Again at luncheon that day Evelyn was missing. Lady Frances looked
round: Audrey was in her place; Miss Sinclair was seated not far away;
the Squire took the foot of the table; the servants handed round the
different dishes; but still no Evelyn had put in an appearance.
"I wonder where she can be," said the Squire. "She looked a little wild
and upset when she left me. Poor little girl! Do you know, Frances, I
feel very sorry for her."
"More than I do," said Lady Frances, who at the same time had an
uncomfortable remembrance of the look Evelyn had given her when she had
left her presence. "Don't let us talk any more about her now, Edward,"
she said to her husband. "There is only one thing to be done for the
child, and that I will tell you by and by."
The Squire was accustomed to attend to his wife's wishes on all
occasions, and he said nothing further. Audrey felt constrained and
uncomfortable. After a slight hesitation she said:
"Do let me find Evelyn, mother. I have been expecting her to join me the
whole morning. She does not, of course, know about our rules yet."
"No, Audrey," said her mother; "I prefer that you should not leave the
table.--Miss Sinclair, perhaps you will oblige me. Will you go to
Evelyn's room and tell her that we are at lunch?"
Miss Sinclair rose at once. She was absent for about five minutes. When
she came back there was a distressed look on her face.
"Well, Jenny, well?" said Audrey in a voice of suppressed excitement.
"Is she coming?"
"I think not," said Miss Sinclair.--"I will explain matters to you, Lady
Frances, afterwards."
"Dear, dear!" said the Squire. "What a lot of explanations seem to be
necessary with regard to the conduct of one small girl!"
"But she is a very important small girl, is she not, father?" said
Audrey.
"Well, yes, dear; and I should like to say now that I take an interest
in her--in fact," he added, looking round him, for the servants had
withdrawn, "I am prepared to love little Eve very much indeed."
Lady Frances's eyes flashed a somewhat indignant fire. Then she said
slowly:
"As you speak so frankly, Edward, I must do likewise. I never saw a more
hopeless child. There seems to be nothing whatever for it but to send
her to school for a couple of years."
"No," said the Squire, "I will not allow that. We never sent Audrey to
school, and I will have no difference made with regard to Evelyn's
education. All that money can secure must be provided for her, but I do
not care for school-life for girls."
Lady Frances said nothing further. She was a woman with tact, and would
not on any consideration oppose her husband in public. All the same, she
secretly made up her mind that if Evelyn proved unmanageable she was not
to stay at Wynford Castle.
"And there is another thing," continued the Squire. "This is her first
day in her future home. I do not wish her to be punished whatever she
may have done. I should like her to have absolute freedom until
to-morrow morning."
"It shall be exactly as you wish, Edward," said Lady Frances. "I did
intend to seek Evelyn out; I did intend further to question Miss
Sinclair as to the reason why Evelyn did not appear at lunch; but I will
defer these things. It happens to be somewhat convenient, as I want to
pay some calls this afternoon; and really, with that child on my brain,
I should not enjoy my visits. You, Audrey dear, will see to your
cousin's comforts, and when she is inclined to give you her society you
will be ready to welcome her. Your young friends will not arrive until
just before dinner. Please, at least use your influence, Audrey, to
prevent Evelyn making a too extraordinary appearance to-night. Now I
think that is all, and I must run off if I am to be in time to receive
my guests."
Lady Frances left the room, and Audrey went to her governess's side.
"What is it?" she said. "You did look strange, Jenny, when you came into
the room just now. Where is Evelyn? Why did she not come to lunch?"
"It is the greatest possible mercy," said Miss Sinclair, "that Evelyn is
allowed to have one free day, for perhaps--although I feel by no means
sure--you and I may influence her for her own good to-night. But what do
you think has happened? I went to her room and knocked at the door of
the boudoir. I heard voices within. The door was immediately opened by
the maid Jasper, and I saw Evelyn seated at a table, eating a most
extraordinary kind of lunch, in the company of a girl whom I have never
seen before."
"Oh Jenny," cried Audrey, "how frightfully exciting! A strange girl!
Surely Evelyn did not bring a stranger with her and hide her somewhere
last night?"
"No, dear, no," said Miss Sinclair, laughing; "she did nothing of that
sort. I fancy the girl must live in the neighborhood, although her face
is unfamiliar to me. She is rather a pretty girl, but by no means the
sort that your mother would approve of as a companion for your cousin."
"What is she like?" asked Audrey in a grave voice.
Miss Sinclair proceeded to describe Sylvia's appearance. She was
interrupted in the middle of her description by a cry from Audrey.
"Oh dear!" she exclaimed, "you must have seen that curious girl, Sylvia
Leeson. Your description is exactly like her. Well, as this is a free
day, and we can do pretty much what we like, I will run straight up to
Evelyn's room and look for myself."
"Do Audrey; I think on the whole it would be the best plan."
So Audrey ran up-stairs, and soon her tap was heard on Evelyn's door;
the next moment she found herself in the presence of a very untidy,
disheveled-looking cousin, and also in that of handsome Sylvia Leeson.
Sylvia dropped a sort of mock courtesy when she saw Audrey.
"My Shakespearian contemporary!" was her remark. "Well, Audrey, and how
goes the Forest of Arden? And have you yet met Touchstone?"
Audrey colored very high at what she considered a direct impertinence.
"What are you doing here?" she said. "My mother does not know your
mother."
Sylvia gave a ringing laugh.
"I met this lady," she said--and she pointed in Evelyn's direction--"and
she invited me here. I have had lunch with her, and I am no longer
hungry. This is her room, is it not?"
"I should just think it is," said Evelyn; "and I only invite those
people whom I care about to come into it." She said the words in a very
pointed way, but Audrey had now recovered both her dignity and
good-nature.
She laughed.
"Really we three are too silly," she said. "Evelyn, you cannot mean the
ridiculous words you say! As if any room in my father's house is not
free to me when I choose to go there! Now, whether you like it or not, I
am determined to be friends with you. I do not want to scold you or
lecture you, for it is not my place, but I intend to sit down although
you have not the civility to offer me a chair; and I intend to ask again
why Miss Leeson is here."
"I came because Evelyn asked me," said Sylvia; and then, all of a
sudden, an unexpected change came over her face. Her pretty, bright
eyes, with a sort of robin-redbreast look in them, softened and melted,
and then grew brighter than ever through tears. She went up to Audrey
and knelt at her feet.
"Why should not I come? Why should not I be happy?" she said. "I am a
very lonely girl; why should you grudge me a little happiness?"
Audrey looked at her in amazement; then a change came over her own face.
She allowed her hand just for an instant to touch the hand of Sylvia,
and her eyes looked into the wild eyes of the shabby girl who was
kneeling before her.
"Get up," she said. "You have no right to take that attitude to me. As
you are here, sit down. I do not want to be rude to you; far from that.
I should like to make you happy."
"Should you really?" answered Sylvia. "You can do it, you know."
"Sylvia," interrupted Evelyn, "what does this mean? You and I have been
talking in a very frank way about Audrey. We have neither of us been
expressing any enthusiastic opinions with regard to her; and yet now--and
yet now----"
"Oh, let me be, Eve," replied Sylvia. "I like Audrey. I liked her the
other day. It is true I was afraid of her, and I was crushed by her, but
I liked her; and I like her better now, and if she will be my friend I
am quite determined to be hers."
"Then you do not care for me?" said Evelyn, getting up and strutting
across the room.
Sylvia looked at Audrey, whose eyes, however, would not smile, and whose
face was once more cold and haughty.
"Evelyn," she said, "I must ask you to try and remember that you are a
lady, and not to talk in this way before anybody but me. I am your
cousin, and when you are alone with me I give you leave to talk as you
please. But now the question is this: I do not in the least care what
Sylvia said of me behind my back. I hope I know better than to wish to
find out what I was never meant to hear. This is a free country, and any
girl in England can talk of me as she pleases--I am not afraid--that is,
she can talk of me as she pleases when I am absent. But what I want to
do now is to answer Sylvia's question. She is unhappy, and she has
thrown herself on me.--What can I do, Sylvia, to make you happy?"
Sylvia was standing huddled up against the wall. Her pretty shoulders
were hitched to her ears; her hair was disheveled and fell partly over
her forehead; her eyes gleamed out under their thick thatch of black
hair like wild birds in a nest; her coral lips trembled, there was just
a gleam of snowy teeth, and then she said impulsively:
"You are a darling, and you can do one thing. Let me for to-day forget
that I am poor and hungry and very lonely and very sad. Let me share
your love and Evelyn's love for just one whole day."
"But there are people coming to-night, Sylvia," said Evelyn. "I heard
Jasper speak of it. Lots of people--grandees, you know."
Sylvia shuddered slightly.
"We never say that sort of word now in England," she remarked; and she
added: "I am well-born too. There was a time when I should not have been
at all shy of Audrey Wynford."
"You are very queer," said Evelyn. "I do not know that I particularly
want you for a friend."
"Well, never mind; I think I can get you to love me," said Sylvia. "But
now the question is this: Will Audrey let me stay or will she not? Will
you, Audrey--will you--just because my name is Sylvia and we have met in
the Forest of Arden?"
"Oh dear," said Audrey, "what a difficult question you ask! And how can
I answer it? I dare not give you leave all by myself, but I will go and
inquire."
Audrey ran immediately out of the room.
"What a wonderful change has come into my life!" she said to herself as
she flew down-stairs and looked into different rooms, but all in vain,
for Miss Sinclair.
Her mother was out; it was hopeless to think of appealing to her.
Without the permission of some one older than herself she could not
possibly ask Sylvia to stay. Sylvia could be more or less lost in the
crowd of children who would be at the Castle that evening, but her
mother's eyes would quickly seek out the unfamiliar face, inquiries
would be made, and--in short, Audrey did not dare to take this
responsibility on herself. She was rushing up-stairs again, prepared to
tell Sylvia that she could not grant her request, when she came plump up
against her father.
"My dear girl, what a hurry you are in!" he exclaimed.
"Oh yes, father," replied Audrey. "I am excited. The house is full of
life and almost mystery."
"Then you like your cousin to be here?" said the Squire, and his face
brightened.
"Yes and no," answered Audrey truthfully. "But, father, I have a great
request to make. You know you said that Evelyn was to have a free day
to-day in which she could do as she pleased. She has a guest up-stairs
whom she would like to ask to stay. May she ask her, father? She is a
girl, and lonely and pretty, and, I think, on the whole, a lady. May we
both ask her to dinner and to spend the evening? And will you, father,
take the responsibility?"
"Of course--of course," said the Squire.
"Will you explain to mother when she returns?"
"Yes, my dear--certainly. Ask anybody you please; I never restrain you
with regard to your friends. Now do not keep me, my love; I am going out
immediately."