"Mamma dear," I said--I was not often so gentle, but I was humbled for
once--"it is Captain Whyte and Miss Whyte. It is all my fault about the
drawing-room. I would not let Eliza finish it, because she was in the
way when I was doing the flowers."
Then mamma glanced at me, and I saw that she had to make some effort not
to look vexed at the state I myself was in.
"My dear child!" she exclaimed. But in an instant she was shaking hands
with our visitors.
"I am so sorry," she said.
"Nay," Captain Whyte replied, "it is our place to apologise. I only
ventured to intrude so early--"
But mamma interrupted him.
"Won't you come into the dining-room?" she said; "it will be more
comfortable."
And so it certainly was, though it was the very thing of all others I
would have hated. I had so often mocked at the Gales for never using
their drawing-room except on great occasions, and always huddling
together in the dining-room. But our dining-room did look nice that
morning. It was as neat as could be, and the window was a tiny bit
open, and a bright fire burning, and on a small table in the window
stood a pretty glass with one or two late roses and a trail of ivy,
which mamma had just gathered in the garden outside.
Captain Whyte walked towards the fireplace and stood on the hearthrug,
talking to mamma. Miss Whyte drew nearer the window, where I followed
her.
"How sweet these late roses are," she said. "You and Mrs Percy must be
very fond of flowers."
"Yes," I said, stupidly enough. I could see she thought me shy and
awkward, and that made me still more so.
"And what a dear garden you have," she went on, evidently anxious to set
me at my ease, "just as if I had been Agnes Gale," I thought. "Our
garden at the Yew Trees will be very nice, but I do love those walled-in
gardens at the back of a house in a street. I always think there's a
sort of surprise about them which makes them still nicer. Do you do
much gardening yourself, Miss--no, won't you tell me your first name?"
"Connie," I blurted out. A smile lighted up her grave little face.
"`Connie?'" she repeated. "Oh, yes, I remember. Is that the short
for--" but then she stopped abruptly, murmuring something about "Lady
Honor;" and for the first time _she_ looked a little shy. It made me
feel pleased.
"I suppose," I said, rather disagreeably--"I suppose Lady Honor made fun
of my baby name?"
Miss Whyte looked puzzled and surprised.
"Made fun of it," she said; "of course not. We all thought it _so_
sweet--`Sweet Content,' I mean--and what Lady Honor said has made us
look forward ever so much to knowing you. I think it was a little
_that_," she went on, smiling again, "that made me beg papa to bring me
with him this morning."
How ashamed I felt! It seemed as if I were to do nothing but be ashamed
this morning--and this time with more reason. My ugly suspicions of
Lady Honor _were_ something to be ashamed of. She had always been a
true and kind friend; and just because she did not flatter and spoil me,
I could not trust the good old lady.
"Oh," I began, "I didn't mean--I thought perhaps--"
Then I stopped short. "My real name is Constantia," I went on
hurriedly, "not Constance. I think Constantia prettier; don't you?"
"It is more uncommon; it's like my name. People think mine is Eva or
Evelyn, when they hear me called--"
"Evey!" came her father's voice across the room. We both laughed.
"Wasn't that funny?" said Evey, as she turned with a "Yes, papa."
"Wasn't there something else rather particular, that you had to ask
about, if possible, at once?" said Captain Whyte. "Mrs Percy is so
kind."
Evey went towards my mother; a very business-like expression came over
her face.
"It's about the laundress, Mrs Percy. Mother would be so glad to know
of one at once. You see there are so many of us, it's an important
consideration. Mother will be here by Tuesday, we hope, and it would be
nice for her to find it arranged, and all the things sent for the week.
It was one of the reasons she was sorry not to come at once herself--to
see about it."
"I hope it was not illness that delayed Mrs Whyte's coming," said
mamma, kindly.
"Not her own," said Captain Whyte, "but one of the boys had caught
cold--he's our delicate one--and very subject to croup. So it was safer
to wait, and Evey and I came on with the three other small ones and one
big one, leaving Mary and Joss to help their mother with the invalid."
"I am sure I can find you a nice laundress," said mamma, on which Evey's
brow cleared.
"And not dear?" the little girl asked--for, after all, she _was_ a
little girl, barely thirteen.
Mamma could not help smiling. Evey was so business-like.
"I think Mrs Whyte would find our laundress reason able," she said.
"Indeed, I don't think any prices about here are extortionate."
"That is one of the recommendations of Elmwood to us," said Captain
Whyte, smiling. "But, Evey, we have really intruded on Mrs Percy too
long. Thank you so very much for your kind help."
And he turned to go.
"I will not forget to send Mrs Green, the washerwoman, to speak to
you," said mamma, as she shook hands with Evey.
"Oh yes, thank you--this evening, please, if possible," the little girl
replied.