AGNES HOSKING IN TROUBLE
"WHAT is amiss with Agnes Hosking, I wonder?"
It was Ann Reed who spoke, one afternoon in mid December, as she and
Violet Wyndham were on their way home from school. The girls were
walking fast for the air was keen and frosty, and it was as much
as they could do to keep warm in the face of the easterly wind.
Violet, who had been absorbed in her own thoughts—very pleasant ones
for they had been of Ruth's approaching visit—turned a surprised
glance upon her companion as she said:—
"Is there anything amiss with her? I haven't noticed. What do you
mean?"
"I mean that she's looking thin, and ill, and very unhappy. I've
remarked it to myself for days past, and this morning she appeared
so miserable that I asked her if she was not well—I had not spoken
to her before this term. She replied that she was quite well and
appeared decidedly annoyed at my question, in fact she was rather rude
to me, and said she hated to be watched. As though I had been watching
her!" Ann concluded with a heightened colour.
"What an ill-mannered girl she is!" Violet cried contemptuously,
"I wish you had not spoken to her, Ann," she continued, looking vexed,
"why did you? It was too bad of her to snub you when I am sure you
only meant to be kind."
"Yes, I only meant to be kind. I think my speaking to her took her by
surprise and she answered as she did to prevent my questioning her
further. I believe she is very unhappy about something; I should like
to know what it is—not from curiosity, but because if I did I might be
able to help her."
"But, Ann, I thought you had decided never to have anything more to do
with her!" exclaimed Violet, in great astonishment.
"Yes, I had, but I've been thinking, with Christmas coming, Violet,
the time of peace and good-will—" Ann broke off with an appealing
glance. Violet frowned. She considered Ann absurdly soft-hearted.
Was it really a fact that Agnes was unhappy? she wondered. Well,
it served her quite right if she was.
"I have been thinking a great deal of Agnes lately," Ann continued,
after a long pause, "especially since you told me about her card
playing. I suppose she has really given it up?"
"Oh, yes!" Violet answered, "Clara Garret insisted upon that. She took
my advice and threatened to report her and the Pelhams and Kitty
Majendie to Miss Orchardson if they did not solemnly promise never
again to touch cards whilst they were at school. They all gave the
promise, and even went so far as to burn the packs of cards, so I
think that's all right. Clara tells me that she finds out the Pelhams
have won all Kitty Majendie's money from her."
"What a shame!" cried Ann indignantly; "I believe Kitty's people
are by no means rich."
"No, they are not, so she won't have any pocket-money for the rest
of the term. It's a good thing she lost instead of winning, for she
says she's had enough of Bridge and she never means to gamble again;
she was quite horrified when Clara told her playing cards for money
was gambling, she hadn't looked upon it in that light, strange though
it seems. She's a silly, frivolous, little butterfly who doesn't think
deeply about anything, I really don't believe she meant to do wrong.
It's fortunate for her that the Pelhams are leaving at the end of the
term, for, without meaning it, they do her a great deal of harm,"
Violet concluded shrewdly.
"I know very little of the Pelhams," said Ann, rather surprised,
"I always liked them very well, but, as they are older than I am,
we have not clashed much."
"Clara says their mother is a very gay, fashionable woman whose doings
are all reported in the ladies' papers, and she is considered a great
beauty; but her girls scarcely know anything of her, and when they
were little children they only saw her two or three times a week."
"Poor girls! I suppose, though, they will see more of her when they
leave school?"
"Oh, yes! They will be presented at court by-and-by, and properly
introduced into society, and their mother will not be satisfied till
she finds them rich husbands—this is what they tell Clara Garret."
"What a way to talk! Do they really mean it?"
"Oh, I expect so. Agnes Hosking envies them, I believe; I heard her
say once that she would like nothing better than to be in a high
position and have nothing to do but to enjoy herself."
"But many people in high positions lead unselfish, hard-working lives,
Violet. Mother has a friend, with whom she went to school, who married
a rich man, a member of Parliament who is now a cabinet minister,
of course she and her husband have to entertain a great deal and are
regularly in society, but she doesn't give up her life to enjoyment,
she is always busying herself for the welfare of others, and I am
quite sure she doesn't neglect her children."
"Then she must be very different from Mrs. Pelham. I suppose some
people would be unselfish and care for their fellow creatures whatever
their position. No, I don't think it's a question of position. But to
revert to Agnes Hosking, Ann; what can there possibly be to trouble
her? I thought she had everything heart could desire."
"Well, you take notice of her to-morrow, and, afterwards, tell me
if you see any alteration in her appearance."
This Violet agreed to do. Accordingly, the following morning during
school hours, she observed Agnes more closely than she had done for
weeks past. Yes, Ann was right, Agnes was not looking well; she had
become much thinner and there were dark rims beneath her eyes
as though she had had sleepless nights, whilst her whole appearance
was one of listlessness and dejection. Once she caught Violet's gaze
fixed upon her and turned her head aside quickly, whilst a deep flush
rose to her cheeks. Violet refrained from looking at her after that,
remembering her remark to Ann that she hated to be watched.
"Well, did you take notice of Agnes Hosking as you said you would?"
Ann asked Violet, later. "Was I not right in thinking her changed?"
"Quite right," Violet agreed; "she is looking very miserable, but it's
nothing to do with us if she is—I'm certainly not going to trouble
about her."
But Violet thought about Agnes a great deal during the next few days,
and one afternoon she was surprised into speaking to her.
It happened thus. She was waiting for Ann, who was having her music
lesson, when Agnes appeared in the class-room, where Violet was alone
looking over one of her lessons for the next day, and took a chair
exactly opposite to her at the table where she was seated. At first
Violet did not look up from her book, but by-and-by she stole a
furtive peep at her companion and saw that she had opened an exercise
book over which she was poring, but not writing, though she held a pen
in her hand. Violet turned her attention to her own work after that
one momentary glance; but presently she looked at Agnes again, and
this time her gaze became rivetted on the other's downcast face which
struck her as a picture of misery, so full was it of unhappy thought;
then, obeying a sudden impulse, born of curiosity, she asked:—
"Agnes, what is it? Are you in trouble?"
Agnes glanced up quickly, but she did not answer. Her eyes were full
of tears, and one rolled down her cheek unheeded. Violet's face
softened involuntarily, and she exclaimed:—
"Yes, I see you are! Can I help you? Oh, what is amiss?"
Still Agnes made no response; she simply covered her face with her
hands and burst into a passion of sobs and tears. Violet watched her
with a sensation of mingled astonishment and dismay till she had
somewhat regained her composure, then continued:—
"I don't know the cause of your unhappiness, but I am really sorry—"
"Sorry?" interrupted Agnes, "do you mean it?" She uncovered her
crimson, tear-stained countenance, and looked doubtfully at Violet.
"Are you indeed really sorry?" she asked.
"Yes, of course I am or I should not say so."
"I should have thought you would have been glad!"
Violet flushed and was silent for a minute, then she said candidly:
"I am rather surprised myself that I am not. I have thought very hard
things of you, Agnes."
"Not harder than I have deserved."
"Perhaps not; nevertheless, I am sorry for you now, for I see you are
very unhappy, and if I can do anything to help you I will, gladly."
"You can't do anything, thank you, but I—I should like to tell
you—I wonder you haven't heard—I should have thought Ruth would have
written—hasn't she told you about my father?"
"No," Violet replied, shaking her head and wondering at the other's
incoherent utterance. "Is he ill, Agnes?" she inquired.
"Oh, no! He's failed."
"Failed?" Violet echoed, not understanding.
"Yes. He's lost all his money, and everything he has will be sold—even
our house and furniture."
"Oh, dear! How dreadful for him!"
"Yes, and dreadful for me, too! Oh, I hate the thought of being poor,
I hate it! Think what it means for me, Violet! I didn't realise all it
meant at first when father wrote and said he'd met with heavy
financial losses and that he'd arranged with Miss Orchardson for me
to leave here for good at the end of the term—I'm not coming back
to Helmsford College again. But, since, I've heard from my
grandmother, and she says father will have to begin the world afresh,
and she cannot help him because he's borrowed a lot of money from her
and lost it, but she is going to make a home for me. Oh, Violet, she's
such a cross old thing! Think what a life I shall lead with her!
And—and she says that after my education is finished—she's going
to send me to a school at Bath—I shall have to earn my own living.
Oh, dear!"
"Oh, I would not trouble about that if I were you," Violet said in a
consolatory tone, "a great many girls have to earn their own livings;
I, for one, shall have to do so, I expect."
"Yes, but it's different for you! You've always known it, and you
haven't wasted your time at school as I have."
This was very true. Violet sat silently thinking, her heart full of
pity as she looked at the dejected figure opposite her at the table.
"Oh, I am sorry for you!" she cried at length; "and for poor
Mr. Hosking, too! I suppose you are very fond of your father, are you
not?"
"Yes." Agnes' face quivered, and her tears flowed again. There was
a soft spot in her heart for the father who had showed his affection
for her by an over-indulgence which had done much to make her the
selfish girl she was. "It must be very hard lines for him," she went
on; "he said in his last letter that he was glad my mother had not
lived to see him a ruined man—you know mother died when I was quite
a little girl, I hardly remember her at all. Poor father! I wish
he wouldn't send me to grandmother; I'd so much rather be with him,
but he says that's impossible now. I am afraid he's very, very poor!
Fancy my father poor!"
"Yes, fancy!" Violet said dreamily. It was difficult to realise
it indeed. How strange it was that she should be made Agnes'
confidante, she who had suffered so much at her hands!
Perhaps Agnes guessed something of what was passing through her
companion's mind, for by-and-by she said in a voice, the faltering
accents of which expressed real regret:—
"I don't suppose that after school breaks up at Christmas you and I
will ever meet again. Before we part I want to ask you to try to
forgive me for—for having suspected that you took my purse; I want you
to understand that I really am sorry—I tried to tell you so at the
beginning of the term, but you would not listen. And I am sorry, too,
for all the rude, unkind remarks I used to make to you and your
sisters when we were at Miss Minter's, and for the way I spoke to Ann
Reed that day at Streatham. Do—do believe me."
The girl's tone was earnest and sincere, but Violet was too surprised
to make an immediate reply.
"I have behaved abominably to you all along," Agnes continued, "I took
a delight in making you feel your position, and now it is I who am
poor, and I haven't a friend in the world—not one I can rely on.
I've seen as much of the Pelhams and Kitty Majendie as I have of
anyone, but they'll never give me a second thought, especially when
they hear, as they are sure to do, that my father has lost his money.
I was sent to Helmsford College to make friends and I haven't made
one; I've been all wrong somehow—"
"I should have been all wrong, too, if it hadn't been for my coming
to live with the Reeds," Violet interposed eagerly; "I came to Barford
envious of those better off than myself, and, oh, so selfish, and—and,
as you know, I was ashamed of my poor little home at Streatham. Then,
as I grew to know Ann Reed and to understand her simple, noble
character, I began to see things in a different light, and—but, hush,
she's coming! Yes, yes, I forgive you!" she added hastily, in response
to Agnes' imploring look.
A minute later Ann entered the room. Her eyes rested first on Agnes'
tear-stained countenance, then turned questioningly to Violet.
"What is wrong?" she inquired in a voice of concern.
"Shall I tell her, Agnes?" asked Violet, and, receiving a nod
for assent, she proceeded to explain: "Agnes is in very great trouble,
Ann, because her father has lost all his money."
"Oh, dear!" exclaimed Ann sympathetically. She laid a kindly hand
on Agnes' arm. "I'm so sorry to hear this bad news, so very, very
sorry," she said earnestly; "has he really lost all his money?"
"Yes," sighed Agnes, "but please don't mention it to the other girls."
"Most certainly not. This is indeed a great trouble for you."
"I could not well have a greater," was the despondent response.
"Oh, yes, you could. There are many greater troubles than the loss
of money. You still have your father, remember."
Further talk of a private nature was impossible after that, for
several of the boarders came into the room, and Agnes bent her head
over her exercise book to hide her tear-blurred countenance from their
view. Ten minutes later Violet and Ann were on their way home,
conversing confidentially. Violet repeated, nearly word for word,
all Agnes had said to her, whilst her companion listened with the
deepest interest.
"I cannot help feeling sympathy for her," Violet remarked, at the
conclusion of her tale, "no, I really cannot help it."
"But you do not want to help it, do you?" inquired Ann, with a smile.
"Well—no. Still it's astonishing that I should be sorry for Agnes
Hosking; even this morning I should have said it was impossible,
for there's no doubt about it I have borne malice against her.
If anyone had told me of her father's misfortunes I should have been
sorry for Mr. Hosking, but I know I should have been glad to think
Agnes would have to experience what poverty means; but when I saw
how miserable she was, my one thought was what to say to console her."
"Oh, Violet, I am so glad—glad that you felt like that, I mean!"
cried Ann.
"Yes, so am I," Violet admitted; "I might have taken my revenge
on Agnes by reminding her that she didn't deserve my sympathy
or forgiveness, but I simply couldn't. Well I've forgiven her now,
and I must try not to think bitterly of her again."