A MISCHIEF-MAKER.
ALDYTH was feeling more out of temper than perhaps she had ever
felt before. It was Thursday evening, and Miss Lorraine had gone to
the lecture, leaving her alone. She had yielded to her uncle's wish
from a sense of duty; but it was impossible to feel resigned to the
deprivation his absurd crotchet was causing her. The absurdity, the
unreasonableness of it struck Aldyth more and more as she sat dismally
picturing Kitty and Hilda and her other friends enjoying the lecture
from which she was shut out. She could settle to no occupation. It
was impossible to feel her former interest in the course of reading
prescribed by the lecturer. Needlework was still more distasteful. She
began a letter to her sister Gladys, the beautiful daughter of whom
her mother wrote with pride that she was creating quite a sensation
in Melbourne society; but Aldyth dropped her pen in the middle of a
sentence, and, springing up, began to poke the fire with far more
vigour than its condition demanded. It was of no use trying to think of
anything except the lecture from which she was so provokingly excluded.
Would Mr. Glynne observe her absence? she wondered, with a little sigh.
"Give unto me, made lowly wise,
The spirit of self-sacrifice."
What brought the words to her mind at that moment? Truly she had little
of the spirit of self-sacrifice. Perhaps it was well that her will for
once should be thwarted, that she might learn to sacrifice her own
wishes without murmuring. John Glynne had been wise when he reminded
her that Duty would not always wear a smile upon her face. He was one
to obey Duty under any circumstances without a murmur. He was a strong
man. She knew instinctively that he had already sacrificed his own
inclinations many times for the sake of his mother. Would he, with his
rare abilities, have taken such a post as that he held in the Woodham
Grammar School, had he not been anxious by means of his salary to
increase the comfort of his mother's life?
Aldyth felt ashamed of herself as she thought of one so much nobler.
She turned to the piano, and began to practise diligently a difficult
passage in a sonata, but her thoughts were at the lecture the while.
The clock struck nine. Aunt Lucy should return soon, but she was one
of those persons on whose punctual return to their homes it is never
possible to depend. She would be sure to have much to say to everybody
when the lecture was over, and various things might happen to detain
her.
The neat little housemaid—Miss Lorraine was famous training young
housemaids, whom, when their education was completed, she passed on to
her friends—came to lay the supper, full of wonder why Miss Aldyth had
remained at home instead of going out with her aunt, as she usually did
on Thursday evenings. Just then the door-bell rang. Sarah hastened to
open the door, and returning, ushered into the room Mr. Glynne.
Aldyth was so taken by surprise that she coloured deeply as she
advanced to welcome the visitor. He was last person she expected to see
at that hour. He too seemed surprised to find her there alone, having
evidently passed the evening in solitude.
"Good evening, Miss Aldyth," he said, regarding her with grave,
searching eyes. "Have I arrived before Miss Lorraine? I thought I
should overtake her. She had left the hall when I came away."
"Perhaps she went into Mrs. Bland's," said Aldyth. "It is never certain
that aunt will come straight home. But she will be in directly, no
doubt, if you wish to see her."
"Oh, I was only going to ask her kindly to give you this," he replied,
producing from his coat-pocket a small, rather ancient-looking book;
"you said you would like to see it."
It was a copy of the first edition of the Lyrical Ballads, of which he
had become possessed. Aldyth was very pleased to see it, but she felt
rather shame-faced as she turned over the leaves.
"You were not at the lecture to-night," he said, a minute later. "There
is nothing amiss, I trust?"
"I am quite well, if that is what you mean," she replied, with nervous
quickness. "I am very sorry, Mr. Glynne; it is a great disappointment
to me; I shall not be able to attend any more of the lectures."
"Indeed!" he said, surprised in look and tone.
"Yes," said Aldyth, colouring deeply. "It is not my fault. I cannot
help myself in the matter. It is uncle—he thinks it is not good for
girls to study poetry. He thinks we should devote ourselves entirely to
cooking and housekeeping."
"What a barbarian!" he exclaimed, so seriously that Aldyth burst into a
laugh, and all her discontent seemed to melt away.
"Excuse me," he added, the next moment. "I ought not to speak so of
your uncle. But are you obliged to renounce the study of poetry because
he thinks in that way?"
"Yes," said Aldyth, firmly; "at least, I feel that I must give up the
lectures. It will seem strange to you, but there are reasons why I am
peculiarly bound to defer to Uncle Stephen's wishes."
"Is it so? Well, I am very sorry," he said, with sincere regret in his
tones. "Your papers were so good. Miss Hilda Bland took charge of the
one I returned this evening. It is marked 'Excellent,' like the others."
Aldyth's face glowed with pleasure.
"And now, I suppose, I must expect no more papers from you?" he added,
in a tone of vexation.
Aldyth hesitated, as she thought of Hilda's suggestion. It would have
been so easy to arrange still to write the papers. But after a moment
she answered "Yes."
He observed her closely for a few moments, then he said—
"Well, I shall know that you still take an interest in the lectures,
and I shall hope to see you sometimes and talk things over. But I wish
very much that your uncle were—different."
There was something so droll in the way he uttered the last word that
Aldyth laughed. She was feeling very happy just then, despite her
uncle's prohibition. Ere her laugh was over, Miss Lorraine came in, and
was surprised, and perhaps not altogether pleased, to find the lecturer
entertaining her niece. It was not that her liking for John Glynne had
diminished, but she had an uneasy consciousness that her uncle would
strongly object to Mr. Glynne's being there on such friendly terms.
Yet Miss Lorraine's hospitable feelings made it impossible for her to
refrain from asking the young man to remain and take supper with them.
The invitation was given so cordially that John Glynne accepted it
without hesitation, and Aldyth enjoyed a talk with him, which, she told
herself afterwards, was as good as hearing the lecture.
How Clara Dawtrey knew that John Glynne supped with the Lorraines
that night it would be difficult to say. But by some species of
espionage she discovered the fact, and reported it to her Aunt Tabitha.
Clara's powers of observation were on the alert where John Glynne was
concerned. She had set her heart on fascinating him, and pursued her
end with an unmaidenly freedom of action which excited disgust rather
than admiration in the mind of that gentleman.
But vanity rendered Clara obtuse in judging the effect of her
attractions. Mr. Glynne's grave politeness did not check her hopes;
his quiet, reserved manner did not restrain her from asking questions,
or making flattering personal remarks, which he found particularly
disagreeable. Clara had not a doubt that Mr. Glynne would find her
society as attractive, if not more so, as that of Aldyth Lorraine and
the Blands, if only she had more opportunities of impressing him with
her wit and gaiety and the charms in which she so confidently believed.
She certainly lost no chance of bringing these to bear on him.
She always contrived to secure a seat close to the platform and to
speak to him after each lecture, compelling him sometimes, when
there were students waiting to consult him, to break away from her
trivialities with scant courtesy. She managed to meet him almost every
day as he passed to and fro between his lodgings and the Grammar
School; she questioned his landlady concerning his habits; she
frequented every place where there was the least chance of seeing him.
In short, she pursued him to such an extent that John Glynne became as
anxious to avoid her as she was to meet him.
It was a sore vexation to poor Clara Dawtrey to see how quickly John
Glynne formed a friendship with Aldyth Lorraine and the Blands, whilst
towards her his manner continued only distantly polite. Her dislike for
these girls became more bitter. She had a malicious desire to annoy or
injure them in revenge for the indifference with which they regarded
her and the way in which, as it seemed to her, they monopolized John
Glynne.
One afternoon, Clara Dawtrey was at Cartmell's, the stationer's, one
of the most important shops in the High Street, and a grand centre for
gossip. There was a circulating library in connection with it. Clara
had just obtained a fresh novel, and was leaning on the counter in easy
conversation with Mr. Cartmell, when she saw John Glynne go past on his
bicycle. It was the Wednesday half-holiday, and he was off for a run
in the country. She saw him too late for any chance of a greeting, and
she was vexed with herself for lingering to talk with Mr. Cartmell, and
thus missing John Glynne, whom she must have met had she quitted the
shop a few minutes earlier.
She hurried out in time to see him go rapidly down the hill, almost
as far as the old church, and then turn to the right. He was going
down "the Hundreds," as the flat, uninteresting district lying to the
east of Woodham was termed, through which ran a good, level road.
Well, he could not be going far in that direction, and the November
afternoon was short. She might yet manage to meet him, and give him an
opportunity of admiring her appearance in the smart little crimson hat
she had lately received from London.
Clara's father was a solicitor, a man of somewhat ill-repute in his
profession, but well-to-do, and Clara, his favourite daughter, and
the only one who remained unmarried, had a liberal allowance for
her personal expenses. Yet, large as it was, her dressmaker's and
milliner's bills often outran it. Clara's mother had died when she was
a child, a fact Aldyth always remembered when others were disposed to
judge Clara harshly. Her father had not married again, and the girl
had grown up with little control save that of sisters as flighty and
heedless as herself. If she considered herself to have any duties,
they were such as made but the slightest demand upon her time, and she
seemed to have no idea of any higher aim in life than that of her own
gratification. Aldyth was perhaps right when, in her gentle charity,
she spoke of Clara as one to be pitied rather than blamed.
It was a mild November afternoon. Clara sauntered slowly down the hill,
and, turning to the left, came on to the bank of the river. It was a
tidal river, and when, as now, it was high water, the red roofs of the
houses and the barges on the river with their large ochre-coloured
sails gave to the little town somewhat of the appearance of a Dutch
village. The sky was grey but clear, and the subtle; melancholy charm
of autumn pervaded the scene; but Clara was not conscious of its
beauty as was Aldyth, who had just come out of one the cottages on
the shore, and stood gazing up the river. So true is it that the eye
perceives beauty only as the mind inspires its vision. Clara lacked the
imagination that can behold—
"A light that never was on sea or land."
[Illustration]
Aldyth heard a step on the shingle, but not till she turned rather
suddenly, remembering that she had several cottages to visit that
afternoon, did she see Clara. The girls came face to face within a few
feet of each other. Aldyth moved by with a bow and the words:
"A lovely afternoon, is it not?"
"Very," responded Clara, coolly.
She was annoyed that Aldyth passed without saying more.
"She need not avoid me as if I had the plague," she said to herself.
She looked after Aldyth with a dislike that was born of envy. Aldyth in
her simple serge suit and little felt hat looked such a lady that for
a moment Clara hated her new adornments, and felt that they were gaudy
and vulgar.
She wandered rather drearily by the river. In summer, when boating was
general, its banks presented a lively scene; but now there were few
boats out, the sunlight had faded, and a grey mist was beginning to
gather over the distant marshes. Clara hardly knew how to fill up the
time till she might expect John Glynne to be on his way home. She went
back into the High Street and made a large purchase of sweetmeats at
the chief confectioner's. Then a thought struck her. A road branched
off from the Hundreds into the Longbridge Road. Mr. Glynne would very
likely return to his lodgings by that. How annoying if she missed him
after all! There was nothing for it but to walk as far as the junction
of the two roads, and she started at once, much fearing she might be
too late.
She walked briskly, but ere she had reached the turning into the
Longbridge Road, she saw the individual she was anxious to meet. Could
anything be more provoking? He was not one. He had alighted from his
bicycle and was walking by the side of a lady. Could it be—yes—actually
it was—Aldyth Lorraine!
There she was walking by Mr. Glynne's side on the quiet country road,
and he was talking so earnestly to her that, despite the crimson
hat, Clara had almost passed ere he saw her, and then he clutched
mechanically at his cap, without seeming to have any clear notion to
whom he was bowing.
Aldyth had seen her. Clara felt sure that she coloured as she met her
glance, and no wonder.
Clara was scandalized. That Aldyth should be walking with Mr. Glynne in
that lonely part of the road was shocking to her, though assuredly had
Mr. Glynne overtaken her when she was there alone, she would not have
hesitated to walk back to Woodham with him.
Aldyth Lorraine, who was so good and proper! Who would believe it?
Of course it was a planned thing. Aldyth had seen him go down the
Hundreds, she had waited about and come down that road for the chance
of seeing him. Or else they had arranged to meet. Perhaps there was
some secret understanding between them. It became increasingly clear
to Clara that such must be the case, as, full of jealous rage and
mortification, she walked on, it being impossible to turn back and show
that she had been pursuing that road without a purpose.
After a few minutes, Clara ventured to look round. The straight, level
road was visible for some distance. The two she wished to watch had
almost reached the cottages. Ah, yes, they would part now. He was
remounting his bicycle; he was off, and Aldyth was left walking alone.
There was a gleam of malicious satisfaction in Clara's eyes as she
hastened back to Woodham by the Longbridge Road. It brought her out at
the head of the High Street within a stone's throw of the dwelling of
her amiable relative, Miss Tabitha Rudkin. Clara remembered that she
had not visited her aunt for many days. She would call on her now; she
had something to tell the old lady that would be sure to interest her.
Miss Rudkin's reception of her grand-niece was never gracious. Her
greeting was generally a string of reproaches for past neglect.
"You don't mean to say it is you, Clara?" she exclaimed, with affected
surprise. "I began to think I should never see you again. It would be
a poor thing for me if I depended on you to comfort and cheer me. I am
sure it is a month since you were here."
"Well, I'm here now, any way," said Clara, in a matter-of-fact tone,
debating with herself how quickly she could impart her intelligence and
make her escape. "How is your cough, aunt?"
"Much you care about my cough!" retorted her aunt. "What's that thing
you have on your head? Another new hat! Dear! Dear! Your father need be
rich to support your extravagance."
After a little of this delightful intercourse, Clara came to her point
by saying, "By the by, aunt, have you seen your friend Stephen lately?"
"Of whom do you speak in that disrespectful way?" demanded Miss Rudkin.
"Oh, you know," returned Clara, coolly, "Mr. Stephen Lorraine."
"I cannot see that it concerns you whether or not I have seen Mr.
Lorraine."
"No?" said Clara, indifferently. "Well, perhaps not. I only wanted to
know whether he had told you of Aldyth's engagement."
"Aldyth's engagement! Aldyth Lorraine engaged! Who says so?" asked the
old woman eagerly.
"I say so," boldly replied Clara; "I met her just now with Mr. Glynne
down in the Hundreds, and if they are not engaged, I do not know what
to think. You ask old Stephen, when next you see him, if Aldyth is not
engaged to Mr. Glynne."
"I shall ask him no such question. Mr. Glynne, indeed! She is to marry
Guy."
"So you've said before; but I do not believe it," returned Clara. "Of
course I only know what I saw this afternoon, but that is enough for
me."
She laughed gleefully as she spoke. She believed that she was getting
Aldyth into a scrape, and the thought revived her spirits. She bade
her aunt good-bye, and left her to ponder the matter. She had not a
doubt that what she had said about Aldyth would be repeated to Aldyth's
grand-uncle.
An hour later, Aldyth, as she sat drinking tea with her aunt, said
quietly: "I went down the Hundreds this afternoon to see old Adam
Drake. You know he likes me to call once a month for his club money. As
I was coming back, Mr. Glynne overtook me on his bicycle. He got off
and walked a little way with me. He has had bad news from home. His
sister is ill, and they are afraid it is scarlet fever."
"Scarlet fever!" exclaimed Miss Lorraine, in dismay. "What a trouble
that will be for poor Mrs. Glynne!"
"Yes; he seems very troubled on her account," said Aldyth; "and he is
afraid it may prevent his going home for Christmas."
"I should not wonder," said Miss Lorraine. "He must run no risk of
infection. And if he is wise, he will keep the matter to himself. The
very mention of scarlet fever by a school master is enough to raise a
panic amongst the parents."
"I said something of the kind to him," replied Aldyth with a smile,
"and he promised to be prudent. As he was telling me about it, we met
Clara Dawtrey, and she stared at me in such an insolent manner, that I
felt quite uncomfortable."
"Oh, my dear, you don't mean to say that Clara Dawtrey saw you with Mr.
Glynne!" exclaimed Miss Lorraine, in distressed tones. "Then your uncle
will hear of it."
"What if he does?" asked Aldyth, drawing herself up, whilst her eyes
suddenly flashed with pride. "Do you think I mind that uncle or any one
should know that I have been walking with Mr. Glynne?"