Chapter Five.

July 15th.

I was not in the least interested to know anything about what Will Dudley and Rachel Greaves talked about together, but I was anxious to find out if she had said anything to show him that I was really grown-up, instead of the child he thought me; so the next time we met I asked her plump and plain—“What did you and Mr Dudley say about me the other morning?”We were walking along a lane together, and she turned her head and stared at me in blank surprise.“About you? The other morning? We—we never spoke of you at all!”Then I suppose I looked angry, or red, or something, for she seemed in a tremendous hurry to appease me.“We have a great many interests in common. When we lived in town we belonged to the same societies, and worked for the same charities. It is interesting to remember old days, and tell each other the latest news we have heard about the work and its progress.”“Then you knew him before he came here? He is not a new friend?”“Oh, no—we have known him for years. It was father who got him his present position.”“And you like him very much?”“Yes,” she said quietly. “Isn’t it lovely to see the hedges covered with the wild roses? I think they are almost my favourite flower—so dainty and delicate.”“Nasty, prickly things—I hate them!” I cried; for I do detest being snubbed, and she could not have told me more plainly in so many words that she did not choose to speak of Will Dudley. Why not? I wonder. Was there some mystery about their friendship? I should not mind talking about anyone I know, and it was really absurd of Rachel to be so silent and reserved. I determined not to ask her any more questions, but to tackle Mr Dudley himself.Two days after there was the garden party, where I knew we should meet. He was bound to go, as it was on the estate where he was living, and I was to make my first formal appearance in society, in the prettiest dress and hat you can possibly imagine. Mother was quite pleased with me because I let her and Johnson fuss as much as they liked, and tie on my white veil three times over to get it in the right folds. Then I looked in the glass at my sweeping skirts, and hair all beautifully done up, and laughed to think how different I looked from Babs of the morning hours.We drove off in state, and I was quite excited at the prospect of the fray; but I do think garden parties are dreadfully dull affairs! A band plays on the lawn, and people stroll about, and criticise one another’s dresses, and look at the flowers. They are very greedy affairs, too, for really and truly we were eating all the time—tea and iced coffee when we arrived; ices, and fruits, and nice things to drink until the moment we came away. I don’t mean to say that I ate straight on, of course, but waiters kept walking about with trays, and I noticed particularly what they were like, so as not to take two ices running from the same man. I had a strawberry, and a vanilla, and a lemon—but that was watery, and I didn’t like it. I was talking to the hostess, when I saw Mr Dudley coming towards us, and he looked at me with such a blank, unrecognising stare that I saw at once he had no idea who I was. Mrs Darcy talked to him for a moment while I kept the brim of my hat tilted over my face, then she said—“Don’t you know Miss Sackville? Allow me to introduce Mr Dudley, dear. Do take her to have some refreshment, like a good man. I am sure she has had nothing to eat!”I thought of the coffee, and the ices, and the lemonade and the sandwiches, but said nothing, and we sauntered across the lawn together talking in the usual ridiculous grown-up fashion.“Lovely day, isn’t it?”“Quite charming. So fortunate for Mrs Darcy.”“Beautiful garden, isn’t it?”“Charming! Such lovely roses!”“Beautiful band, isn’t it?”“Oh, charming! Quite charming!”Then he seated me at a little table and provided me with an ice, (number four), and stared furtively at me from the opposite side. Itwasfun. I crinkled my veil up over my nose and tilted my hat over my forehead, and shot a glance at him every now and then, to find his eyes fixed on me—not recognising at all, but evidently so puzzled and mystified to think who I could be. Father had told him only a week before that Vere would not be home for a month—and now who was this third Miss Sackville who had suddenly appeared upon the scene?“You have returned home rather sooner than you intended, haven’t you?” he inquired, and I shook my head and said—“Oh, no, I kept to the exact date. I always do! What makes you think otherwise?”“I—er—I thought I heard you were not expected for some time to come. You have been staying with friends?”“Oh, a number of friends! Quite a huge house party. I feel quite lost without them all.”He would have been rather surprised if I had explained that the party consisted of forty women and no man, but that was not his business, and it was perfectly true that I missed them badly. All the Rachel Greaveses in the world would never make up for Lorna and the rest!“But you have your sister!” he said. “I have seen a good deal of your sister in her morning walks with Mr Sackville. She is a charming child, and most companionable; I am sure she will be a host in herself!”“It’s very good of you! I can’t tell you how pleased I am to hear you say so!” I said suavely; but do what I would, I could not resist a giggle, and he stared at me harder than ever, and looked so confused. I was so afraid that he would find me out and spoil the fun that I determined not to try to keep up the delusion any longer. He was going to cross-question me, I could see it quite plainly, so I lay back in my chair, smoothed out my veil, and smiled at him in my most fascinating manner.“I’m so pleased that you have formed such a good opinion of me, Mr Dudley! I was really afraid you had forgotten me altogether, for you seemed hardly to recognise me a few minutes ago.”He leant both arms on the table so that his face was quite near to mine. “Who are you?” he asked, and I laughed, and nodded in reply.“I’m Babs—Una Sackville is my name—England is my nation, Branfield is my dwelling—”“Don’t joke, please. I want to understand.You—are—Babs! Have you been deliberately deceiving me, then? Pray, what has been your object in posing as a child all these weeks!”That made me furious, and I cried hotly—“I never posed at all—I never deceived you! Father treats me as a child, and you followed his example as a matter of course, and I was very pleased to be friends in a sensible manner without any nonsense. If I had said, ‘Please, I’m nineteen—I’ve left school, and am coming out—this is a hockey skirt, but I wear tails in the evening,’ you would have been proper, and stiff, and have talked about the weather, and we should have had no fun. If anyone is to blame, it is you, for not seeing how really old I was!”He smiled at that, and went on staring, staring at my face, my hair, my long white gloves, the muslin flounces lying on the ground round my feet.“So very old!” he said. “Nineteen, is it? And I put you down as—fourteen or fifteen, at the most! And so Babs has disappeared. Exit Babs! I’m sorry. She was a nice child; I enjoyed meeting her very much. I think we should have been real good friends.”“She has not disappeared at all. You will meet her to-morrow morning. There is nothing to prevent us being as good friends as ever,” I declared, but he shook his head in a mysterious fashion.“I think there is! There’s a third person on the scene now who will make it difficult—for me, at least—to go back to the same footing. There’s Una!” he said, and looked at me with his bright grey eyes, up and down, down and up again, in a grave, quiet sort of way which I had never seen before. It made me feel nice, but rather uncomfortable, and I was glad when he brightened up again, and said gaily—“I owe a hundred apologies for my lack of ceremony to this fine, this very fine, this super-fine young lady! I’ll turn over a new leaf for the future, and treat you with becoming ceremony. I can quite imagine the disgust of the buddingdébutanteat my cavalier ways. Confess now that your dignity was sorely wounded?”His eyes were twinkling again. They are grey, and his face is so brown that they look lighter than the skin. I never saw anyone’s eyes look like that before, but it is awfully nice. I thought there was a splendid opening, so I said—“No; I was never vexed but once. I like being treated sensibly, but that morning when you left me, and went out of your way with Rachel Greaves—I was sorry then that you did not know that I was grown up.”“You thought if I had I would have walked with you instead? Why?”I blushed a little, and it seemed to me that he blushed too—his cheeks certainly looked hot. It was a horrid question to answer, and he must have known for himself what I meant. I really and truly don’t think many men would go out of their way for Rachel Greaves. I answered by another question—it was the easiest way.“I didn’t know then that you were old friends. I suppose you get to like her better when you know her well?”“Naturally. That is always the case with the best people.”“And she is—”“The best woman I have ever met, and the most selfless!” he said solemnly. “Have you spoken to Rachel about me? What has she told you? I should like you to know the truth, though it is not yet general property. You can keep it to yourself for awhile?”I nodded. I didn’t want to speak, for I felt a big, hard lump swelling in my throat, and my heart thumped. I knew quite well what he was going to say, and I hated it beforehand.“We are engaged to be married. It will probably be an engagement for years, for Rachel feels her present duty is at home, and I am content to wait her pleasure. I don’t go up to the house very often, as the old gentleman is an invalid, and dislikes visitors, but we understand one another, and are too sensible to fret because we cannot always be together. Only when an opportunity occurs, as it did the other morning— Why—you understand?”“Yes, I understand,” I said slowly. I was thinking it over, and wondering, if I were ever engaged, if I should like myfiancéto be content and sensible, and quite resigned to see me seldom, and to wait for years before we could be married. I think I would rather he were in a hurry!Oh, I wish I were selfless, too! I wish I could be glad for them without thinking of myself; but I do feel so lonely and out in the cold. I’m thankful that Vere is coming home next week, and the house will be filled with visitors. Engaged people are no use—they are always thinking about each other!

“What did you and Mr Dudley say about me the other morning?”

We were walking along a lane together, and she turned her head and stared at me in blank surprise.

“About you? The other morning? We—we never spoke of you at all!”

Then I suppose I looked angry, or red, or something, for she seemed in a tremendous hurry to appease me.

“We have a great many interests in common. When we lived in town we belonged to the same societies, and worked for the same charities. It is interesting to remember old days, and tell each other the latest news we have heard about the work and its progress.”

“Then you knew him before he came here? He is not a new friend?”

“Oh, no—we have known him for years. It was father who got him his present position.”

“And you like him very much?”

“Yes,” she said quietly. “Isn’t it lovely to see the hedges covered with the wild roses? I think they are almost my favourite flower—so dainty and delicate.”

“Nasty, prickly things—I hate them!” I cried; for I do detest being snubbed, and she could not have told me more plainly in so many words that she did not choose to speak of Will Dudley. Why not? I wonder. Was there some mystery about their friendship? I should not mind talking about anyone I know, and it was really absurd of Rachel to be so silent and reserved. I determined not to ask her any more questions, but to tackle Mr Dudley himself.

Two days after there was the garden party, where I knew we should meet. He was bound to go, as it was on the estate where he was living, and I was to make my first formal appearance in society, in the prettiest dress and hat you can possibly imagine. Mother was quite pleased with me because I let her and Johnson fuss as much as they liked, and tie on my white veil three times over to get it in the right folds. Then I looked in the glass at my sweeping skirts, and hair all beautifully done up, and laughed to think how different I looked from Babs of the morning hours.

We drove off in state, and I was quite excited at the prospect of the fray; but I do think garden parties are dreadfully dull affairs! A band plays on the lawn, and people stroll about, and criticise one another’s dresses, and look at the flowers. They are very greedy affairs, too, for really and truly we were eating all the time—tea and iced coffee when we arrived; ices, and fruits, and nice things to drink until the moment we came away. I don’t mean to say that I ate straight on, of course, but waiters kept walking about with trays, and I noticed particularly what they were like, so as not to take two ices running from the same man. I had a strawberry, and a vanilla, and a lemon—but that was watery, and I didn’t like it. I was talking to the hostess, when I saw Mr Dudley coming towards us, and he looked at me with such a blank, unrecognising stare that I saw at once he had no idea who I was. Mrs Darcy talked to him for a moment while I kept the brim of my hat tilted over my face, then she said—

“Don’t you know Miss Sackville? Allow me to introduce Mr Dudley, dear. Do take her to have some refreshment, like a good man. I am sure she has had nothing to eat!”

I thought of the coffee, and the ices, and the lemonade and the sandwiches, but said nothing, and we sauntered across the lawn together talking in the usual ridiculous grown-up fashion.

“Lovely day, isn’t it?”

“Quite charming. So fortunate for Mrs Darcy.”

“Beautiful garden, isn’t it?”

“Charming! Such lovely roses!”

“Beautiful band, isn’t it?”

“Oh, charming! Quite charming!”

Then he seated me at a little table and provided me with an ice, (number four), and stared furtively at me from the opposite side. Itwasfun. I crinkled my veil up over my nose and tilted my hat over my forehead, and shot a glance at him every now and then, to find his eyes fixed on me—not recognising at all, but evidently so puzzled and mystified to think who I could be. Father had told him only a week before that Vere would not be home for a month—and now who was this third Miss Sackville who had suddenly appeared upon the scene?

“You have returned home rather sooner than you intended, haven’t you?” he inquired, and I shook my head and said—

“Oh, no, I kept to the exact date. I always do! What makes you think otherwise?”

“I—er—I thought I heard you were not expected for some time to come. You have been staying with friends?”

“Oh, a number of friends! Quite a huge house party. I feel quite lost without them all.”

He would have been rather surprised if I had explained that the party consisted of forty women and no man, but that was not his business, and it was perfectly true that I missed them badly. All the Rachel Greaveses in the world would never make up for Lorna and the rest!

“But you have your sister!” he said. “I have seen a good deal of your sister in her morning walks with Mr Sackville. She is a charming child, and most companionable; I am sure she will be a host in herself!”

“It’s very good of you! I can’t tell you how pleased I am to hear you say so!” I said suavely; but do what I would, I could not resist a giggle, and he stared at me harder than ever, and looked so confused. I was so afraid that he would find me out and spoil the fun that I determined not to try to keep up the delusion any longer. He was going to cross-question me, I could see it quite plainly, so I lay back in my chair, smoothed out my veil, and smiled at him in my most fascinating manner.

“I’m so pleased that you have formed such a good opinion of me, Mr Dudley! I was really afraid you had forgotten me altogether, for you seemed hardly to recognise me a few minutes ago.”

He leant both arms on the table so that his face was quite near to mine. “Who are you?” he asked, and I laughed, and nodded in reply.

“I’m Babs—Una Sackville is my name—England is my nation, Branfield is my dwelling—”

“Don’t joke, please. I want to understand.You—are—Babs! Have you been deliberately deceiving me, then? Pray, what has been your object in posing as a child all these weeks!”

That made me furious, and I cried hotly—

“I never posed at all—I never deceived you! Father treats me as a child, and you followed his example as a matter of course, and I was very pleased to be friends in a sensible manner without any nonsense. If I had said, ‘Please, I’m nineteen—I’ve left school, and am coming out—this is a hockey skirt, but I wear tails in the evening,’ you would have been proper, and stiff, and have talked about the weather, and we should have had no fun. If anyone is to blame, it is you, for not seeing how really old I was!”

He smiled at that, and went on staring, staring at my face, my hair, my long white gloves, the muslin flounces lying on the ground round my feet.

“So very old!” he said. “Nineteen, is it? And I put you down as—fourteen or fifteen, at the most! And so Babs has disappeared. Exit Babs! I’m sorry. She was a nice child; I enjoyed meeting her very much. I think we should have been real good friends.”

“She has not disappeared at all. You will meet her to-morrow morning. There is nothing to prevent us being as good friends as ever,” I declared, but he shook his head in a mysterious fashion.

“I think there is! There’s a third person on the scene now who will make it difficult—for me, at least—to go back to the same footing. There’s Una!” he said, and looked at me with his bright grey eyes, up and down, down and up again, in a grave, quiet sort of way which I had never seen before. It made me feel nice, but rather uncomfortable, and I was glad when he brightened up again, and said gaily—

“I owe a hundred apologies for my lack of ceremony to this fine, this very fine, this super-fine young lady! I’ll turn over a new leaf for the future, and treat you with becoming ceremony. I can quite imagine the disgust of the buddingdébutanteat my cavalier ways. Confess now that your dignity was sorely wounded?”

His eyes were twinkling again. They are grey, and his face is so brown that they look lighter than the skin. I never saw anyone’s eyes look like that before, but it is awfully nice. I thought there was a splendid opening, so I said—

“No; I was never vexed but once. I like being treated sensibly, but that morning when you left me, and went out of your way with Rachel Greaves—I was sorry then that you did not know that I was grown up.”

“You thought if I had I would have walked with you instead? Why?”

I blushed a little, and it seemed to me that he blushed too—his cheeks certainly looked hot. It was a horrid question to answer, and he must have known for himself what I meant. I really and truly don’t think many men would go out of their way for Rachel Greaves. I answered by another question—it was the easiest way.

“I didn’t know then that you were old friends. I suppose you get to like her better when you know her well?”

“Naturally. That is always the case with the best people.”

“And she is—”

“The best woman I have ever met, and the most selfless!” he said solemnly. “Have you spoken to Rachel about me? What has she told you? I should like you to know the truth, though it is not yet general property. You can keep it to yourself for awhile?”

I nodded. I didn’t want to speak, for I felt a big, hard lump swelling in my throat, and my heart thumped. I knew quite well what he was going to say, and I hated it beforehand.

“We are engaged to be married. It will probably be an engagement for years, for Rachel feels her present duty is at home, and I am content to wait her pleasure. I don’t go up to the house very often, as the old gentleman is an invalid, and dislikes visitors, but we understand one another, and are too sensible to fret because we cannot always be together. Only when an opportunity occurs, as it did the other morning— Why—you understand?”

“Yes, I understand,” I said slowly. I was thinking it over, and wondering, if I were ever engaged, if I should like myfiancéto be content and sensible, and quite resigned to see me seldom, and to wait for years before we could be married. I think I would rather he were in a hurry!

Oh, I wish I were selfless, too! I wish I could be glad for them without thinking of myself; but I do feel so lonely and out in the cold. I’m thankful that Vere is coming home next week, and the house will be filled with visitors. Engaged people are no use—they are always thinking about each other!

Chapter Six.

July 20th.

Rachel was surprised when I told her that I knew her secret, and I don’t think she was pleased.“Will told you! Will told you himself!” she repeated, and stared at me in a puzzled, curious fashion, as if she wondered why on earth he should have chosen to make a confidante of me. “It is hardly a regular engagement, for father will not hear of my leaving home, and the waiting may be so long that I have told Will it is not fair to bind him. He says he is content to wait, but we agreed to speak about it as little as possible for some time to come.”“Oh, well, I’ll keep the secret. You need not be afraid that I shall gossip about you,” I told her. She wears no ring on her engagement finger, but always, always—morning, noon and night—there is a little diamond anchor pinned in the front of her dress. I suppose he has given her that instead, as a symbol of hope—hope that in ten or a dozen years, when she is an old thing over thirty, they may possibly be married! Well, I can imagine Rachel waiting twenty years, if it comes to that, and keeping quite happy and serene meantime; but Will Dudley is different—so quick and energetic and keen. I could not have imagined him so patient.Yesterday Vere came home, bringing her friends with her, and already Rachel and her love affair seems far away, and we live in such a bustle and confusion that there is no time to think. I’m rather glad, for I was getting quite dull and mopey. They arrived about five in the afternoon, and came trooping into the hall, where tea was waiting. Two girls and three men, and Vere herself, prettier than ever, but with just the old, aggravating, condescending way.“Hallo, Babs! Is that you transformed into a young lady in long dresses, and your hair done up? You dear, fat thing, how ridiculous you look!” she cried, holding me out at arm’s length, and laughing as if it were the funniest joke in the world, while those three strange men stood by staring, and I grew magenta with embarrassment.One of the men was tall and handsome, with a long, narrow face, and small, narrow eyes; he laughed with her, and I hated him for it, and for having so little sympathy with a poor girl’s feelings. Another was small, with a strong, square-set figure, and he looked sorry for me; and the third looked on the floor, and frowned as if something had hurt his feelings. He was the oldest and gravest-looking of the three, and I knew before he had been ten minutes in the room that he adored Vere with his heart, and disapproved of her with his conscience, and was miserable every time she did or said a thoughtless thing.“I told you I had a smaller sister at home—here she is! Rather bigger than I expected, but not much changed in other respects. Don’t be shy, Babs! Shake hands nicely, and be friends!” Vere cried laughingly, taking me by the shoulders and pushing me gently towards where the men stood; but, just as I was fuming with rage at being treated as if I were two, father came suddenly from behind, and said in his most grand seigneur manner—“Allow me, Vere! If an introduction is made at all, it is best to make it properly. Captain Grantly, Mr Nash, Mr Carstairs, I have the honour of introducing you to my second daughter, Miss Una Sackville.”The change of expression on the men’s faces was comical to behold. Captain Grantly, the narrow-faced one, bowed as if I had been the Queen, and the nice little man smiled at me as if he were pleased—he was Mr Nash, and poor Mr Carstairs flushed as if he had been snubbed himself; I was quite sorry for him.The girls were very lively and bright, spoke in loud voices, and behaved as if they had lived in the house all their lives, which is supposed to be good manners nowadays. Margot Sanders is tall and fair, and wears eye-glasses, and Mary Eversley, who is “Lady Mary,” would have been considered very unladylike indeed at our polite seminary.It seems to be fashionable nowadays for a girl to behave as much like a man as possible, and to smoke and shout, and stand with her arms behind her back, and lounge about anyhow on her chair. Well, I won’t! I don’t care if it’s fashionable or not! I’d rather have been a boy if I’d had the choice, but as I am a girl I’ll make the best of it, and be as nice a specimen as I can. Lorna says a girl ought to be like a flower—sweet, modest and fragrant; she’s a bit sentimental when you get her alone, but I agree with the idea, though I should not have expressed it in the same way. If I were a man I should hate to marry a girl who smelt of tobacco and shrieked like a steam whistle. I’d like a dear, dainty thing with a soft voice and pretty, womanly ways. I hereby vow and declare that I will stick to my colours, and set an example to those old things who ought to know better. Lady Mary must be twenty-five if she is a day. I don’t expect she will ever be married now. With the clear-sighted gaze of youth, I can see that she is hiding a broken heart beneath the mask of mirth. Life is frightfully exciting when you have the gift of penetrating below the surface.Will Dudley came to dinner; he was the only stranger, as he made the number even. I wore my new white chiffon, and thought I looked very fine till I went downstairs and saw the others. They were smart, and Vere looked lovely, and did the honours so charmingly that even mother seemed to make way for her. Poor mother! she looked so happy; she dotes on Vere, and is so proud of her; it does seem hard she doesn’t have more of her society! I felt sad somehow, and sort of lonely as I watched them together—Vere fussing round and saying pretty, flattering little speeches, and mother smiling at her so tenderly. I feel nice things, too, but I can’t say them to order; my lips seem all tight and horrid, as if they wouldn’t move. I felt like the elder brother in the parable, because I really have denied myself, and been bored fearfully sometimes these last weeks doing fancy-work with mother, and driving about shut up in a horrid, close carriage, while Vere has been gadding about and enjoying herself; and then the moment she comes home I am nowhere beside her! Injustices like this sear the heart, and make one old before one’s time.I suppose I looked sad, for Will Dudley crossed over the room to talk to me.“Aren’t you well?” he asked, and his eyes looked so anxious and worried that it quite comforted me.“I have rather a headache,” I began, without thinking of what I was saying, and then, (somehow I never can help telling him exactly how I feel), I stopped, and contradicted myself flat. “I’m perfectly well, but I think I’m jealous. I have been the only child for so long, and now my poor little nose is out of joint, and I don’t like it a bit. It aches.”I thought he would sympathise and protest that I could never be superseded, in his opinion at least, but he just sighed, and said slowly—“Yes, she is very lovely! It must be a great responsibility to have a face as beautiful as hers, with all the influence over others that is its accompaniment!” and looked straight across the room to where Vere stood beneath the shaded lamp.She was not looking in our direction; but, as if she felt his gaze without seeing it, she turned her head slowly round and raised her eyes to his, and so they stood while you could have counted ten, staring, staring, straight into each other’s eyes, and I saw the colour fade gradually out of Vere’s face as though she were frightened by what she saw. That is the way people fall in love! I’ve read about it in books. They sort of recognise each other when they meet, even if they are perfect strangers, and Lorna says it is the soul recognising its mate. But I know well enough that Vere would never satisfy Will Dudley, and, besides, there is Rachel—poor patient Rachel, who trusts him so faithfully. I looked up quickly to see if he had turned pale also. He was rather white, but there was a curious little smile about the corners of his lips which quietened my fears. I should not have liked that smile if I had been Vere. There was something contemptuous in it despite its admiration, and a sort of defiance, too, as if he were quite, quite sure of himself and secure from all temptation; but then they do begin like that sometimes, and the siren weaves on them her spells, and they succumb. I wonder how it will end with Vere and Will Dudley!

Rachel was surprised when I told her that I knew her secret, and I don’t think she was pleased.

“Will told you! Will told you himself!” she repeated, and stared at me in a puzzled, curious fashion, as if she wondered why on earth he should have chosen to make a confidante of me. “It is hardly a regular engagement, for father will not hear of my leaving home, and the waiting may be so long that I have told Will it is not fair to bind him. He says he is content to wait, but we agreed to speak about it as little as possible for some time to come.”

“Oh, well, I’ll keep the secret. You need not be afraid that I shall gossip about you,” I told her. She wears no ring on her engagement finger, but always, always—morning, noon and night—there is a little diamond anchor pinned in the front of her dress. I suppose he has given her that instead, as a symbol of hope—hope that in ten or a dozen years, when she is an old thing over thirty, they may possibly be married! Well, I can imagine Rachel waiting twenty years, if it comes to that, and keeping quite happy and serene meantime; but Will Dudley is different—so quick and energetic and keen. I could not have imagined him so patient.

Yesterday Vere came home, bringing her friends with her, and already Rachel and her love affair seems far away, and we live in such a bustle and confusion that there is no time to think. I’m rather glad, for I was getting quite dull and mopey. They arrived about five in the afternoon, and came trooping into the hall, where tea was waiting. Two girls and three men, and Vere herself, prettier than ever, but with just the old, aggravating, condescending way.

“Hallo, Babs! Is that you transformed into a young lady in long dresses, and your hair done up? You dear, fat thing, how ridiculous you look!” she cried, holding me out at arm’s length, and laughing as if it were the funniest joke in the world, while those three strange men stood by staring, and I grew magenta with embarrassment.

One of the men was tall and handsome, with a long, narrow face, and small, narrow eyes; he laughed with her, and I hated him for it, and for having so little sympathy with a poor girl’s feelings. Another was small, with a strong, square-set figure, and he looked sorry for me; and the third looked on the floor, and frowned as if something had hurt his feelings. He was the oldest and gravest-looking of the three, and I knew before he had been ten minutes in the room that he adored Vere with his heart, and disapproved of her with his conscience, and was miserable every time she did or said a thoughtless thing.

“I told you I had a smaller sister at home—here she is! Rather bigger than I expected, but not much changed in other respects. Don’t be shy, Babs! Shake hands nicely, and be friends!” Vere cried laughingly, taking me by the shoulders and pushing me gently towards where the men stood; but, just as I was fuming with rage at being treated as if I were two, father came suddenly from behind, and said in his most grand seigneur manner—

“Allow me, Vere! If an introduction is made at all, it is best to make it properly. Captain Grantly, Mr Nash, Mr Carstairs, I have the honour of introducing you to my second daughter, Miss Una Sackville.”

The change of expression on the men’s faces was comical to behold. Captain Grantly, the narrow-faced one, bowed as if I had been the Queen, and the nice little man smiled at me as if he were pleased—he was Mr Nash, and poor Mr Carstairs flushed as if he had been snubbed himself; I was quite sorry for him.

The girls were very lively and bright, spoke in loud voices, and behaved as if they had lived in the house all their lives, which is supposed to be good manners nowadays. Margot Sanders is tall and fair, and wears eye-glasses, and Mary Eversley, who is “Lady Mary,” would have been considered very unladylike indeed at our polite seminary.

It seems to be fashionable nowadays for a girl to behave as much like a man as possible, and to smoke and shout, and stand with her arms behind her back, and lounge about anyhow on her chair. Well, I won’t! I don’t care if it’s fashionable or not! I’d rather have been a boy if I’d had the choice, but as I am a girl I’ll make the best of it, and be as nice a specimen as I can. Lorna says a girl ought to be like a flower—sweet, modest and fragrant; she’s a bit sentimental when you get her alone, but I agree with the idea, though I should not have expressed it in the same way. If I were a man I should hate to marry a girl who smelt of tobacco and shrieked like a steam whistle. I’d like a dear, dainty thing with a soft voice and pretty, womanly ways. I hereby vow and declare that I will stick to my colours, and set an example to those old things who ought to know better. Lady Mary must be twenty-five if she is a day. I don’t expect she will ever be married now. With the clear-sighted gaze of youth, I can see that she is hiding a broken heart beneath the mask of mirth. Life is frightfully exciting when you have the gift of penetrating below the surface.

Will Dudley came to dinner; he was the only stranger, as he made the number even. I wore my new white chiffon, and thought I looked very fine till I went downstairs and saw the others. They were smart, and Vere looked lovely, and did the honours so charmingly that even mother seemed to make way for her. Poor mother! she looked so happy; she dotes on Vere, and is so proud of her; it does seem hard she doesn’t have more of her society! I felt sad somehow, and sort of lonely as I watched them together—Vere fussing round and saying pretty, flattering little speeches, and mother smiling at her so tenderly. I feel nice things, too, but I can’t say them to order; my lips seem all tight and horrid, as if they wouldn’t move. I felt like the elder brother in the parable, because I really have denied myself, and been bored fearfully sometimes these last weeks doing fancy-work with mother, and driving about shut up in a horrid, close carriage, while Vere has been gadding about and enjoying herself; and then the moment she comes home I am nowhere beside her! Injustices like this sear the heart, and make one old before one’s time.

I suppose I looked sad, for Will Dudley crossed over the room to talk to me.

“Aren’t you well?” he asked, and his eyes looked so anxious and worried that it quite comforted me.

“I have rather a headache,” I began, without thinking of what I was saying, and then, (somehow I never can help telling him exactly how I feel), I stopped, and contradicted myself flat. “I’m perfectly well, but I think I’m jealous. I have been the only child for so long, and now my poor little nose is out of joint, and I don’t like it a bit. It aches.”

I thought he would sympathise and protest that I could never be superseded, in his opinion at least, but he just sighed, and said slowly—

“Yes, she is very lovely! It must be a great responsibility to have a face as beautiful as hers, with all the influence over others that is its accompaniment!” and looked straight across the room to where Vere stood beneath the shaded lamp.

She was not looking in our direction; but, as if she felt his gaze without seeing it, she turned her head slowly round and raised her eyes to his, and so they stood while you could have counted ten, staring, staring, straight into each other’s eyes, and I saw the colour fade gradually out of Vere’s face as though she were frightened by what she saw. That is the way people fall in love! I’ve read about it in books. They sort of recognise each other when they meet, even if they are perfect strangers, and Lorna says it is the soul recognising its mate. But I know well enough that Vere would never satisfy Will Dudley, and, besides, there is Rachel—poor patient Rachel, who trusts him so faithfully. I looked up quickly to see if he had turned pale also. He was rather white, but there was a curious little smile about the corners of his lips which quietened my fears. I should not have liked that smile if I had been Vere. There was something contemptuous in it despite its admiration, and a sort of defiance, too, as if he were quite, quite sure of himself and secure from all temptation; but then they do begin like that sometimes, and the siren weaves on them her spells, and they succumb. I wonder how it will end with Vere and Will Dudley!

Chapter Seven.It is rather jolly having a house full of people; and father and mother and Vere are so clever at entertaining. There is never any fuss nor effort, and people are allowed to go their own way, but there is always something to do if they choose to do it. I must say that, for grown-up people, these visitors are very frivolous, and play about together as if they were children. Mr Nash began showing me tricks with pennies after breakfast the first morning, and I was so interested learning how to do them that it was half-past ten before I thought of joining father at the stables. It was too late then, and I wasn’t altogether sorry, for it was livelier going about with these new people, and it wasn’t my fault, for I should have gone if I’d remembered. I was extra nice to father at lunch to make up, and he didn’t seem a bit vexed, so I needn’t trouble another day. Really, I think it is my duty to help Vere all I can. She questioned me about Will Dudley the first time we were alone. I knew she would, and decided to tell her of his engagement. I had been told not to speak of it generally; but to my own sister it was different, and I had a feeling that she ought to know.“Who is that Mr Dudley?” she asked, and when I told her all I knew, she smiled and dropped her eyes in the slow, self-confident fashion which other people think so fascinating but which always make me long to shake her.“Really, quite an acquisition!” she drawled. “A vast improvement on the native one generally meets in these wilds. We must cultivate him, Babs! He makes our number even, so we can afford to spoil him a little bit, as it is a convenience to ourselves at the same time. It will be a godsend for him to meet some decent people.”“As a matter of fact, he came to live in the country because he was sick of society and society people. He is not a country bumpkin, Vere, and won’t be a bit grateful for your patronage. In fact, I don’t believe he will come oftener than once or twice. When a man is engaged it’s a bore to him to have to—”“Engaged!” she cried. “Mr Dudley! Who told you he was engaged? I don’t believe a word of it. Some stupid local gossip! Who told you that nonsense?”“He told me himself!”“He did? My dear Babs, he was having a joke! No man would confide such a thing to a child like you!”“You are mistaken there. He has told me heaps of things besides this, and I know the girl, and have spoken to her about it. You know her, too. Rachel Greaves, who lives at ‘The Clift’.”“Rach–el Greaves! Oh! oh!” cried Vere, and put her hands to her sides in peals of derisive laughter. “Oh, this is too killing! And youbelievedit? You dear, sweet innocent! That man and—Rachel Greaves! My dear, have you seen her hair? Have you seen her hat? Could you really imagine for one moment that any man could be engaged to a creature like that?”“I don’t imagine—I know! They have been engaged for years. It will be years more before they are married, for old Mr Greaves won’t give his consent. And Rachel won’t leave home without it; but Mr Dudley is quite willing to wait. He says she is the best woman in the world.”“Oh, I daresay! She is frumpy enough for anything; and you call that an engagement? My dear, he will no more marry her than he’ll marry the moon. It’s just a stupid platonic friendship, and as he has not known anything else he thinks it is love. Imagine being in love with that solemn creature! Imagine making pretty speeches and listening to her correct copy-book replies! Wait! I should think she may wait! She’ll have a surprise one of these days when he meets the right girl, and bids Rachel Greaves a fond farewell!”“He’ll do nothing of the sort,” I said hotly. “I do hate you, Vere, when you sneer like that, and make out that everyone is worldly and horrible, like yourself! Will Dudley is a good man, and he wants a good woman for his wife—not a doll. He’d rather have Rachel’s little finger than a dozen empty-headed fashion-plates like the girls you admire. But you don’t understand. Your friends are all so different that you cannot understand an honest man when you meet him.”“Can’t I? What a pity! Don’t get into a rage, dear, it’s so unnecessary. I’m sorry I’m so obtuse; but at least I can learn. I’ll make it my business to understand Mr Dudley thoroughly during the autumn. It will be quite an occupation,” replied Vere, with her head in the air and her eyes glittering at me in a nasty, horrid, cold, calculating “You-wait-and-see” kind of way which made me ill! It was just like Tennyson’s Lady Clara Vere de Vere, who “sought to break a country heart for pastime ere she went to town,” for Vere would never be content to marry Will Dudley, even if she succeeded in winning him from Rachel. Poor Rachel! I felt so sorry for her; she has so little, and she’s so sweet and content, and so innocent that a serpent has entered into her Eden. It sounds rather horrid to call your own sister a serpent, but circumstances alter cases, and it really is appropriate. I think Vere expected me to fly into another rage, but I didn’t feel angry at all, only sorry and ashamed, and anxious to know what I could do to baulk her dark designs.“I’m thankful I’m not a beauty!” I said at last, and she stared for a moment, and then laughed and said—“Because of the terrible temptations which you escape? Dear little innocent! Don’t be too modest, however; you really have improved marvellously these past few months. If you could hear what the men said about you last night—”“I don’t want to hear, thank you,” I returned icily; and that was one temptation overcome, anyhow, for I just died to know every single remark! It’s awful to care so much about what people think about you, as I do. After she went away I sat down and reviewed the situation, as they say in books, and mapped out a plan of action. I wanted to feel that I was doing some good to someone, so I decided then and there to be a guardian angel to Will and Rachel. It’s wonderful what you can do, even if you are only nineteen and a girl, if you set your mind to it, and determine to succeed. They have both been kind to me, and I am their friend, and mean to help them. I’d rather be flayed alive than say so to a living soul, but I can now confess to these pages that I was jealous of Rachel myself when I first heard of the engagement, and I wondered, if Will had never seen her, if perhaps he—oh, a lot of silly, idiotic things; for he is so different from the other men you meet that you simply can’t help liking him. So now it will be a discipline for me to have to forget myself, and try to keep them together. Perhaps when they are married they will know all, and bless my memory, and call one of their children after me, and I shall be content to witness their happiness from afar. I’ve read of things like that, but I always thought I’d be the married one, not the other. You do when you are young, but it’s awful what sorrows there are in the world. I am not twenty yet, and already my life is blighted, and my fondest hopes laid in the dust...Such ripping fun! We are all going for a moonlight party up the river, with hampers full of good things to eat at supper on the bank above the lock. We are taking rugs to spread on the grass, and Japanese lanterns to make it look festive, and not a single servant, so that we shall do everything ourselves. We girls are all delighted, but I think the men—Captain Grantly especially—think it’s rather mad to go to so much trouble when you might have your dinner comfortably at home. Male creatures are like that, so practical and commonplace, not a bit enthusiastic and sensible like school-girls. We used to keep awake until one o’clock in the morning, and sit shivering in dressing-gowns, eating custard, tarts and sardines, and thought it was splendid fun. I think a picnic where servants make the fire and pack away the dishes is too contemptible for words.Vere wanted Will Dudley to come with us, so I went round to the “The Clift” that very afternoon and invited Rachel to come too. I am as much at liberty to invite my friends as she is to ask hers, and this was meant to be a checkmate to her plans; but Rachel was too stupid for words, and wouldn’t be induced to accept.“I always play a game with father in the evening,” she said. “He would miss it if I went out.”“But he can’t expect you never to go out! He would appreciate you all the more if you did leave him alone sometimes,” I said, talking to myself as much as to her, for it was four days since I had been a walk with my father, and my horrid old conscience was beginning to prick. “Do come, Rachel. I want you particularly,” but she went on refusing, so then I thought I would try what jealousy would do. “We shall be such a merry party; Vere is prettier and livelier than ever, and her friends are very amusing. Lady Mary is very handsome, and she sings and plays on the mandoline. She is going to take it with her to-night. It will be so pretty, the sound of singing on the water, and she will look so picturesque under the Japanese lamps.”She looked wistful and longing, but not a bit perturbed.“I wish I could come! It sounds charming. I’ve hardly ever been on the river, never in the evening; but I should be worrying about father all the time. He is old, you see, Una, and he has such bad pain, and his days seem so long. It must be so sad to be ill and know that you will never get any better, and to have nothing to look forward to.” Her face lit up suddenly, and I knew she was thinking of the time, years ahead, when what she was looking forward to would come true. “I really could not neglect father for my own amusement.”“But you have someone else to think of!” I reminded her cunningly. “I told you who was coming. You ought to think of his pleasure.”“Oh, he will enjoy it in any case! He loves being on the water; I am so glad you asked him!” she cried, quite flushed with delight, if you please, at the thought that Will was coming without her. I did feel a worm! Never, no, never could I be like that. If I were engaged to a man and couldn’t go anywhere, I should like him to stay at home too, and think of me, and not dare to enjoy himself with other girls; but Rachel is not like that. Sometimes I wish she were just a wee, tiny bit less sensible and composed. I could love her better if she were.We all went down to the boat-house at eight o’clock, we girls with long coats over our light dresses, because it’s silly to catch cold, and so unbecoming, and on the way I told Will about Rachel. He came at once and walked beside me, and gave me such a nice look as he thanked me for thinking of it.“That was kind of you! She would be pleased to be remembered, but this sort of thing is out of her line. She will be happier at home!”Poor Rachel! That’s the worst of being chronically unselfish; in the end people cease to give you any credit for it, and virtue has to be its own reward, for you don’t get any other. I did think it was hard that even Will should misjudge her so, and be so complacent about it into the bargain, but it was hardly my place to defend her to him, of all people in the world.“You will come into my boat, of course,” he said in his masterful way when we drew near the ferry; but I had seen Vere divide parties before now, and I knew very well I should not be allowed to go where I chose. It was as good as a play to see how she did it, seeming to ponder and consider, and change her mind half a dozen times, and to be so spontaneous and natural, when all the time her plans had been made from the very beginning. Finally, she and Will took possession of the first boat, with Lady Mary and Captain Grantly, who were always together, and were too much taken up with their own society to have eyes for anyone else. Miss Talbot, Mr Nash, Mr Carstairs and I went into the second boat—Miss Talbot furious because she felt it a slight to be put with a child like me—Mr Carstairs depressed as he generally was, poor man!—I with a heavy weight inside me, feeling all of a sudden as if I hated parties and everything about them, and dear little Mr Nash, happy and complacent, cracking jokes to which no one deigned to listen. Isn’t it funny to think how miserable you can be when you are supposed to be enjoying yourself? I dare say if you only knew it, lots of people have aching hearts when you envy them for being so happy. The people on the banks looked longingly at us, but three out of the four in our boat were as cross and dissatisfied as they could be; and it made it worse to hear them enjoying themselves in the other boat; Vere’s trills of laughter, and Lady Mary’s gentlemanly “Ha, ha!” ringing out in response to the murmur of the men’s voices. When you are on land with the wrong people there is always the chance of a change, but youdofeel so “fixed” in a boat! I simply longed to reach the lock, and felt as cross as two sticks, until suddenly I met Mr Carstairs’ eyes, looking, oh, so sad and hopeless, and I felt so sorry that I simply had to rouse up to cheer him. He must know perfectly well that Vere doesn’t care for him, but he seems as if he could not help caring for her, and staying on and on, though he is miserable all the time, I like him! He has a good look in his face, and talks sensibly about interesting things, instead of everlastingly chaffing or paying compliments, which seems to be the fashion nowadays. I think I shall favour his suit, and try to help him.I talked, and he looked first bored, and then amused, and in the end quite interested and happy, so that we drew up by the bank to join the others in quite a cheerful mood, much to my relief. It is humiliating to look left out in the cold, however much you may feel it.Vere was flushed, and unlike herself somehow. She fussed over the laying out of the supper, and it wasn’t like Vere to fuss, and whenever she wanted anything done she always turned first of all to Will Dudley, and half the time he was looking the other way and never noticed what she ask, when poor Mr Carstairs did it at once and got snubbed for his pains.I was the youngest, and had to do all the uninteresting things, such as unpacking the spoons and forks, and taking the paper wrappings off the tumblers, while the others laid out the provisions and quarrelled over the best arrangement. But it was fun when we all sat down and began to eat. The Japanese lanterns were tied to the trees overhead, and made everything look bright and cheery, for the moon had hidden itself behind the clouds, and it had been just a wee bit cheerless the last half-hour. We heated the soup over a little spirit-lamp, and had lobster salad on dainty little paper plates, and cold chicken and cutlets, and all sorts of delicious sweets and fruit, and we all ate a lot, and groaned and said how ill we should be in the morning, and then ate some more and didn’t care a bit. It was almost as good as a feast in the dormitory. Then we told funny stories, and asked riddles, and Lady Mary sang coon songs to her mandoline, and I was enjoying myself simply awfully when someone said—it was Mr Nash, and I shall never forgive him for it—“Now it’s your turn, Miss Una! Your father is always talking of your singing, yet we never seem to hear you. Too bad, you know! You can’t refuse to-night, when we are all doing our best to amuse each other. Now, then, what is it to be?”I was horrified! I love singing, but it seemed so formidable with no accompaniment, and no piano behind which to hide my blushes, but the more I protested, the more they implored, until Vere said quite sharply—“For goodness’ sake, child, do your best, and don’t make a fuss! Nobody expects you to be a professional!”“Start ahead, and I’ll vamp an accompaniment. It will be better than nothing,” said Lady Mary kindly, and Will whispered low in my ear: “Don’t be nervous. Do your best. Astonish them, Babs!” And I did. That whisper inspired me somehow, and I sang “The Vale of Avoca,” father’s favourite ballad, pronouncing the words distinctly, as the singing mistress always made us do at school. I love the words, and the air is so sweet, and just suits my voice. I always feel quite worked up and choky when I come to the last verse, but I try not to show it, for it looks so silly to cry at yourself.There was quite a burst of applause when I finished. The men clapped and called out “Bravo! Bravo!” Lady Mary said, “You little wretch! You do take the wind out of my sails. Fancy having to be bothered to sing with a voice like that! Gracious! I should never leave off!” and Vere laughed, and said in her sweetest tones, “But, for pity’s sake, don’t turn sentimental, Babs! It’s so absurdly out of keeping! Stick to something lively and stirring—something from the comic operas! That would be far more in your line, don’t you think so, Mr Dudley?”Will was leaning back on his elbow, resting his head on his hand.“It’s a question of taste,” he said lazily. “Some people are fond of comic operas. Personally, I detest them; but I don’t profess to be a judge. I only know what I like.”“A sentimental ballad, for example?”“Occasionally. Not always, by any means.” He seemed determined not to give a straight-forward answer, and Vere turned aside with a shrug and began to talk to Mr Carstairs. She always takes refuge with him when other people fail her. I felt all hot and churned up with the excitement of singing, and then with rage at being snubbed in that public fashion. It spoiled all the pleasure and made me wonder if I had really made an exhibition of myself, and they were only pretending to be pleased.The others were chattering like magpies; only Will Dudley and I were silent. I felt his eyes watching me, but I wouldn’t look at him for quite a long time, till at last I simply had to turn round, when he smiled, such a kind nice smile, and said—“Well, better now? Got the better of the little temper?”“I don’t know; partly, I suppose, but I do hate to be snubbed. I didn’t want to sing. I did it to be polite; and it’s horrid to think I made an idiot of myself.”Silence. It was no use. Ihadto ask him—“Did I make an idiot of myself?”“You know you didn’t.”“Did you—did you think it was nice?”“Yes.”That was all. Not another word could I get out of him, but I felt better, for it sounded as if he really meant it, and I cared for his opinion most of all.

It is rather jolly having a house full of people; and father and mother and Vere are so clever at entertaining. There is never any fuss nor effort, and people are allowed to go their own way, but there is always something to do if they choose to do it. I must say that, for grown-up people, these visitors are very frivolous, and play about together as if they were children. Mr Nash began showing me tricks with pennies after breakfast the first morning, and I was so interested learning how to do them that it was half-past ten before I thought of joining father at the stables. It was too late then, and I wasn’t altogether sorry, for it was livelier going about with these new people, and it wasn’t my fault, for I should have gone if I’d remembered. I was extra nice to father at lunch to make up, and he didn’t seem a bit vexed, so I needn’t trouble another day. Really, I think it is my duty to help Vere all I can. She questioned me about Will Dudley the first time we were alone. I knew she would, and decided to tell her of his engagement. I had been told not to speak of it generally; but to my own sister it was different, and I had a feeling that she ought to know.

“Who is that Mr Dudley?” she asked, and when I told her all I knew, she smiled and dropped her eyes in the slow, self-confident fashion which other people think so fascinating but which always make me long to shake her.

“Really, quite an acquisition!” she drawled. “A vast improvement on the native one generally meets in these wilds. We must cultivate him, Babs! He makes our number even, so we can afford to spoil him a little bit, as it is a convenience to ourselves at the same time. It will be a godsend for him to meet some decent people.”

“As a matter of fact, he came to live in the country because he was sick of society and society people. He is not a country bumpkin, Vere, and won’t be a bit grateful for your patronage. In fact, I don’t believe he will come oftener than once or twice. When a man is engaged it’s a bore to him to have to—”

“Engaged!” she cried. “Mr Dudley! Who told you he was engaged? I don’t believe a word of it. Some stupid local gossip! Who told you that nonsense?”

“He told me himself!”

“He did? My dear Babs, he was having a joke! No man would confide such a thing to a child like you!”

“You are mistaken there. He has told me heaps of things besides this, and I know the girl, and have spoken to her about it. You know her, too. Rachel Greaves, who lives at ‘The Clift’.”

“Rach–el Greaves! Oh! oh!” cried Vere, and put her hands to her sides in peals of derisive laughter. “Oh, this is too killing! And youbelievedit? You dear, sweet innocent! That man and—Rachel Greaves! My dear, have you seen her hair? Have you seen her hat? Could you really imagine for one moment that any man could be engaged to a creature like that?”

“I don’t imagine—I know! They have been engaged for years. It will be years more before they are married, for old Mr Greaves won’t give his consent. And Rachel won’t leave home without it; but Mr Dudley is quite willing to wait. He says she is the best woman in the world.”

“Oh, I daresay! She is frumpy enough for anything; and you call that an engagement? My dear, he will no more marry her than he’ll marry the moon. It’s just a stupid platonic friendship, and as he has not known anything else he thinks it is love. Imagine being in love with that solemn creature! Imagine making pretty speeches and listening to her correct copy-book replies! Wait! I should think she may wait! She’ll have a surprise one of these days when he meets the right girl, and bids Rachel Greaves a fond farewell!”

“He’ll do nothing of the sort,” I said hotly. “I do hate you, Vere, when you sneer like that, and make out that everyone is worldly and horrible, like yourself! Will Dudley is a good man, and he wants a good woman for his wife—not a doll. He’d rather have Rachel’s little finger than a dozen empty-headed fashion-plates like the girls you admire. But you don’t understand. Your friends are all so different that you cannot understand an honest man when you meet him.”

“Can’t I? What a pity! Don’t get into a rage, dear, it’s so unnecessary. I’m sorry I’m so obtuse; but at least I can learn. I’ll make it my business to understand Mr Dudley thoroughly during the autumn. It will be quite an occupation,” replied Vere, with her head in the air and her eyes glittering at me in a nasty, horrid, cold, calculating “You-wait-and-see” kind of way which made me ill! It was just like Tennyson’s Lady Clara Vere de Vere, who “sought to break a country heart for pastime ere she went to town,” for Vere would never be content to marry Will Dudley, even if she succeeded in winning him from Rachel. Poor Rachel! I felt so sorry for her; she has so little, and she’s so sweet and content, and so innocent that a serpent has entered into her Eden. It sounds rather horrid to call your own sister a serpent, but circumstances alter cases, and it really is appropriate. I think Vere expected me to fly into another rage, but I didn’t feel angry at all, only sorry and ashamed, and anxious to know what I could do to baulk her dark designs.

“I’m thankful I’m not a beauty!” I said at last, and she stared for a moment, and then laughed and said—

“Because of the terrible temptations which you escape? Dear little innocent! Don’t be too modest, however; you really have improved marvellously these past few months. If you could hear what the men said about you last night—”

“I don’t want to hear, thank you,” I returned icily; and that was one temptation overcome, anyhow, for I just died to know every single remark! It’s awful to care so much about what people think about you, as I do. After she went away I sat down and reviewed the situation, as they say in books, and mapped out a plan of action. I wanted to feel that I was doing some good to someone, so I decided then and there to be a guardian angel to Will and Rachel. It’s wonderful what you can do, even if you are only nineteen and a girl, if you set your mind to it, and determine to succeed. They have both been kind to me, and I am their friend, and mean to help them. I’d rather be flayed alive than say so to a living soul, but I can now confess to these pages that I was jealous of Rachel myself when I first heard of the engagement, and I wondered, if Will had never seen her, if perhaps he—oh, a lot of silly, idiotic things; for he is so different from the other men you meet that you simply can’t help liking him. So now it will be a discipline for me to have to forget myself, and try to keep them together. Perhaps when they are married they will know all, and bless my memory, and call one of their children after me, and I shall be content to witness their happiness from afar. I’ve read of things like that, but I always thought I’d be the married one, not the other. You do when you are young, but it’s awful what sorrows there are in the world. I am not twenty yet, and already my life is blighted, and my fondest hopes laid in the dust...

Such ripping fun! We are all going for a moonlight party up the river, with hampers full of good things to eat at supper on the bank above the lock. We are taking rugs to spread on the grass, and Japanese lanterns to make it look festive, and not a single servant, so that we shall do everything ourselves. We girls are all delighted, but I think the men—Captain Grantly especially—think it’s rather mad to go to so much trouble when you might have your dinner comfortably at home. Male creatures are like that, so practical and commonplace, not a bit enthusiastic and sensible like school-girls. We used to keep awake until one o’clock in the morning, and sit shivering in dressing-gowns, eating custard, tarts and sardines, and thought it was splendid fun. I think a picnic where servants make the fire and pack away the dishes is too contemptible for words.

Vere wanted Will Dudley to come with us, so I went round to the “The Clift” that very afternoon and invited Rachel to come too. I am as much at liberty to invite my friends as she is to ask hers, and this was meant to be a checkmate to her plans; but Rachel was too stupid for words, and wouldn’t be induced to accept.

“I always play a game with father in the evening,” she said. “He would miss it if I went out.”

“But he can’t expect you never to go out! He would appreciate you all the more if you did leave him alone sometimes,” I said, talking to myself as much as to her, for it was four days since I had been a walk with my father, and my horrid old conscience was beginning to prick. “Do come, Rachel. I want you particularly,” but she went on refusing, so then I thought I would try what jealousy would do. “We shall be such a merry party; Vere is prettier and livelier than ever, and her friends are very amusing. Lady Mary is very handsome, and she sings and plays on the mandoline. She is going to take it with her to-night. It will be so pretty, the sound of singing on the water, and she will look so picturesque under the Japanese lamps.”

She looked wistful and longing, but not a bit perturbed.

“I wish I could come! It sounds charming. I’ve hardly ever been on the river, never in the evening; but I should be worrying about father all the time. He is old, you see, Una, and he has such bad pain, and his days seem so long. It must be so sad to be ill and know that you will never get any better, and to have nothing to look forward to.” Her face lit up suddenly, and I knew she was thinking of the time, years ahead, when what she was looking forward to would come true. “I really could not neglect father for my own amusement.”

“But you have someone else to think of!” I reminded her cunningly. “I told you who was coming. You ought to think of his pleasure.”

“Oh, he will enjoy it in any case! He loves being on the water; I am so glad you asked him!” she cried, quite flushed with delight, if you please, at the thought that Will was coming without her. I did feel a worm! Never, no, never could I be like that. If I were engaged to a man and couldn’t go anywhere, I should like him to stay at home too, and think of me, and not dare to enjoy himself with other girls; but Rachel is not like that. Sometimes I wish she were just a wee, tiny bit less sensible and composed. I could love her better if she were.

We all went down to the boat-house at eight o’clock, we girls with long coats over our light dresses, because it’s silly to catch cold, and so unbecoming, and on the way I told Will about Rachel. He came at once and walked beside me, and gave me such a nice look as he thanked me for thinking of it.

“That was kind of you! She would be pleased to be remembered, but this sort of thing is out of her line. She will be happier at home!”

Poor Rachel! That’s the worst of being chronically unselfish; in the end people cease to give you any credit for it, and virtue has to be its own reward, for you don’t get any other. I did think it was hard that even Will should misjudge her so, and be so complacent about it into the bargain, but it was hardly my place to defend her to him, of all people in the world.

“You will come into my boat, of course,” he said in his masterful way when we drew near the ferry; but I had seen Vere divide parties before now, and I knew very well I should not be allowed to go where I chose. It was as good as a play to see how she did it, seeming to ponder and consider, and change her mind half a dozen times, and to be so spontaneous and natural, when all the time her plans had been made from the very beginning. Finally, she and Will took possession of the first boat, with Lady Mary and Captain Grantly, who were always together, and were too much taken up with their own society to have eyes for anyone else. Miss Talbot, Mr Nash, Mr Carstairs and I went into the second boat—Miss Talbot furious because she felt it a slight to be put with a child like me—Mr Carstairs depressed as he generally was, poor man!—I with a heavy weight inside me, feeling all of a sudden as if I hated parties and everything about them, and dear little Mr Nash, happy and complacent, cracking jokes to which no one deigned to listen. Isn’t it funny to think how miserable you can be when you are supposed to be enjoying yourself? I dare say if you only knew it, lots of people have aching hearts when you envy them for being so happy. The people on the banks looked longingly at us, but three out of the four in our boat were as cross and dissatisfied as they could be; and it made it worse to hear them enjoying themselves in the other boat; Vere’s trills of laughter, and Lady Mary’s gentlemanly “Ha, ha!” ringing out in response to the murmur of the men’s voices. When you are on land with the wrong people there is always the chance of a change, but youdofeel so “fixed” in a boat! I simply longed to reach the lock, and felt as cross as two sticks, until suddenly I met Mr Carstairs’ eyes, looking, oh, so sad and hopeless, and I felt so sorry that I simply had to rouse up to cheer him. He must know perfectly well that Vere doesn’t care for him, but he seems as if he could not help caring for her, and staying on and on, though he is miserable all the time, I like him! He has a good look in his face, and talks sensibly about interesting things, instead of everlastingly chaffing or paying compliments, which seems to be the fashion nowadays. I think I shall favour his suit, and try to help him.

I talked, and he looked first bored, and then amused, and in the end quite interested and happy, so that we drew up by the bank to join the others in quite a cheerful mood, much to my relief. It is humiliating to look left out in the cold, however much you may feel it.

Vere was flushed, and unlike herself somehow. She fussed over the laying out of the supper, and it wasn’t like Vere to fuss, and whenever she wanted anything done she always turned first of all to Will Dudley, and half the time he was looking the other way and never noticed what she ask, when poor Mr Carstairs did it at once and got snubbed for his pains.

I was the youngest, and had to do all the uninteresting things, such as unpacking the spoons and forks, and taking the paper wrappings off the tumblers, while the others laid out the provisions and quarrelled over the best arrangement. But it was fun when we all sat down and began to eat. The Japanese lanterns were tied to the trees overhead, and made everything look bright and cheery, for the moon had hidden itself behind the clouds, and it had been just a wee bit cheerless the last half-hour. We heated the soup over a little spirit-lamp, and had lobster salad on dainty little paper plates, and cold chicken and cutlets, and all sorts of delicious sweets and fruit, and we all ate a lot, and groaned and said how ill we should be in the morning, and then ate some more and didn’t care a bit. It was almost as good as a feast in the dormitory. Then we told funny stories, and asked riddles, and Lady Mary sang coon songs to her mandoline, and I was enjoying myself simply awfully when someone said—it was Mr Nash, and I shall never forgive him for it—

“Now it’s your turn, Miss Una! Your father is always talking of your singing, yet we never seem to hear you. Too bad, you know! You can’t refuse to-night, when we are all doing our best to amuse each other. Now, then, what is it to be?”

I was horrified! I love singing, but it seemed so formidable with no accompaniment, and no piano behind which to hide my blushes, but the more I protested, the more they implored, until Vere said quite sharply—

“For goodness’ sake, child, do your best, and don’t make a fuss! Nobody expects you to be a professional!”

“Start ahead, and I’ll vamp an accompaniment. It will be better than nothing,” said Lady Mary kindly, and Will whispered low in my ear: “Don’t be nervous. Do your best. Astonish them, Babs!” And I did. That whisper inspired me somehow, and I sang “The Vale of Avoca,” father’s favourite ballad, pronouncing the words distinctly, as the singing mistress always made us do at school. I love the words, and the air is so sweet, and just suits my voice. I always feel quite worked up and choky when I come to the last verse, but I try not to show it, for it looks so silly to cry at yourself.

There was quite a burst of applause when I finished. The men clapped and called out “Bravo! Bravo!” Lady Mary said, “You little wretch! You do take the wind out of my sails. Fancy having to be bothered to sing with a voice like that! Gracious! I should never leave off!” and Vere laughed, and said in her sweetest tones, “But, for pity’s sake, don’t turn sentimental, Babs! It’s so absurdly out of keeping! Stick to something lively and stirring—something from the comic operas! That would be far more in your line, don’t you think so, Mr Dudley?”

Will was leaning back on his elbow, resting his head on his hand.

“It’s a question of taste,” he said lazily. “Some people are fond of comic operas. Personally, I detest them; but I don’t profess to be a judge. I only know what I like.”

“A sentimental ballad, for example?”

“Occasionally. Not always, by any means.” He seemed determined not to give a straight-forward answer, and Vere turned aside with a shrug and began to talk to Mr Carstairs. She always takes refuge with him when other people fail her. I felt all hot and churned up with the excitement of singing, and then with rage at being snubbed in that public fashion. It spoiled all the pleasure and made me wonder if I had really made an exhibition of myself, and they were only pretending to be pleased.

The others were chattering like magpies; only Will Dudley and I were silent. I felt his eyes watching me, but I wouldn’t look at him for quite a long time, till at last I simply had to turn round, when he smiled, such a kind nice smile, and said—

“Well, better now? Got the better of the little temper?”

“I don’t know; partly, I suppose, but I do hate to be snubbed. I didn’t want to sing. I did it to be polite; and it’s horrid to think I made an idiot of myself.”

Silence. It was no use. Ihadto ask him—

“Did I make an idiot of myself?”

“You know you didn’t.”

“Did you—did you think it was nice?”

“Yes.”

That was all. Not another word could I get out of him, but I felt better, for it sounded as if he really meant it, and I cared for his opinion most of all.

Chapter Eight.

August 15th.

It is three weeks since the moonlight picnic, and so many things have happened since then, such awful, terrible things, that I don’t know how to begin to tell them. I didn’t think when I began this diary how thrilling it was going to be before I’d got half way through; but you never know what is going to happen in this world. It’s awful how suddenly things come. I don’t think I can ever again feel confident and easy-going, as I used to do. You read in books sometimes, “She was no longer a girl, she was a woman,” and it is like that with me. Everything seems different and more solemn, and I don’t think I can ever frivol again in quite the same whole-hearted way.To begin at the beginning: we had a very lively time for the next week, and I grew quite fond of Vere’s friends, even Lady Mary, whom I hated at first, and they all made a fuss of me, and made me sing every night till I felt quite proud. I invited Rachel over and over again, but she would never accept our invitations; but Will came often, either to dinner or lunch, or for an odd call, and Vere neglected everyone for him, and was so fascinating that I was in terror all the time. He admired her, of course; he would have been blind if he hadn’t, but I could not decide if he liked her or not. Sometimes I saw him smiling to himself in the queer, half-scornful way he had done when they first met, and then I was sure he did not; but at other times he would watch her about the room, following every movement as if he couldn’t help himself, and that’s a bad sign. Lorna has a sister who is married, and she knew the man was going to propose, because he looked like that. Somehow I never had a chance of a quiet talk, when I could have given him a hint, and it was thinking about that and wondering how I could see him alone which made me suddenly remember that it was a whole week and more since I had been a walk with father. I went hot all over at the thought. It was ghastly to remember how I had planned and promised to be his companion, and to care for him first of all, and then to realise how I had forsaken him at the very first temptation! He was so sweet about it, too, never complaining or seeming a bit vexed. Parents are really angels. It must be awful to have a child, and take such trouble with it all its life, and then to be neglected for strangers. I hadn’t the heart to write in my diary that night. I was too ashamed. I was worse than Vere, for I had posed as being so good and dutiful. I won’t make any more vows, but I confess here with that I am a selfish pig, and I am ashamed of myself.The next morning I could hardly wait until breakfast was over, I was so anxious to be off. I got my cap and ran down to the stable and slipped my arm in father’s as he stood talking to Vixen. He gave a little start of surprise—it hurt me, that start!—looked down at me and said, smiling—“Well, dear, what is it?”“Nothing. I’m coming with you!” I said, and he squeezed my hand against his side.“Thank you, dear, but I’m going a long round. I won’t be back until lunch. Better not leave your friends for so long.”“Vere is with them, father. I want to come.”“What’s the matter? Not had a quarrel, have you? Has Vere been—”“No, no, she hasn’t!Nothingis the matter, except that I want you, and nobody else. Oh, father, don’t be so horribly kind! Scold me—call me a selfish wretch! I know I have neglected you, dear. There was always something to do, and I—forgot, but really and truly I remembered all the time. It isn’t nonsense, father, it’s true. Can you understand?”“I’ve been nineteen myself, Babs; I understand. Don’t worry, darling. I missed you, but I was glad that you were happy, and I knew your heart was in the right place. We won’t say anything more about it, but have a jolly walk and enjoy ourselves.”Oh, it is good to have someone who understands! If he had scolded or been reproachful I should have felt inclined to make excuses, but when he was so sweet and good I just loved him with all my heart, and prayed to be a better daughter to him all my life.We had lovely walks after that, and on the third morning we met Will Dudley, and once again he and I sat on a log waiting for father while he interviewed a tenant. My heart quite thumped with agitation as I thought that now was the time to lead the conversation skilfully round to Vere, and insinuate delicately that she had a mania for making people fall in love with her, and that it didn’t always mean as much as it seemed when she was sweet and gushing. It wasn’t exactly an easy thing to do, but you can’t be a guardian angel without a little trouble.“So you have torn yourself away from your friends this morning,” he said at last. “How is it that you were allowed to escape? What is the special campaign for killing time to-day, if one may ask?”“You may ask, but it’s rude to be sarcastic. You are often lazy yourself, though in a different fashion. You love to lie on your back on the grass and do nothing but browse and stare up at the sky. You have told me so many times.”“Ah, but what of my thoughts? Under a semblance of ease I am in reality working out the most abstruse problems. I did not mean to be sarcastic; I inquired in all seriousness how your valuable company could be spared.”“For the best of all reasons—because nobody wanted it! Captain Grantly wants Lady Mary, Lady Mary wants Captain Grantly. Miss Talbot wants someone she can’t get, but it doesn’t happen to be me; the rest all want Vere, and have no thought for anyone else. Men always do want to be with Vere. Wherever she goes they fall in love with her and follow her about. She is so lovely, and she—she likes to be liked. Everyone says she is so charming and irresistible—they have told her so since she was a child—and she likes to prove that it was true. If—if anyone seems to like anyone else better it—sort of—worries her, and makes her feel neglected.”“I see.”“Then, of course, she is extra specially nice, and seems to be more interested in him than anyone else.”“Pleasant for him!”“It is, for a time. But if he trusted to it and believed that she was really in earnest, he might get to care himself, and then, when he found out, he would be disappointed.”“Naturally so.”“It has happened like that before, several times, and sometimes there are other people to be considered—I mean there might be another girl whom the man had liked before, and when he had given her up, and found that-that—”“That he had given up the substance and grasped the shadow—”“Yes; then, of course, they would both be miserable, and it would be worse than ever.”“Naturally it would be.”He spoke in the same cool, half-jeering tone, then suddenly turned round and bent his head down to mine, staring at me with bright grey eyes.“Why not be honest, Babs, and not beat about the bush? You think that my peace is threatened and want to warn me of it, isn’t that it, now? You are my very good friend, and I am grateful for your interest. Did you think I was in danger?”“Sometimes—once or twice! Don’t be angry. I know you would be true and loyal, but sometimes—I saw you watching her—”“She is very lovely, Babs; the loveliest woman I have ever seen. There was some excuse for that.”“I know, I feel it myself, and it was just because I could understand a little that I spoke. I thought quite likely that you might be angry at first, but it was better that you should be that than wretched in the end.”“Quite so; but I am not angry at all, only very grateful for your bravery in tackling a difficult subject. I have a pretty good opinion of myself, but I am only a man, and other men have imagined themselves secure and found out their mistake before now. Forewarned is forearmed. Thank you for the warning,” and he smiled at me with a sudden flash of the eyes which left me hot and breathless.Was I in time? Had he really begun to care for Vere so soon as this? I longed to say more, but dared not. All my courage had gone, and I was thankful when father came out of the cottage and put an end to ourtête-à-tête.I thought there would be a difference after this, but there wasn’t—not a bit. When Will came to the house he was as nice as ever to Vere, and seemed quite willing to be monopolised as much as she liked. If he avoided anyone it was me, and I was not a bit surprised. People may say what they like, but they do bear you a grudge for giving them good advice. I sat in a corner and made cynical reflections to myself, and nobody took any notice of me, and I felt more cynical than ever, and went to my bedroom and banged about the furniture to relieve my feelings.Vere came into my room soon after, and stood by the window talking while I brushed my hair. The blind was up, for it was moonlight and I hate to shut it out. Her dress was of some soft silvery stuff, and, standing there in the pale blue light, she looked oh, so lovely, more like a fairy than a human creature! I am so glad I admired her then; I’m glad I told her that I did; I’m glad, glad, glad that I was nice and loving as a sister ought to be, and that we kissed and put our arms round each other when we said good night.“Sleep well, little girl, you look tired. We can’t let you lose your bonny colour,” she said, in her, pretty caressing way; nobody can be as sweet as Vere when she likes.I was tired, but I sat by the window for quite a long time after she left, thinking, thinking, thinking. I can’t tell what I thought exactly, so many things passed through my head, and when I said my prayers I hardly said any words at all; I just put down my head and trusted God to understand me better than I did myself. I had so much to make me happy, but I was not happy somehow. I had so much to make me content, yet there was something missing that made everything else seem blank. I wanted to be good, and such horrid, envious feelings rose up in my heart. In my dear little room, at my own dear little table, I asked God to help me, and to take care of me whatever happened.And He did, but it was not in the way I expected.At last the moon disappeared behind the clouds which had been gathering for some time, and I went to bed and fell fast asleep as soon as my head touched the pillow, as I always do, no matter how agitated I am. I suppose it’s being nineteen and in such good health. “How long I slept I cannot tell,” as they say in ghost stories, but suddenly I woke up with a start and a sort of horrid feeling that something was wrong. The room felt close and heavy, and there was a curious noise coming from outside the door, a sort of buzzing, crackling noise. I didn’t get up at once, for I felt stupid and heavy; it was a minute or two before I seemed really able to think, and then—oh, I shall never forget that moment!—I knew what it was. I felt it! I went cold all over, and my legs shook under me as I stepped on to the floor.The air was thick, and it smelt. My door was the nearest to the staircase, and when I opened it a great cloud of smoke rolled in my face. For a moment it was all cloud and darkness, then a light shot up from below, and the crackling noise was repeated. It was true, quite true. The house was on fire, and already the staircase was ablaze!

To begin at the beginning: we had a very lively time for the next week, and I grew quite fond of Vere’s friends, even Lady Mary, whom I hated at first, and they all made a fuss of me, and made me sing every night till I felt quite proud. I invited Rachel over and over again, but she would never accept our invitations; but Will came often, either to dinner or lunch, or for an odd call, and Vere neglected everyone for him, and was so fascinating that I was in terror all the time. He admired her, of course; he would have been blind if he hadn’t, but I could not decide if he liked her or not. Sometimes I saw him smiling to himself in the queer, half-scornful way he had done when they first met, and then I was sure he did not; but at other times he would watch her about the room, following every movement as if he couldn’t help himself, and that’s a bad sign. Lorna has a sister who is married, and she knew the man was going to propose, because he looked like that. Somehow I never had a chance of a quiet talk, when I could have given him a hint, and it was thinking about that and wondering how I could see him alone which made me suddenly remember that it was a whole week and more since I had been a walk with father. I went hot all over at the thought. It was ghastly to remember how I had planned and promised to be his companion, and to care for him first of all, and then to realise how I had forsaken him at the very first temptation! He was so sweet about it, too, never complaining or seeming a bit vexed. Parents are really angels. It must be awful to have a child, and take such trouble with it all its life, and then to be neglected for strangers. I hadn’t the heart to write in my diary that night. I was too ashamed. I was worse than Vere, for I had posed as being so good and dutiful. I won’t make any more vows, but I confess here with that I am a selfish pig, and I am ashamed of myself.

The next morning I could hardly wait until breakfast was over, I was so anxious to be off. I got my cap and ran down to the stable and slipped my arm in father’s as he stood talking to Vixen. He gave a little start of surprise—it hurt me, that start!—looked down at me and said, smiling—

“Well, dear, what is it?”

“Nothing. I’m coming with you!” I said, and he squeezed my hand against his side.

“Thank you, dear, but I’m going a long round. I won’t be back until lunch. Better not leave your friends for so long.”

“Vere is with them, father. I want to come.”

“What’s the matter? Not had a quarrel, have you? Has Vere been—”

“No, no, she hasn’t!Nothingis the matter, except that I want you, and nobody else. Oh, father, don’t be so horribly kind! Scold me—call me a selfish wretch! I know I have neglected you, dear. There was always something to do, and I—forgot, but really and truly I remembered all the time. It isn’t nonsense, father, it’s true. Can you understand?”

“I’ve been nineteen myself, Babs; I understand. Don’t worry, darling. I missed you, but I was glad that you were happy, and I knew your heart was in the right place. We won’t say anything more about it, but have a jolly walk and enjoy ourselves.”

Oh, it is good to have someone who understands! If he had scolded or been reproachful I should have felt inclined to make excuses, but when he was so sweet and good I just loved him with all my heart, and prayed to be a better daughter to him all my life.

We had lovely walks after that, and on the third morning we met Will Dudley, and once again he and I sat on a log waiting for father while he interviewed a tenant. My heart quite thumped with agitation as I thought that now was the time to lead the conversation skilfully round to Vere, and insinuate delicately that she had a mania for making people fall in love with her, and that it didn’t always mean as much as it seemed when she was sweet and gushing. It wasn’t exactly an easy thing to do, but you can’t be a guardian angel without a little trouble.

“So you have torn yourself away from your friends this morning,” he said at last. “How is it that you were allowed to escape? What is the special campaign for killing time to-day, if one may ask?”

“You may ask, but it’s rude to be sarcastic. You are often lazy yourself, though in a different fashion. You love to lie on your back on the grass and do nothing but browse and stare up at the sky. You have told me so many times.”

“Ah, but what of my thoughts? Under a semblance of ease I am in reality working out the most abstruse problems. I did not mean to be sarcastic; I inquired in all seriousness how your valuable company could be spared.”

“For the best of all reasons—because nobody wanted it! Captain Grantly wants Lady Mary, Lady Mary wants Captain Grantly. Miss Talbot wants someone she can’t get, but it doesn’t happen to be me; the rest all want Vere, and have no thought for anyone else. Men always do want to be with Vere. Wherever she goes they fall in love with her and follow her about. She is so lovely, and she—she likes to be liked. Everyone says she is so charming and irresistible—they have told her so since she was a child—and she likes to prove that it was true. If—if anyone seems to like anyone else better it—sort of—worries her, and makes her feel neglected.”

“I see.”

“Then, of course, she is extra specially nice, and seems to be more interested in him than anyone else.”

“Pleasant for him!”

“It is, for a time. But if he trusted to it and believed that she was really in earnest, he might get to care himself, and then, when he found out, he would be disappointed.”

“Naturally so.”

“It has happened like that before, several times, and sometimes there are other people to be considered—I mean there might be another girl whom the man had liked before, and when he had given her up, and found that-that—”

“That he had given up the substance and grasped the shadow—”

“Yes; then, of course, they would both be miserable, and it would be worse than ever.”

“Naturally it would be.”

He spoke in the same cool, half-jeering tone, then suddenly turned round and bent his head down to mine, staring at me with bright grey eyes.

“Why not be honest, Babs, and not beat about the bush? You think that my peace is threatened and want to warn me of it, isn’t that it, now? You are my very good friend, and I am grateful for your interest. Did you think I was in danger?”

“Sometimes—once or twice! Don’t be angry. I know you would be true and loyal, but sometimes—I saw you watching her—”

“She is very lovely, Babs; the loveliest woman I have ever seen. There was some excuse for that.”

“I know, I feel it myself, and it was just because I could understand a little that I spoke. I thought quite likely that you might be angry at first, but it was better that you should be that than wretched in the end.”

“Quite so; but I am not angry at all, only very grateful for your bravery in tackling a difficult subject. I have a pretty good opinion of myself, but I am only a man, and other men have imagined themselves secure and found out their mistake before now. Forewarned is forearmed. Thank you for the warning,” and he smiled at me with a sudden flash of the eyes which left me hot and breathless.

Was I in time? Had he really begun to care for Vere so soon as this? I longed to say more, but dared not. All my courage had gone, and I was thankful when father came out of the cottage and put an end to ourtête-à-tête.

I thought there would be a difference after this, but there wasn’t—not a bit. When Will came to the house he was as nice as ever to Vere, and seemed quite willing to be monopolised as much as she liked. If he avoided anyone it was me, and I was not a bit surprised. People may say what they like, but they do bear you a grudge for giving them good advice. I sat in a corner and made cynical reflections to myself, and nobody took any notice of me, and I felt more cynical than ever, and went to my bedroom and banged about the furniture to relieve my feelings.

Vere came into my room soon after, and stood by the window talking while I brushed my hair. The blind was up, for it was moonlight and I hate to shut it out. Her dress was of some soft silvery stuff, and, standing there in the pale blue light, she looked oh, so lovely, more like a fairy than a human creature! I am so glad I admired her then; I’m glad I told her that I did; I’m glad, glad, glad that I was nice and loving as a sister ought to be, and that we kissed and put our arms round each other when we said good night.

“Sleep well, little girl, you look tired. We can’t let you lose your bonny colour,” she said, in her, pretty caressing way; nobody can be as sweet as Vere when she likes.

I was tired, but I sat by the window for quite a long time after she left, thinking, thinking, thinking. I can’t tell what I thought exactly, so many things passed through my head, and when I said my prayers I hardly said any words at all; I just put down my head and trusted God to understand me better than I did myself. I had so much to make me happy, but I was not happy somehow. I had so much to make me content, yet there was something missing that made everything else seem blank. I wanted to be good, and such horrid, envious feelings rose up in my heart. In my dear little room, at my own dear little table, I asked God to help me, and to take care of me whatever happened.

And He did, but it was not in the way I expected.

At last the moon disappeared behind the clouds which had been gathering for some time, and I went to bed and fell fast asleep as soon as my head touched the pillow, as I always do, no matter how agitated I am. I suppose it’s being nineteen and in such good health. “How long I slept I cannot tell,” as they say in ghost stories, but suddenly I woke up with a start and a sort of horrid feeling that something was wrong. The room felt close and heavy, and there was a curious noise coming from outside the door, a sort of buzzing, crackling noise. I didn’t get up at once, for I felt stupid and heavy; it was a minute or two before I seemed really able to think, and then—oh, I shall never forget that moment!—I knew what it was. I felt it! I went cold all over, and my legs shook under me as I stepped on to the floor.

The air was thick, and it smelt. My door was the nearest to the staircase, and when I opened it a great cloud of smoke rolled in my face. For a moment it was all cloud and darkness, then a light shot up from below, and the crackling noise was repeated. It was true, quite true. The house was on fire, and already the staircase was ablaze!

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