Miss Mohun went to the Casement Cottages with Gillian to see what the
elder Miss Hacket might wish and whether they could be of use to her;
the young people being left to exercise themselves within call in case
the Tree was to be continued.
This proved to be an act of great kindness, for poor Mary Hacket was
suffering all the distress of an upright and honourable woman at her
sister’s abuse of confidence; and had felt as if Colonel Mohun’s summons
to his nieces was the close of all intimacy with such an unworthy
household. Moreover, the evenings entertainment could not be given up
and Gillian was despatched to summon the eager assistants, while Aunt
Jane repeated her assurances that Lady Merrifield perfectly understood
Miss Hacket’s ignorance of the doings in Constance’s room--listening
patiently even when the tender-hearted woman began to excuse her sister
for having accepted Dolores’s lamentations at being cut off from her
so-called uncle. ‘Dear Connie is so romantic, and so easily touched,’
she said, ‘though, of course, it was very wrong of her to suppose that
Lady Merrifield could do anything harsh or unkind. She is in great grief
now, poor darling, she feels so bitterly that her friend led her into it
by deceiving her about the relationship and character.’
This, Aunt Jane did not think the worst part of the affair, and she said
that the girl had been brought up to call the man Uncle Alfred, and very
possibly did not understand that he was only so by courtesy, nor that he
was so utterly untrustworthy.
‘I thought so,’ said Mary Hacket. ‘I told Connie that such a child could
not possibly have been a willing party to his fraud--for fraud, I fear,
it was--Miss Mohun. Do you think there is any hope of her recovering the
sum she advanced.’
‘I am afraid there is not, even if the wretched man is apprehended.’
‘Ah! if she had only told me what she wanted it for!’
‘I hope it was all her own.’
‘Oh, Miss Mohun, no doubt you know that two sisters living together must
accommodate one another a little, and Connie’s dress expenses, at her
age, are necessarily more than mine. But here come the dear children,
and we ought to dismiss all painful subjects, though I declare I am so
nervous I hardly know what I am about.’
However, by Miss Mohun’s help, the good lady rose to the occasion, and
when once busy, the trouble was thrown off, so that no guests would have
detected how unhappy she had been in the forenoon. Constance soon
came down, and confided to Gillian a parcel directed to Miss D. Mohun,
containing all the notes written to her, and all the books lent to her,
by the false friend whom she had cast off, after which she threw herself
into the interests of the present.
The London ornaments, and the residue of the gifts and bonbons, made the
Christmas-tree a most memorable one to the G.F.S. mind.
As to Fly, she fraternized to a great extent with a very small maid,
in a very long, brown dress, and very thick boots, who did not taste
a single bonbon, and being asked whether she understood that they were
good to eat, replied that she was keeping them for ‘our Bertie and
Minnie;’ and, on encouragement, launched into such a description of her
charges--the blacksmith’s small children--that Lady Phyllis went back,
not without regrets that she could not be a little nurse who had done
with school at twelve years old, and spent her days at the back of a
perambulator.
‘Oh, daddy,’ she said, ‘I do wish you had come down; it was such lovely
fun--the best tree I ever saw. Why wouldn’t you come?’
‘If thirty odd years should pass over that little head of yours, my Lady
Fly, and you should then meet with Mysie and Val, maybe you will then
learn the reason why.’
‘We will recollect that in thirty years’ time.’
‘When our children go to a Christmas-tree.’
‘And we sit over the fire instead.’
‘Oh! but should we ever not care for a dear, delightful Christmas-tree?’
‘If we had each other instead.’
‘Then we would all go still together!’
‘And tell our little boys and girls all about this one, and the
Butterfly’s Ball!’
‘Perhaps our husbands would want us, and not let us go.’
‘Oh! I don’t want a husband. He’d be in the way. We’d send him off to
India or somewhere, like Aunt Lily’s.’
‘Don’t, Fly; it is not at all nice to have papa away.’
‘Oh yes, it would be ten hundred times better if he were at home.’
Such were the mingled sentiments of the triad, as they went upstairs to
bed, linked together in their curious fashion.
Some time later, a bedroom discussion of affairs was held by Lady
Merrifield and Miss Mohun, who had not had a moment alone together all
day, to converse upon the two versions of the disaster which the latter
had extracted from Dolores and Constance, and which fairly agreed,
though Constance had been by far the most voluble, and somewhat
ungenerously violent against her former friend, at least so Lady
Merrifield remarked.
‘You should take into account the authoress’s disappointed vanity.’
‘Yes, poor thing! How he must have nattered her!’
‘Besides, there is the loss of the money, which, I fear, falls as
seriously on good Miss Hacket as on the goose herself.’
‘Does it, indeed? That must not be. How much is it?’
‘Fifteen pounds; and that foolish Constance fancies that poor Dolores
assisted in duping her. I really had to defend the girl; though I am
just as angry myself when I watch her adamantine sullenness.’
‘I am the person to be angry with for having allowed the intimacy, in
spite of your warnings, Jenny.’
‘You were too innocent to know what girls are made of. Oh yes, you
are very welcome to have six of your own, but you might have six dozen
without knowing what a girl brought up at a second-rate boarding-school
is capable of, or what it is to have had no development of conscience.
What shall you do? send her to school?’
‘After that recommendation of yours?’
‘I didn’t propose a second-rate boarding-school, ma’am. There’s a High
School starting after the holidays at Rockstone. Let me have her, and
send her there.’
‘Ada would not like it.’
‘Never mind Ada, I’ll settle her. I would keep Dolly well up to her
lessons, and prevent these friendships.’
‘I suppose you would manage her better than I have been able to do,’
said Lady Merrifield, reluctantly. ‘Yet I should like to try again; I
don’t want to let her go. Is it the old story of duty and love, Jane?
Have I failed again through negligence and ignorance, and deceived
myself by calling weakness and blindness love?’
‘You don’t fail with your own, Lily. Rotherwood runs about admiring
them, and saying he never saw a better union of freedom and obedience.
It was really a treat to see Gillian’s ways tonight; she had so much
consideration, and managed her sisters so well.’
‘Ah, but there’s their father! I do so dread spoiling them for him
before he comes home; but then he is a present influence with us all the
time.’
‘They would all clap their hands if I carried Dolly off.’
‘Yes, and that is one reason I don’t want to give her up; it seems so
sad to send Maurice’s child away leaving such an impression. One thing I
am thankful for, that it will be all over before grandmamma and Bessie
Merrifield come.’
At that moment there was a knock at the door, and a small figure
appeared in a scarlet robe, bare feet, and dishevelled hair.
‘Mysie, dear child! What’s the matter? who is ill?’
‘Oh, please come, mamma, Dolly is choking and crying in such a dreadful
way, and I can’t stop her.’
‘I give up, Lily. This is mother-work,’ said Miss Mohun.
Hurrying upstairs, Lady Merrifield found very distressing sounds issuing
from Dolores’s room; sobs, not loud, but almost strangled into a perfect
agony of choking down by the resolute instinct, for it was scarcely
will.
‘My dear, my dear, don’t stop it!’ she exclaimed, lifting up the girl in
her arms. ‘Let it out; cry freely; never mind. She will be better soon,
Mysie dear. Only get me a glass of water, and find a fresh handkerchief.
There, there, that’s right!’ as Dolores let herself lean on the kind
breast, and conscious that the utmost effects of the disturbance had
come, allowed her long-drawn sobs to come freely, and moaned as they
shook her whole frame, though without screaming. Her aunt propped her up
on her own bosom, parted back her hair, kissed her, and saying she was
getting better, sent Mysie back to her bed. The first words that were
gasped out between the rending sobs were, ‘Oh! is my--he--to be tried?’
‘Most likely not, my dear. He has had full time to get away, and I hope
it is so.’
‘But wasn’t he there? Haven’t they got him? Weren’t they asking me about
him, and saying I must be tried for stealing father’s cheque?’
‘You were dreaming, my poor child. They have not taken him, and I am
quite sure you will not be tried anyway.’
‘They said--Aunt Jane and Uncle Reginald and all, and ‘that dreadful man
that came--’
‘Perhaps they said you might have to be examined, but only if he is
apprehended, and I fully expect that he is out of reach, so that you
need not frighten yourself about that, my dear.’
‘Oh, don’t go!’ cried Dolores, as her aunt stirred.
‘No, I’m not going. I was only reaching some water for you. Let me
sponge your face.’
To this Dolores submitted gratefully, and then sighed, as if under heavy
oppression, ‘And did he really do it?’
‘I am afraid he must have done so.’
‘I never thought it. Mother always helped him.’
‘Yes, my dear, that made it very hard for you to know what was right to
do, and this is a most terrible shock for you,’ said her aunt, feeling
unable to utter another reproach just then to one who had been so loaded
with blame, and she was touched the more when Dolores moaned, ‘Mother
would have cared so much.’
She answered with a kiss, was glad to find her hand still held, and
forgot that it was past eleven o’clock.
‘Please, will it quite ruin father?’ asked Dolores, who had not outgrown
childish confusion about large sums of money.
‘Not exactly, my dear. It was more than he had in the bank, and Uncle
Regie thinks the bankers will undertake part of the loss if he will let
them. It is more inconvenient than ruinous.’
‘Ah!’ There was a faintness and oppression in the sound which made
Lady Merrifield think the girl ought not to be left, and before long,
sickness came on. Nurse Halfpenny had to be called up, and it was one
o’clock before there was a quiet, comfortable sleep, which satisfied the
aunt and nurse that it was safe to repair to their own beds again.
The dreary, undefined self-reproach and vague alarms, intensified by the
sullen, reserved temper, and culminating in such a shock, alienating the
only persons she cared for, and filling her with terror for the future,
could not but have a physical effect, and Dolores was found on the
morrow with a bad head-ache, and altogether in a state to be kept in
bed, with a fire in her room.
Gillian and Mysie were much impressed by the intelligence of their
cousin’s illness when they came to their mother’s room on the way to
breakfast, and Mysie turned to her sister, saying, ‘There Gill, you
see she did care, though she didn’t cry like us. Being ill is more than
crying.’
‘Well,’ said Gillian, ‘it is a good deal more than such things as you
and Val cry for, Mysie.’
‘It was a trial such as you don’t understand, my dears,’ said Lady
Merrifield. ‘I don’t, of course, excuse much that she did, but she had
been used to see her mother make every exertion to help the man.’
‘That does make a difference,’ said Gillian, ‘but she shouldn’t have
taken her father’s money. And wasn’t it dreadful of Constance to smuggle
her letters? I’m quite glad Constance gets part of the punishment.’
‘Certainly, that might be just, Gillian, but unfortunately the loss
falls infinitely more heavily upon Miss Hacket, who cannot afford the
loss at all.’
‘Oh dear!’ cried Mysie.
‘I’m very sorry,’ said Gillian.
‘And, my dear girls, in all honour and honesty, we must make it up to
her.’
‘Can’t we save it out of our allowance?’ said Mysie.
‘Sixpence a month from you, a shilling perhaps from Gill, how long would
that take? No, my dear girls, I am going to put you to a heavy trial.’
‘Oh, mamma, don’t!’ cried Gillian, seeing what she was driving at.
‘Don’t give up the Butterfly’s Ball.’
‘Oh, don’t!’ implored Mysie, tears starting in her eyes. ‘We never saw a
costume ball, and Fly wishes it so.’
‘And I thought you had promised,’ said Gillian.
‘Cousin Rotherwood assumes that I did; but I did not really accept.
I told him I could not tell, for you know your Grandmamma Merrifield
talked of coming here, and I cannot put her off. And now I see that it
must be given up.’
‘It need only be calico!’ sighed Gillian, sticking pins in and out of
the pincushion.
‘Fancy dresses even in calico are very expensive. Besides, I could not
go to a place like Rotherwood without at least two new dresses, and it
is not right to put papa to more expense.’
‘Oh, mamma! couldn’t you? You always do look nicer than any one,’ said
Mysie.
‘My dear, I am afraid nothing I have at present would be suitable for
a General’s wife at Lady Rotherwood’s party, and we must think of what
would be fitting both towards our hostess and papa. Don’t you see?’
‘Ah! your velvet dress!’ sighed Gillian.
‘My poor old faithful state apparel,’ smiled Lady Merrifield. ‘Poor
Gill, you did not think again to have to mourn for it, but I don’t know
that even that could have been sufficiently revivified, though it was my
cheval de bataille for so many years.
For Lady Merrifield’s black velvet of many years’ usefulness, had been
put on for her p.p.c. party at Belfast, when Gillian, in abetting Jasper
in roasting chestnuts over a paraffin-lamp, had set herself and the
tablecloth on fire, and had been extinguished with such damages as
singed hair, a scar on Jasper’s hands, and the destruction of her
mother’s ‘front breadth.’ There had been such relief and thankfulness at
its being no worse that the ‘state apparel’ had not been much mourned,
especially as the remains made a charming pelisse for Primrose; and in
the retirement of Silverton, it had not been missed till the present
occasion.
‘Do gowns cost so very much?’ said Mysie.
‘Indeed they do, my poor Mouse. The lamented cost more than twenty
pounds. I had been thinking whether I could afford the requisite
garments--not quite so costly--and thought I might get them for about
sixteen, with contrivance; but you see I feel it my fault that I let
Dolores go and lead Constance to get cheated, and I cannot take the
money out of what papa gives for household expenses and your education,
so it must come out of my own personal allowance. Don’t you see?’
‘Ye--es,’ said Gillian, apparently intent on getting a big, black-headed
pin repeatedly into the same hole, while Mysie was trying with all her
might not to cry.
‘You are thinking it is very hard that you should suffer for Dolly’s
faults. Perhaps it is, but such things may often happen to you, my
dears. Christians bear them well for love’s sake, you know.’
‘And it is a little my fault,’ said Gillian, thoughtfully; ‘for it was I
that let the chestnut fall into the lamp.’
‘I--I don’t think I should have minded so much,’ said Mysie, almost
crying, ‘if we had done it our own selves--and Fly too--for some very
poor woman in the snow.’
‘I know that very well, Mysie, and this is a much harder trial, as you
don’t get the honour and glory of it; and, besides, you will have to
take care to say not a word of this reason to Fly or Valetta, or any one
else.’
‘Val will be awfully disappointed,’ said Gillian.
‘Poor Val! But I should not have taken her anyway, so that matters
the less. I should have taken Jasper, for that would have been more
convenient than so many girls. In fact, I did not mean anybody to have
heard of it till I had made up my mind, so that there would have been no
disappointment; but that naughty Cousin Rotherwood could not keep it to
himself; and so, my poor maidens, you have to bear it with a good grace,
and to be treated as my confidential friends.’
Mysie smiled and kissed her mother--Gillian cleared somewhat, but
observing, ‘I only wish it wasn’t clothes;’ tried to dismiss the subject
as the gong began to sound, but Mysie caught her mother’s dress, and
said, ‘Mayn’t I tell Fly, for a great secret?’
‘No, my dear, certainly not. Fly is a dear little girl, but we don’t
know how she can keep secrets, and it would never do to let the
Rotherwoods know; papa and Uncle William would be exceedingly annoyed.
And only think of Miss Hacket’s feelings if it came round. It will be
hard enough to get her to take it now.’
‘Perhaps she won’t,’ flashed into the minds of both girls; but Mysie
said entreatingly, ‘One moment more, mamma, please! What can I say to
Fly that will be the truth?’
‘Say that I find we cannot go, and that I had never promised,’ said Lady
Merrifield. ‘I trust you, my dears.’
And as she opened the door to hurry down to prayers, the two sisters
felt the words very precious and inspiriting. Mysie lingered on the step
and bravely asked Gillian whether her eyes looked like crying--
‘No, only a little twinkly,’ answered the elder sister; ‘they will be
all right after prayers if you don’t rub them.’
‘No, I won’t, said Mysie; “I’ll try to mean ‘Thy will be done.’ For I
suppose it is His will, though it is mamma’s.”
‘I’m glad you thought of that, Mysie,’ said Gillian; ‘you see it is
mamma’s goodness.’ And Gillian added to herself, “dear little Mysie
too. If it had not been for her, I believe I should have ‘grizzled’ all
prayer-time, and now I hope I shall attend instead.”
When everybody rose up from their knees, Lady Merrifield was glad to see
two fairly cheerful faces. She tried to lessen the responsibility of the
confidants, and to get the matter settled by telling Lord Rotherwood
at once and publicly that she had thought his kind invitation over,
and that she found she must not accept it. Perhaps she warily took the
moment after she had seen the postman coming up the drive, for he had
only time to say, ‘Now, that’s too bad, Lily, you don’t mean it,’ and
she to answer, ‘Yes, in sad earnest, I do,’ before the letters came in,
and the attention of the elders was taken off by the distribution.
But Valetta whispered to Gillian, ‘Not going; oh why?’
‘No; never mind, you wouldn’t have gone, anyway--hush--’ said Gillian,
beginning, it may be, a little sharply, but then becoming dismayed as
Valetta, perhaps a little unhinged by the late pleasures, burst forth
into such a fit of crying as made everybody look up, and her mother tell
her to go away if she could not behave better. Gillian, understanding
a sign of the head as permission, led her away, hearing Lord Rotherwood
observe,--
‘There, you cruel party!’ before again becoming absorbed in his letter.
‘Oh dear!’ sighed Fly, turning to Mysie as they rose from table, ‘I am
so sorry! It would have been so nice; and I thought we were safe, as
mamma had written herself!’
‘Ah! but my mamma hadn’t accepted,’ said Mysie.
Phyllis seemed to take this as final, and sighed, but Mysie presently
exclaimed, ‘I say! can’t we all play at Butterfly’s Ball in the hall
after lessons?’
‘Lessons?’ said Fly; ‘but it’s holiday-time?’
‘Mamma always makes us do a sort of little lesson, even in the holidays,
as she says we get naughty. But I suppose you need not; and perhaps she
will not make us now you are here.’
Colonel Mohun and Lord Rotherwood were going to Darminster to see what
was the state of the investigation about Mr. Flinders. They set out
directly after breakfast, and after the feeding of the pets, where
Valetta joined them, much consoled by the prospect of the extemporary
Butterfly’s Ball at home, Lady Phyllis, with her usual ready
adaptability, repaired with the others to the schoolroom, where the
Psalms and Lessons were read, and a small amount of French reading in
turn from ‘En Quarantaine’ followed, with accompaniment of needlework or
drawing, after which the children were free.
Aunt Jane was going home to her Sunday school and the Rockstone
festivities. She came down for her final talk with her sister just in
time to perceive the folding up of three five-pound notes.
‘Lily,’ she said, with instant perception, ‘I could beat myself for what
I told you yesterday.’
Lady Merrifield laughed. ‘The girls are very good about it!’ she said.
‘Now you have found it out, see whether that note will make Miss Hacket
swallow it.’
‘Can’t be better! But oh. Lily, it is disgusting! Could not I rig up
something fanciful for the children?’
‘That’s not so much the point. ‘The General’s lady,’ as Mrs. Halfpenny
would say, is bound not to look like ‘ane scrub,’ as she would be
unwelcome to Victoria, and what would be William’s feelings? I could
hardly have accomplished it even with this, and the catastrophe settles
the matter.’
‘You could not get into my black satin?’
‘No, I thank you, my dear little Brownie,’ said Lady Merrifield,
elongating herself like a girl measuring heights.
‘Ada has a larger assortment, as well as a taller person,’ continued
Miss Jane, ‘but then they are rather ‘henspeckle,’ and they have all
made their first appearance at Rotherwood.’
‘No, no, thank you, my dear, Jasper would not like the notion--even if
there was not more of me than of Ada. I have no doubt it is much better
for us.’
‘Should you have liked it, Lily?’
‘For once in a way. For Rotherwood’s sake, dear old fellow. Yes, I
should.’
‘Ah, well! You are a bit of a grande dame yourself. Ada enjoys it, too,
or I don’t think I ever should go there.’
‘Surely Victoria behaves well to you?’
‘Far be it from me to say she is not exemplary in her perfect civility
to all her husband’s relations. Ada thinks her charming; but oh. Lily,
you’ve never found out what it is to be a little person in a great
person’s house, and to feel one’s self scrupulously made one of the
family, because her husband is so much attached to all of them. There’s
nothing spontaneous about it! I dare say you would get on better, though
You are not a country-town old maid; you would have an air of the world
and of distinction even if you went in your old grey poplin.’
‘Well, I thought better of my lady.’
‘You ought not! She makes great efforts, I am sure, and is a pattern of
graciousness and cordiality--only that’s just what riles one, when one
knows one is just as well born, and all the rest of it. And then I’m
provided with the clever men, and the philanthropical folk to talk to. I
know it’s a great compliment, and they are very nice, but I’d ten times
rather take my chance among them. However, now I’ve made the grapes sour
for you, what do you think about Dolores? Will you send her to us?’
‘Not immediately, at any rate, dear Jane. It is very kind in you to wish
to take her off our hands, but I do want to try her a little longer. I
thought she seemed to be softening last night.’
‘She was as hard as ever when I went in to wish her good-bye.’
‘I thought she had too much headache for conversation when I went in
last; I think this is a regular upset from unhappiness and reserve.’
‘Alias temper and deceitfulness.’
‘Something of both. You know the body often suffers when things are not
thrown out in a wholesome explosion at once, but go simmering on; and I
mean to let this poor child alone till she is well.’
‘Ah! here comes the pony-carriage. Well, Lily, send her to me if you
repent.’
The sisters came out to find the Butterfly’s Ball in full action. Fly
had become a Butterfly by the help of a battered pair of fairy wings,
stretched on wire, which were part of the theatrical stock. ‘The shy
little Dormouse’ was creeping about on all fours under a fur jacket,
with a dilapidated boa for a long tail, but her ‘blind brother the Mole’
had escaped from her, and had been transformed into the Frog, by means
of a spotted handkerchief over his back, and tremendous leap-frog jumps.
Primrose, in another pair of fairy wings, was personating the Dragon-fly
and all his relations, ‘green, orange, and blue.’ Valetta, in perfect
content with the present, with a queer pair of ears, and a tail made
of an old brush, sat up and nibbled as Squirrel. The Grasshopper was
performing antics which made him not easily distinguishable from
the Frog, and the Spider was actually descending by a rope from the
balusters, while his mother, standing somewhat aghast, breathed a hope
that ‘poor Harlequin’s’ fall was not part of the programme. But she
did not interfere, having trust in the gymnastics that were studied
at school by Jasper, who had been beguiled into the game by Fly’s
fascinations.
‘A far more realistic performance than the Rotherwood Butterfly’s Ball
is likely to be,’ said Aunt Jane, aside, as the various guests came up
for her departing kiss. ‘And much more entertaining, if they could only
think so. Where’s Gillian?’
Gillian appeared on the stairs in her own person at the moment. She
said Mrs. Halfpenny had called her, and told her that ‘Miss Dollars’ was
crying, and that she did not think the child ought to be left alone
long to fret herself, but Saturday morning needments called away nurse
herself, so she had ordered in Miss Gillian as her substitute. Gillian
was reading to her, and had only come away to make her farewells to Aunt
Jane.
‘That is right, my dear,’ said her mother; ‘I will come and sit with her
after luncheon.’
For the whole youthful family were to turn out to superintend the
replantation of the much-enduring fir, which, it was hoped, might
survive for many another Christmas.
However, Lady Merrifield could not keep her promise, for a whole party
of visitors arrived just after the children’s dinner was over.
‘And it’s old Mrs. Norgood,’ sighed Gillian, looking over the balusters,
‘and she always slays for ages!’
‘One of you young ladies must bide with Miss Dollars,’ said Nurse
Halfpenny, decidedly, ‘or we shall have her fretting herself ill again.’
‘Oh, nursie, can’t you?’ entreated Gillian.
‘Me, Miss Gillian! How can I, when Miss Primrose is going out with
the whole clamjamfrie, and all the laddies, into the wet plantations?
Na--one of ye maun keep the lassie company. Ye’ve had your turn, Miss
Gillian, so it should be Miss Mysie. It winna hurt ye, bairn, ye that
hae been rampaging ower the house all the morning.’
Mysie knew it was her turn, but she also knew that nurse always favoured
Gillian and snubbed her. She had a devouring longing to be with her dear
Fly, and a certain sense that she was the preferred one. Must another
pleasure be sacrificed to that very naughty Dolores, whose misdemeanours
had deprived them of the visit to Rotherwood. She looked so dismal that
Gillian said good-naturedly, ‘Really, Mysie, I don’t think mamma would
mind Dolores’s being left a little while; I must go down to see about
the Tree, because mamma gave me a message to old Webb, but I’ll come
back directly. Or perhaps Dolly is going to sleep, and does not want any
one. Go and see.’
Mysie on this crept quietly into the room, full of hope of escape, but
Dolores was anything but asleep. ‘Oh, are you come, Mysie? Now you’ll go
on with the story. I tried, but my eyes ache at the back of them, and I
can’t.’
Mysie’s fate was sealed. She sat down by the fire and took up the book,
‘A Story for the Schoolroom,’ one of the new ones given from the Tree.
It was the middle of the story, and she did not care about it at first,
especially when she heard Fly’s voice, and all the others laughing and
chattering on the stairs.
‘Didn’t they care for her absence?’ and her voice grew thick, and her
eyes dim; but Dolores must not think her cross and unwilling, and she
made a great effort, became interested in the girls there described, and
wondered whether staying with Fly would have turned her head, after the
example of the heroine of the book.
Dolores did not seem to want to talk. In fact, she was clinging to the
reading, because she could not bear to speak or think of the state of
affairs, and the story seemed, as it were, to drown her misery. She
knew that her aunt and cousins were far less severe with her than she
expected, but that could only be because she was ill. Had not Uncle
Reginald turned against her, and Constance? It would all come upon her
as soon as she came out of her room, and she was rather sorry to believe
that she should be up and about to-morrow morning.
Mysie read on till the short, winter day showed the first symptoms of
closing in. Then Lady Merrifield came up. ‘You here, little nurse?’ she
said. ‘Run out now and meet the others. I’ll stay with Dolly.’ Mysie
knew by the kiss that her mother was pleased with her; but Dolores
dreaded the talk with her aunt, and made herself sleepy.