ought to have asked me too.”
“People know you are delicate; they don’t like to bother you to take long drives,” suggested Sheila pacifically; but Effie was cross and would not be amiable, though she ceased to make complaints about not being asked with Sheila to the Manor.
“How are you going?”
“I thought I would ride Shamrock. Then I should be quite independent. Cyril is going there for a day’s fishing, and he can bring me back.”
Again Effie’s face darkened. She did not say anything this time, but she had a feeling as though Sheila was cutting her out of everything. She was keenly alive to the fact that, though Cyril’s visits were paid more frequently now, it was Sheila who engrossed the bulk of his notice. Effie, with all her tendency to selfishness, fostered by her mode of life, had not naturally an ignoble disposition, and her ideals were high. She fought rather hard against the tide of rising jealousy, and had never betrayed it either to Sheila or to her mother; but the pain of seeing another preferred to herself rankled rather keenly; and during these past days—indeed for a week or two now—it had been hard work to keep down the unworthy feeling.
All the young people of Isingford were keenly excited about the forthcoming effort which was to extinguish the debt upon the two churches. All were eager to help, and Effie herself had been roused to desire to do something. She had practised with new energy, so as to be able to take part in the concert of local talent, and her song was already selected and placed in the programme. But she did not think anybody showed any enthusiasm over her performance. Perhaps her voice had deteriorated somewhat, though nobody said so. She was listened to quite kindly, and her friends said her song would be certain to “go down”; but that was all. Whereas, over May Lawrence’s performance there was a little furore, and she was entreated to sing twice, and was called quite openly theprima donna. Effie had not expected that title for herself, yet she was not quite pleased by the treatment she received.
And then Sheila was in such request. Sheila was so popular. It was quickly discovered that, though no very brilliant performer on the piano as a soloist, she had a very pretty gift for accompanying. Her touch was soft and sympathetic; she never played wrong notes, even if she missed the right ones. It became quite the usual thing for the soloists to beg her to play for them, and, as she was delighted to please and very fond of this sort of work, she soon became the acknowledged accompanist of the concert, and a person in great demand.
May Lawrence was one of those who had taken a great fancy to her, and this invitation to Monckton Manor, a place Effie had only seen once upon a formal call, was rather galling to her.
Sheila started out a little depressed in spirits, for she disliked the feeling that Effie was “cross with her.” She was sensitive, like all young things, to the disapproval of those about her, and thought it very hard to be blamed when she had really done no harm. Sheila was for the first time tasting a little of the discipline of life, and she did not enjoy the experience. She wanted it always to be sunshine about her. She liked to be petted and caressed. She was ready to love everybody, if they would only love her. It seemed to her very hard when she was criticised for something that was not the least wrong. It had never been so in old days, and why should it be now?
However, upon her arrival at the Manor House all troubled thoughts were quickly dissipated by the warm reception she met with. May Lawrence met her with a kiss. The two girls fell into Christian names almost at once. The pleasant old semi-Tudor house was delightful to Sheila, reminding her in many ways of her own home. Mrs. Lawrence welcomed her kindly, saying she had heard a great deal about her and her pretty playing, and May took her into the orchard-house and regaled her with delicious peaches before they did a note of practising.
“And we have such a nice visitor here now, Sheila,” she explained, “an old friend of mother’s, though she is not really old—Miss Adene; only she makes me call her Cousin Mary. She had a very lovely voice when she was young, and it’s quite pretty still, though she laughs when I tell her so. She has given me a lot of hints about my songs. She sings little bits to show me how to do it. She must have been splendidly taught herself! Let’s come to the music-room! Perhaps she will come and listen.”
Sheila followed her willingly, and on their way to the house May exclaimed, “Oh, there she is!” and the next minute Sheila was shaking hands with Miss Adene.
Somehow Sheila’s heart went out at once to this stranger lady. She could not say how it was, but she felt at home with her almost immediately; and Miss Adene seemed to take a liking for the big-eyed, soft-voiced Sheila. She asked her questions about herself, gave her hints about her playing, and was altogether so friendly and kindly that Sheila felt almost more at home in this house after two hours than she had done at Cossart Place after two months.
Cyril appeared at luncheon in company with some of the Lawrence sons. They had known each other at Cambridge, and saw a fair amount of one another in the vacation. May was the only daughter; but she had several brothers, and was good at most games herself, and would have liked to play tennis with Sheila, only that her habit was rather against any such plan.
“But you must come another day—you must come often. I have so few girl-friends here. There are not many houses where mother cares for me to be intimate. But I should like to have you for a friend! I hope you will come often!”
“I should like to,” said Sheila eagerly, “but I don’t know if I can. There is Effie! I am supposed to be her companion. I could not leave her very often.”
“I don’t see why not,” said May, with some of the frank and unconscious selfishness of the present-day girl. “You’re not her nurse or her white slave, I suppose?”
Sheila laughed and blushed, and Miss Adene came unexpectedly to her assistance.
“One need not be a nurse or a white slave, and yet one may have duties and little kindly offices to fulfil. The happy people in this world, May, are those who do their duty from a sense of love, and not compulsion; and we idle people must not tempt them away from the place where they are wanted.”
Sheila looked up with a heightened colour to say—
“I’m afraid I don’t always love my duties. Sometimes they seem very tiresome. And I’m sure you’re not an idle person, Miss Adene; but I am very often. Sometimes I think I’m no real good to anybody.”
“Then you must make yourself some good, dear; though I do not think that any of us can quite help being of some service to our friends and fellow-creatures. You have a delicate cousin to cheer up and help back to health and strength; and you must do your best to be kind and patient. And you will soon find how much pleasure there is in such a task, and gain yourself a sister, since you say you have never had one of your own.”
Sheila’s day at the Manor was a very happy one, and she particularly enjoyed her bits of talk with Miss Adene, who promised to help at the bazaar and, if needed, to give some assistance at the glee club, where extra voices were wanted with a view to the coming concert.
May and one of her brothers rode part of the way back with Sheila and Cyril, the girls in front, the young men behind.
“Do you like your cousin Cyril?” asked May with the freedom only possible between quite young people.
“Yes, rather,” answered Sheila. “I liked him very much at first. He seemed more like the people I had been used to, but I think I get rather tired of him. Do you like him?”
“Not very much,” answered candid May. “The boys get on pretty well with him; but they call him rather a bounder all the same.”
“What’s that?” asked Sheila, laughing.
“Well, I’m not quite sure if I know; but it’s not a thing he’d like to be called. What the boys mean about him is that he’s half ashamed of his ownfamily, and the way in which his father has made his money, and that’s always awfully snobbish. Why, to my thinking, the other brother, North, is much more a true gentleman. I despise people who are ashamed of their origin. It is nice to be a landed proprietor and a country gentleman, of course; but there’s no disgrace in honest trade. Why, three of our boys have had to go into business in some of its forms; but do you think they’d be ashamed of it, or that we should be ashamed of them? I should despise myself for ever if I were!”
“Yes, I suppose he is rather ashamed of the works,” said Sheila slowly. “He never would have anything to do with them. I don’t quite know what he does want for himself. Sometimes he talks about the Bar, and sometimes the Church, and sometimes he thinks he’ll take up literature. I suppose he’s clever.”
“The boys don’t think so; he only got a pass, you know. And I don’t think I like men to take to the Church just for a profession. I’ve got a brother a clergyman; but I know how he felt about it before he took Orders. He used sometimes to talk to me. He felt that he had been called; that is a very different thing from choosing for yourself, and shilly-shallying as Cyril is doing.”
Sheila began to see that May, although not much older than herself, thought things out more deeply than she had ever done.
“The boys have always talked to me, you know,” she said, “and Arnold in particular. He is the clergyman, you know. That made one think. It would be nicer to believe in everybody; but perhaps it’s better sometimes to see below the surface. Sometimes I wish almost that something would happen just to try the metal we and our friends are made of. In olden times, when there were wars and dangers, it must have been so much easier to know what they were like; but nothing ever does happen in the nineteenth century—not in that sort of way.”
Nevertheless, a good deal was happening in other ways, and the excitement increased as the time for the bazaar arrived.
The town hall was a spacious building, and it was decorated in an effective fashion with festoons of greenery and paper and tinsel flowers. Some people called it trumpery stuff; but it looked well, and was cheap, and to keep down expenses was one of the chief aims of the assistants.
The bazaar was held in the great hall; but there were two smaller rooms, off-shoots from this, reached by short wide flights of steps, and in these rooms the supplementary entertainments were to be held.
One was a museum of curiosities and beautiful things lent, for which extra admission was charged; the other was given over to entertainments. On the first day there was to be a phonograph and some experiments with electrical apparatus, in which Oscar was to assist. On the second the concert, and on the third some tableaux.
The whole town was in excitement over the affair, and upon the first day the thoroughfares were quite crowded with carriages and foot passengers. Everything went off beautifully. A great deal was sold; the refreshments were excellent, the band good; and the people went away declaring they should come again upon the morrow, which accordingly they did.
The concert was almost the most exciting experience for Sheila—she had so much accompanying to do; but she soon lost her first feeling of nervousness, and forgot everything in the effort to help everything to go well.
It was all a great success. Effie sang her song very creditably, and got an encore; though some people did say it was her father who so stubbornly led the rounds of applause. May’s singing delighted everybody, and the glees went beautifully; Miss Adene was there, kindly and encouraging, giving steadiness to any wavering part by her clear rounded tones, and taking the greatest interest in everything.
Indeed, all the Monckton Manor party had come in force; and they were to appear also upon the next day, for May had a part in several of the tableaux, and two of the brothers also, and they were both very clever and helpful as scene shifters. For everything was done as far as possible by volunteers, and there was no professional aid which could possibly be dispensed with.
The third day was in some sort the grandest, for, though the things from the bazaar were mostly sold off, there was great interest over the tableaux; and there was to be a troop of performing dogs in the great hall for the young folks, since the upper room would not hold everybody, and all must be entertained. Also the tea was to be on a grander scale; and the hall was early thronged with eager buyers and spectators.
There was nothing, perhaps, very original in the tableaux, but they were very prettily got up, and it was interesting to the spectators because they knew the actors in them.
One of the most effective ones was the presentation of the French ambassadors at Queen Elizabeth’s court after the massacre of St. Bartholomew. Effie was the sharp-featured Queen in sable robes, and the stage was crowded by her black-robed courtiers and ladies-in-waiting; whilst Oscar, Cyril, Fred Monckton, and a few more, in their gorgeous frippery, stood evidently taken aback and confounded by the unwonted sight of this evidence of stern woe and regal horror and offence.
The applause for this picture was loud and long, and the curtain was just rising again when in the hush that had succeeded the clamour there penetrated a sound of noise and confusion from the hall below, and then the clear terrible cry:
“Fire! Fire!”
(To be continued.)