"How stupid!" commented Rhoda to herself. "`Course of duty' on the very
day we are leaving school. What a ridiculous choice!" and then she
tumbled out of bed and listened no more.
The rest of the morning seemed a comical Alice-in-Wonderland repetition
of the day of arrival. The same long queues were formed to march down,
instead of upstairs; the teachers stood on the landings to say good-bye,
instead of welcome; the "Black Marias" bore the pupils to, instead of
from, the station, where the saloon carriages stood waiting as before.
The Blues crowded into one carriage, and Tom seated herself by Rhoda,
and with twinkling eyes called attention to the undulating beauty of the
landscape. It was all exactly the same, yet delightfully different, for
now there was no shyness nor restraint, but the agreeable consciousness
of liberty to chaff in return, and be as cheeky as one chose.
There was unceasing talk on the journey, yet each girl realised as the
train steamed into Euston that she had forgotten to say the most
important things, and was divided between regret and anxiety to look out
for friends waiting on the platform. Rhoda had heard that Harold was to
meet her, and presently there he was--handsomer than ever, or looking so
after the three months' separation, and as immaculate as if he had
stepped out of the traditional bandbox.
"There he is! That's Harold! That's my brother!" she cried, with a
thrill of pride in the tall, frock-coated figure; and Thomasina looked,
and rolled her little eyes to the ceiling.
"What a bee-ootiful young man! A perfect picter! Give him my fond
love, Fuzzy, and say that I am desolated not to be able to stay to make
his acquaintance, but I must make a bolt for my train."
She seized her bag as she spoke and hurried to the door, prepared to
jump on to the platform at the first possible moment, while her
companions impatiently followed in her wake. Rhoda had a vague
recollection of promising to write regularly to half a dozen girls, and
then she was shaking hands with Harold, and laughing in pure joy at
seeing the familiar face.
"Here I am! Here I am! I have come back at last!"
"So I see!" He swept a glance over her, half smiling, half startled.
"Awfully glad to see you. Got your luggage in the van, eh? Don't know
how on earth we shall get hold of it in this crowd. What an--excuse
me!--an appalling set of girls!"
"I thought so too, at first, but they look different when you know them.
Some of them are sweet, and awfully pretty."
"Humph!" said Harold, sceptically. "They are not conspicuous. I don't
see a decent-looking girl anywhere, except--who's the girl in the grey
hat?"
"That's Miss Everett, our house-mistress, the one I'm so fond of--the
one who has the invalid brother, you know, to whom mother sent the
game!"
"Teacher, is she? I thought she was a pupil. Sorry for her, poor
little thing, if she has to manage a lot of girls like you. Ha! `R.C.'
That's your box at last. I'll get a porter to put it on a four-
wheeler. Watch where I go, and keep close behind."
He strolled forward, and such was the effect of his imposing appearance
and lordly ways, that the porters flew to do his bidding, and piled the
luggage on the cab, while others who had been first on the scene were
still clamouring for attention. Rhoda glanced proudly at him as they
drove away together, but the admiration evidently was on one side, for
he frowned, and said critically--
"You--er--look pale! You have lost your colour!"
"I've been working hard."
"You have grown thinner!"
"Games, I suppose. We are always running about."
"Er--what has become of your hair?"
Rhoda first stared, and then laughed.
"Oh, my pigtail! I forgot that you hadn't seen it. I hated it too, at
first, but I've grown accustomed to it, and find it very comfortable.
It worries me now to have my hair blowing about and tickling my face."
"All the same, my dear, you had better untie it before we get home. We
will lunch at the Station Hotel, and you can comb it out there. It will
give the mater a shock if she sees you looking so changed. She would
hardly know you, I think."
The tone of disapproval hit hard, and to hide her chagrin Rhoda adopted
an air of indifference.
"Oh, we don't trouble ourselves about appearances at Hurst. So long as
we are comfortable we are satisfied. If a girl worries to dress up, we
chaff her unmercifully."
"The more foolish you! I hope and pray, Rhoda, that you are not going
to develop into one of the strong-minded young women one meets nowadays,
who seem to spend their lives in trying to be as much like men as
possible. It will be a mistake if you do. Be as learned as you like,
and as sensible as you like, and as hardy as you like--that is all to
the good--but, for pity's sake, be pretty too, and dainty, and feminine!
We don't want to have all our womenkind swallowed up in athletes,
warranted to be `hard kicks,' or `useful forwards!' We want them to
play the ornamental part in life, and be pretty, and sweet, and
attractive."
"Ha, ha, yes! That's the man's point of view!" quoth Rhoda loftily, and
her brother smiled good-naturedly as the cab stopped before the hotel.
"It is, my dear, that's very certain; and as you will probably meet a
good many men as you go through life, you might as well study their
opinion. It may be regrettable, but it is certainly true, that you will
have more influence if you are agreeable to look at. You would have
more influence over _me_ at this moment if you would kindly walk
upstairs and make yourself look--er--a little more like your old self!"
"Oh, I don't mind. Anything to please you!" said Rhoda carelessly, and
strode upstairs after the chambermaid, smiling to herself in lofty
superiority at Harold's "dandy ways." She did not smile, however, when,
on coming suddenly in front of the mirror, she caught a full-length
reflection of herself, for her brother's presence had unconsciously
altered her point of view, so that she saw herself no longer from the
standpoint of Hurst Manor, but that of Erley Chase. Yes, Harold was
right! It was not only the pigtail; there was an indefinable difference
in her whole appearance. The clothes were the same, the girl was the
same, but there was no longer the immaculate neatness, the dainty care,
the well-groomed look which had once characterised her. In her usual
impetuous fashion, she had rushed from one extreme to the other; in
discarding vanity, had run perilously near neglect.
"I look a nasty, horrid, hidjus fright!" she cried aloud, staring in
disgust at the unwelcome vision. "I couldn't have believed it--really I
couldn't! It's the fault of those horrid little cubicles with the glass
stuck in the darkest corner. Harold was right. Mother would have been
shocked."
She slipped off coat and hat, and with the aid of the well-stocked
dressing-bag went through such a process of dusting, brushing, and
combing-out as she had not known for weeks past. Finally the old Rhoda
seemed to smile upon her in response, in her own eyes at least, but when
Erley Chase was reached some hours later Mrs Chester was far from
satisfied with her darling's appearance. Her anxious eyes took in at a
glance every change in the beloved features, and nothing could shake her
conviction that the child had been starved and overworked. An elaborate
system of coddling was inaugurated, to which Rhoda submitted with
wonderful meekness.
Oh, the delight at being home again, of being loved and fussed over, and
indulged in one's pet little weaknesses! How beautiful everything
looked; the richly-furnished rooms, the hall with its Turkey carpet and
pictured walls; the dinner table with its glittering glass and silver!
How luxurious to awake in her own pretty room, to hear the fire
crackling in the grate, and to sit up in bed to drink the early cup of
tea!
"I never realised before how nice home was!" sighed Rhoda to herself,
and for four whole days she succeeded in forgetting all about school,
and in abandoning herself to the enjoyment of the festivities of the
season.
Christmas Day once over, however, recollections came back with a pang,
and she was all eagerness to begin the proposed lessons with the Vicar.
To her surprise, father and mother looked coldly upon the project, and
so far from admiring her industry thought it a pity to introduce work
into the holidays. It needed a hard struggle to induce them to consent
to three lessons a week instead of six, and she had to face the
certainty that private study would be made as difficult as possible.
Even Harold elevated his eyebrows and enquired, "Why this tremendous
hurry?" as if he had never been to a public school himself and known the
necessity for advance.
Rhoda betook herself to the faithful Ella in no very gentle mood, and
stormed about the small Vicarage garden like a young whirlwind.
"Well, I must say grown-ups are the most tiresome, aggravating,
unreasonable creatures that were ever invented! First they want you to
work, and urge you to work, and goad you to work, and `Oh, my dear, it
would do you all the good in the world to compete with other girls,' and
then, the moment you take them at their word and get interested and
eager, round they turn, and it's, `Oh the folly of cram! Oh the
importance of health!' `Oh what does it matter, my dear good child, if
you _are_ a dunce, so long as you keep your complexion!' No, I'm not
angry, I'm perfectly calm, but it makes me _ill_! I can't stand being
thwarted in my best and noblest ambitions. If I had a daughter, and she
wanted to cram in her holidays, I'd be proud of her, and try to help,
instead of throwing hindrances in the way. It's very hard, I must say,
to get no sympathy from one's nearest and dearest. Even your father
looked at me over his spectacles as if I were a wild animal. I thought
he would have been pleased with my industry."
"He is; I know he is; but he thinks you may overdo it. You know, Rhoda,
you _are_ impetuous! When you take up an idea you ride it to death, and
in lessons that doesn't pay. Slow and sure wins the--"
"Rubbish! Humbug! It will never win my race, for I have a definite
time to run it in, and not a day more. It has to be a gallop, and a
pretty stiff one at that. For goodness' sake, Ella, don't _you_ begin
to preach. You might be grown-up yourself, sitting there prosing in
that horribly well-regulated fashion."
"I'm not well-regulated!" cried Ella, incensed by the insinuation. "I
was only trying to calm you down because you were in such a temper.
What is the use of worrying? You have got your own way; why can't you
be happy? Leave the wretched old Latin alone, and tell me about school.
There are a hundred things I am longing to hear, and we have not had a
proper talk yet. Tell me about the girls, and the teachers, and the
rules, and the amusements, and what you like best, and what you hate
worst."
It was a "large order," as Harold would have said, but Rhoda responded
with enjoyment, for what can be pleasanter than to expatiate on one's
own doings to a hearer with sufficient knowledge to appreciate the
points, and sufficient ignorance to prevent criticism or undue
sensitiveness as to consistency of detail!
Rhoda told of the chill, early breakfasts, of the seven o'clock supper
when everything looked so different in the rosy light, especially on
Thursdays, when frolics and best clothes were the order of the day; of
Miss Mott, with her everlasting "Attention to the board"; the Latin
mistress, with her eye-glasses; Fraulein, with a voice described by Tom
as sounding "like a gutter on a rainy day"; and of Miss Everett,
sweetest and best-loved of all. Lastly she told of the Record Wall, and
Ella was fired, as every girl hearer invariably was fired, with interest
and emulation.
When Rhoda went off to her lesson in the study the poor little stay-at-
home recalled the words of Eleanor Newman's inscription, and capped them
by one even more touching:
"Ella Mason, a student of exceptional promise, voluntarily relinquished
a career of fame and glory to be a cheerful and uncomplaining helper at
home." Alas, poor Ella! at the word "cheerful" her lips twitched, and
at "uncomplaining" the big tears arose and trickled down her cheeks!
For the rest of the holidays Rhoda worked more persistently than anyone
suspected, with the exception of her tutor, who invariably found the
allotted task not only perfectly accomplished, but exceeded in length.
Even making allowances for the girl's undoubted gift for languages, he
was amazed at her progress, and complimented her warmly at the close of
the lessons, watching with half-amused, half-pitying eyes the flush of
pleasure on the girl's cheeks.
"You are very ambitious, Rhoda. Very anxious to distinguish yourself?"
"Yes."
"Well, well! you are young. It is natural. Remember only that there
are different kinds of success, and aim for the best. When I was your
age I had dreams of a deanery or a bishopric, but I have remained all my
life in this sleepy village. My college companions have soared over my
head, yet I can never feel myself an unsuccessful man. I have had great
compensations, and have discovered that obscurity has many lessons which
I needed badly to learn. Don't be too anxious for honour and glory;
there are other things better worth having!"
"The worst of old people is--they _will_ preach!" said Rhoda to herself
as she walked home across the Park. "He is a good old thing, the Vicar,
but a terrible bore. Unsuccessful! I should think he _is_
unsuccessful, with half-a-dozen children, and that wretched little bit
of a house, and a poor stipend. No wonder he gets prosy. Young people
understand young people best, and Miss Everett was quite right when she
said it was no use trying to stuff lessons down your throat until you
were ready to swallow them. If all the fathers, and mothers, and
brothers, and vicars in the world were to lecture me now, and tell me to
take it easy, and not to worry about the examination, it would have no
effect. In another two days I go back to school, and then--then--" She
stood still in the midst of the bare, wintry scene, and clasped her
hands together passionately.
"Rhoda Chester, you must work, you must win! If you don't do well in
that examination, it will break your heart!"