Tom wrote by return to state that she considered Rhoda "a brick" for
sending her such a "ripping" invitation; that it would be "great sport"
to see her at home, and that she would arrive by the twelve o'clock
train on the next Monday.
"She isn't pretty," Rhoda explained anxiously to Harold, the fastidious;
"in fact, she's plain, very plain indeed. I'm afraid you won't like
her, but she likes _you_. She saw you on the platform at Euston, and
said you were a `bee-ootiful young man,' and that she was broken-hearted
that she couldn't stay to make your acquaintance."
"Good taste, evidently, though unattractive!" said Harold, smiling.
"I'm sorry she's not good-looking, but it can't be helped. No doubt she
makes up for it in moral worth."
"Well, she does, that's perfectly true. I loathed and detested her at
first, but I'm devoted to her now. She's just, and kind, and awfully
clever, and so funny that you simply can't be in low spirits when she's
about. All the girls adore her, but you won't. She says herself that
men can't appreciate her, so she's going to devote her life to women,
out of revenge. Men never care for women unless they are pretty and
taking," cried Rhoda, with an air, and Harold protested sententiously.
"I'm the exception to the rule! I look beyond the mere exterior, to the
nobility of character which lies behind. Dear Tom's lack of beauty is
nothing to me. I am prepared for it, and shall suffer no disillusion."
He changed his mind, however, when at the appointed time "dear Tom"
arrived, and stepped from the carriage on to the platform of the little
station. When his eye first fell upon her, in response to Rhoda's
excited, "There she is!" he felt a momentary dizzy conviction that there
must be a mistake. This extraordinary apparition could never be his
sister's friend, but yes! it was even so, for already the girls were
greeting each other, and glancing expectantly in his direction. He went
through the introduction with immovable countenance, saw the two friends
comfortably seated in the pony carriage, and called to mind a message in
the village which would prevent him from joining them as he had
intended. He required a few minutes' breathing time to recover his
self-possession, and the girls drove off alone, not at all sorry, if the
truth were told, to be deprived of his company.
"Well, Fuzzy!" cried Tom.
"Well, Tom!" cried Rhoda, and stared with wondering eyes at the
unaccustomed grandeur of her friend's attire. Thomasina had done honour
to the occasion by putting on her very best coat and skirt, of a shade
of fawn accurately matching her complexion, while on her head was
perched that garment unknown at Hurst, "a trimmed hat." Fawn straw,
fawn wings sticking out at right angles, bows of fawn-coloured ribbon
wired into ferocious stiffness--such was the work of art; and
complacent, indeed, was the smile of its owner as she met her
companion's scrutiny.
"Got 'em _all_ on, haven't I?" she enquired genially. "Must do honour
to the occasion, you know, and here's yourself all a-blowing, all a-
growing, looking as fresh as a daisy, in your grand white clothes!"
"Indeed, then, I feel nothing of the kind, or it must be a very dejected
daisy. You have heard the news, of course, and know that I am--"
"Plucked!" concluded Tom, pronouncing the awful word without a quiver.
"Yes. Thought you would be; you were so cheap that arithmetic morning.
You can't do sums when you are on the point of fainting every second
minute... Very good results on the whole."
"Yes, but--isn't it awful for me? Don't you pity me? I never in my
life had such a blow."
"Bit of a jar, certainly, but it's over now, and can't be helped. No
use whining!" said Tom calmly, and Rhoda gave a little jump in her seat.
After all, can anyone minister to a youthful sufferer like a friend of
her own age? Tom's remarks would hardly have been considered comforting
by an outsider, yet by one short word she had helped Rhoda more than any
elderly comforter had been able to do. It was interesting and
praiseworthy to grieve over such a disappointment as she had
experienced, to be sorrowful, even heart-broken, but _to whine_! That
put an entirely different aspect on her grief! To whine was feeble,
childish, and undignified, a thing to which no self-respecting girl
could stoop. As Rhoda recalled her tears and repinings, a flush of
shame came to her cheeks, and she resolved that, whatever she might have
to suffer in the future, she would, at least, keep it to herself, and
not proclaim her trouble on the house-tops.
When the Chase was reached, Tom was taken into the drawing-room and
introduced to Mrs Chester, who poured out tea in unusual silence,
glancing askance at the fawn-coloured visitor who sat bolt upright on
her chair, nibbling at her cake with a propriety which was as
disconcerting to the kindly hostess as it was apparently diverting to
her daughter. Rhoda had been accustomed to see Tom play a hundred sly
tricks over this sociable meal, a favourite one being to balance a large
morsel on the back of her right hand, and with an adroit little tap from
the left send it flying into the mouth stretched wide to receive it, and
it tickled her immensely to witness this sudden fit of decorum. She sat
and chuckled, and Mrs Chester sat and wondered, until Tom politely
declined a third cup of tea, and was dragged into the garden, with
entreaties to behave properly, and be a little like herself, "I thought
I was charming," she declared. "I tried to copy Evie, and look exactly
as she does when she is doing the agreeable. Didn't you notice the
smile? And I didn't stare a bit, though I was longing to all the time.
You _do_ live in marble halls, Fuzzy, and no mistake! We could get the
whole of our little crib into that one room, and we don't go in for any
ornaments or fal-lals. A comfortable bed to sleep in, and lots of
books--that's all my old dad and I trouble about."
Rhoda thought of the dismal little study at Hurst Manor, with the broken
chairs, and the gloves on the chimney-piece, and could quite imagine the
kind of home from which the owner came; but she murmured little
incredulities, as in politeness bound, as she led the way in the
direction best calculated to impress a stranger. Tom did not pay much
attention to the grounds themselves, but she raved over the horses, and
made friends with all the dogs, even old Lion, the calf-like mastiff,
who was kept chained up in the stable-yard because of his violent
antipathy to strangers. When he beheld this daring young woman walking
up to his very side, and making affectionate overtures for his favour,
he showed his teeth in an alarming scowl, but next moment he changed his
mind, and presently Tom was pinching and punching, and stroking his
ears, with the ease of an old acquaintance.
"I've never met the dog yet that I couldn't master!" she announced
proudly. "That old fellow would follow me all round the grounds as
meekly as a lamb, if he had the chance!"
"We won't try him, thank you; he might meet a messenger-boy _en route_,
and we should have to pay the damages. Come along now, and I will show
you--" but at this opportune moment Harold came in view, sauntering
round the corner of the stable, and Rhoda called to him eagerly, glad to
be able to impress him with a sense of Tom's powers.
"Harold, look here! See what friends Tom has made with Lion already.
He lets her do anything that she likes. Isn't it wonderful?"
"By Jove!" exclaimed Harold, and looked unaffectedly surprised to see
his gruff old friend submitting meekly to the stranger's advances.
"Tastes differ!" was the mental comment, but aloud he said suavely,
"Lion is a good judge of character. He knows when he has found a
friend."
"Yes, they all recognise me. I was a bulldog in my last incarnation,"
said Tom calmly, and by some extraordinary power which she possessed of
drawing her mobile features into any shape which she chose, certain it
is that she looked marvellously like a bulldog at that moment: twinkling
eyes set far apart, heavy mouth, small, impertinent nose, all complete!
Harold was so taken aback that he did not know what to say, but Rhoda
dragged laughingly at her friend's arm and cried,--
"Come along! Come along! It will soon be time to go indoors and dress
for dinner, and we haven't done half our round. I was going to take Tom
to the links, Harold. She is a great golfer, and will be interested in
seeing them. You'll come too, won't you?"
"With pleasure. They are just our own tame little links, Miss
Bolderston, which we have faked up in the park. You won't think much of
them if you are a player, but they give an opportunity for private
practice, and we have some good sport there occasionally."
"Ah, yes! How many holes?" enquired Tom, sticking one thumb between the
buttonholes of her coat, and tilting her head at him with such a
businesslike air that he felt embarrassed to be obliged to reply.
"Nine, with a little crossing about; some of the distances are very
short, I'm afraid. Still, it has its points, and I've played on larger
links with less enjoyment. We will take a short cut across here to the
first hole. We start here, as you see, and a good full cleek shot
should land you on the green. There are only two holes which really
give a chance for a driver. Now you can see the second green, but it's
not so easy a hole as it looks from here, for the grass is tussocky, and
one almost always gets a bad lie for the approach."
"Yes, but why not drive for the green?"
"Well, you see, it's rather too far for a cleek, and too short for a
driver. Sometimes I try it with a brassey, but on the whole I think the
cleek is best. If you over-drive you get into awful trouble, as you
will see." So the course was gone over and explained, and Tom's eye was
quick to see the possibilities, and note the dangers, nor did she
hesitate sometimes to differ from Harold's tactics.
"Well," said he, in conclusion, "what do you think of 'em? Rather
sporting, aren't they?"
"Humph--yes!" said Tom. "That fifth hole is a little tricky, but I
think they ought to be done in--er--What's your record?"
"M-well, it varies--of course. I'm no pro., but I can get round in
forty, with luck."
"Forty! Humph!" Tom wheeled round on her heel, and gazed from right to
left with calculating eyes. Her lips moved noiselessly, then she nodded
her head, and cried confidently:
"I'll take you! I'll play you to-morrow for the better man!"
"Done!" agreed Harold at once, but he straightened his shoulders as he
spoke with a gesture which meant that he had no intention, if he knew
it, of being beaten by a school-girl, and his sister looked forward to
the contest with very mingled feelings. If Tom lost, it would be a
distinct blow; yet if Tom won, how Harold would dislike her! How
hopeless it would be to look for any friendship between them after that!
She was glad that the game would have to be deferred for a day at
least, for an evening spent in Tom's company must surely instal her in
public favour. When, however, she went to her friend's room to convey
her downstairs to dinner, Rhoda's confidence was shaken, and she nearly
exclaimed aloud in dismay at the apparition which she beheld.
Tom in full evening dress was a vision which had been denied to Hurst
Manor, but on the present occasion she had evidently determined to pay
every honour to her hosts, and bony arms and neck emerged festively from
a shot-silk gown, which Rhoda felt convinced must have been a possession
of the long-deceased mother.
"What do you think of _that_?" Tom cried proudly, rustling round to
confront the new-comer, arms akimbo, and eyes twinkling with
complacency. "There's a natty get-up! Quite a fashion plate, ain't I?
The very latest from Par-ee. You didn't expect to see anything like
that, did you?"
"I didn't!" cried Rhoda, truthfully enough; but Tom suspected no satire
in her words, and taking up the hand-glass, began twisting and turning
before the mirror so as to get a view of her hair, which was no longer
plaited into a pigtail, but screwed into a knot the size of a walnut,
planted accurately in the middle of her head.
"I say, what do you think of my coiffure?"
Rhoda looked, and burst into a shriek of laughter. "Oh, Tom! that's it!
I noticed there was something different, but couldn't think what it
was. Oh, no, no, Tom, you can't leave it like that! You must make it
bigger, and wear it either high or low. It's too ridiculous--that
little button just in the very wrong place. Sit down for one moment,
and I'll arrange it for you!"
But Tom beat her off resolutely with the hair-brush.
"I won't! It's my own hair, and I like it this way. It's _distingue_--
not like every other woman you meet. Now that I've left school and am
grown-up, I must study _les convenances_, and it's fatal to be
commonplace. I may be prejudiced, but it seems to me that in this get-
up I'm a striking figure!"
The beaming good-humour of her smile, the utter absence of anything
approaching envy or discontent, struck home to Rhoda's heart, and
silenced further protestations. She put her arm round Tom's waist, gave
her an affectionate grip, wishing, for perhaps the first time in her
life, that she herself had put on an older frock, so that the contrast
between herself and her guest should be less marked in the eyes of the
household.
Alas! socially speaking, Tom was not a success. Mrs Chester was
plainly alarmed by her eccentricities; Mr Chester did not know whether
to take her in fun or in earnest; and Harold's languor grew more and
more pronounced. The very servants stared with astonishment at the
peculiar guest, and when dinner was over Rhoda, in despair, took Tom up
to her own den to avoid the ordeal of an evening in the drawing-room.
Once alone, with closed doors and no critical grown-ups to listen to
their conversation, the hours sped away with lightning speed, while Tom
told of her own plans, sympathised with Rhoda's ambition, and let fall
words of wisdom, none the less valuable for being uttered in the most
casual fashion. Every now and again the remembrance of her recent
disappointment would send a stabbing pain through Rhoda's heart, but, as
she had said, it was impossible to remain in low spirits in Tom's
company, and if no one else enjoyed that young lady's society it was
precious beyond words to her girl companion.
The game of golf was played as arranged, but though Harold came off
victor it was too close a contest to be agreeable to his vanity, or to
increase his liking for his opponent, while Mr Chester confided to his
wife that he could not understand Rhoda's infatuation for such a
remarkably unattractive companion.
"If it had been that sweet little Miss Everett, now, she might have
stayed for a year, and been welcome, but I confess I shall be glad when
this girl takes her departure. She makes me quite nervous, sitting
blinking at me with those little eyes. I have a sort of feeling that
she is laughing to herself when she seems most serious."
"Oh, she could never laugh at you, dear. She couldn't be so audacious!"
declared Mrs Chester fondly; "but I can't bring myself to like her, and
where her cleverness lies is a mystery to me. I never met a more
ignorant girl. She can neither sew nor knit nor crochet, and the
remarks she made in the market yesterday would have disgraced a child of
ten. I pity the man who gets _her_ for his wife!"
But, as we have seen, Thomasina had other ideas than matrimony for her
own future. As she drove to the station by Rhoda's side she fell into
an unusual fit of silence, and emerging from it said slowly:
"I'm glad I've seen your home, Fuzzy. It's very beautiful, and very
happy. You are all so fond of one another, and so nice and kind, that
it's a regular ideal family. I think you are a lucky girl. I like all
your people very much, though they don't like me!"
Rhoda exclaimed sharply, but Tom's smile was without a shadow of offence
as she insisted--
"My dear, I know it! Don't perjure yourself for the sake of politeness.
I'm sorry, but--I'm accustomed to it. Strangers _don't_ like me, and
it's not a mite of use trying to ingratiate myself. I did all I knew
when I came here. I wore my best clothes, I tried to behave prettily,
and you see, dead failure, as usual! You needn't look doleful, for no
doubt it's all for the best. If I were beauteous and fascinating I
might be distracted from my work, whereas now I shall devote myself to
it with every scrap of my strength. Girls love me, and I love them, so
I'll give up my life for their service. We have all our vocation, and
it would be a happier world if everyone were as well satisfied as I am.
`In work, in work, in work always, let my young days be spent.' Bother
it! Here's the station already, and I haven't said half I wanted to!"
"Nor I to you. It's horrid to say good-bye, and think of school without
you, but you'll write to me, won't you, Tom? You will promise to write
regularly?"
"Indeed, I won't! Fifty odd girls implored me to write to them, and
it's too big an order. No, my dear Fuzz, I shall have no time to tell
you how busy I am. Here we part, and we must leave it to fate or good
fortune when we meet again. Bless you, my infant! Perk up, and be a
credit to me."
"But--but--how am I to know, how am I to hear what happens to you? I
_can't_ say good-bye and let you fade away completely, as if we had
never met. It's horrible. You _must_ let me know!"
"Look in the newspapers. You will see my doings recorded in the Public
Press," replied Tom, as she skipped into the carriage. Rhoda looked on
blankly, her heart sinking with a conviction that Tom did not care; that
it was nothing for her to say good-bye and part without a prospect of
reunion. She was too proud to protest, but, waving her hand, turned
abruptly away and walked out of the station. The train lingered,
however, and the temptation to take one more peep became too strong to
be resisted, so she ran along the path for twenty or thirty yards, and
peered cautiously through a gate from which a sight of the carriage in
which her friend sat could be commanded. Tom had leant back in her
seat, and flung her hat on one side; her little eyes were red with
tears, and she was mopping them assiduously with a ball-like pocket
handkerchief!