"Evey," I said, "you are joking."
But a glance at her face showed me she was quite in earnest.
"No, indeed," she said. "If people are poor they must work. Indeed,
rich people often work hard too, though in a different way. What's
there to be ashamed of?"
"But a _shop_," I said, with extreme disgust--"That's not for ladies and
gentlemen."
"I don't see why, if they're poor and could get on that way. Of course,
if the boys and we two were all together in it, you may be sure Mary and
I would be given the nicest part of the work," she said, smiling. "And
if we could earn enough to make father and mother _quite_ comfortable
when they get old, really not to have any bother at all and not to need
to think about money, why, what _would_ we care what we did? We'd be--"
here Evey stopped to find a sufficiently strong expression--"we'd be
_chimney-sweeps_."
This was rather a relief to my feelings. "She knows they couldn't be
chimney-sweeps," I thought to myself, "so very likely she's joking about
a shop too."
And I was still more satisfied when, a moment or two after, Yvonne
added: "Of course, it's all castles in the air. I daresay," and she
sighed, "we shall never be able to do anything much, any of us--not even
for father and mother. _They_ say the best thing we can all do for them
is each to be good in his or her own way. But one can't help sometimes
wishing to do something big--oh, what heaps of nice things one could do
for people if one were rich! We often plan them together--for father
and mother first, you know."
"Yes, I suppose it would be nice to be rich," I replied; "but I've never
thought much about it,"--"Still, I don't think going to the Colonies or
keeping a shop would be `something big,'" I was on the point of saying,
when Evey interrupted me.
"No," she said earnestly; "it's not being rich, it's the things one
would do. There's all the difference;" and perhaps it was as well I had
not finished my sentence.
This conversation was not the part of the afternoon I enjoyed the most,
nor did it take very long. I have told it because it helps to show
Yvonne Whyte's way of looking at things, and the difference between her
and me. I enjoyed much more talking about Evey's room, and how it was
to be dressed up in pink and white, and also the making plans for
meeting often, and discussing the lawn-tennis ground at the Yew Trees
with Lancey. It was not a very good one and had been neglected, but
Captain Whyte and Lancey had great ideas about it, and Captain Whyte
thanked me very nicely, though he smiled a little, when I said rather
pompously that I was sure they could have our garden-roller and the
under-gardener to help, when the time came for attending to it.
Just before it was time to go, Lady Honor called us all in to sing a
hymn. It was to please Mr Bickersteth, who was too feeble to go to
church again. It was a long time since he had heard his young friends'
voices, he said, looking at Yvonne and her brother, and their hymn
should be his vespers to-day. And when I heard them I was not surprised
at his wanting them to sing. Their voices were _so_ nice, and, to my
surprise, Evey played the accompaniment on Mr Bickersteth's chamber
organ quite beautifully.
I was very fond of music, so I really enjoyed it, and for once forgot
that I was not the centre of it all.
"_How_ nice!" I exclaimed heartily, when it was over. And Lady Honor
smiled at me when I said this, in her very kindest way; for no one who
does not know Lady Honor pretty well can fancy how kind her smiles
_sometimes_ are. "How have you learnt to play the organ so beautifully?
It takes a lot of time, doesn't it?" I said to Evey.
"Yes," said Lady Honor, replying for her. "But I have always found in
my life, my dear Connie, that it is the people who have the most to do
who do the most. Think that over--you'll find it's not an Irish bull,
though it sounds like one."