AN INVITATION.
Jacinth was quick of observation. They had not been many minutes seated
at table before it struck her that Frances was unusually silent--or
rather, absent and preoccupied, for the mere fact of her not speaking
much in her aunt's presence was not remarkable.
She glanced at Frances once or twice inquiringly, then she tried to draw
her into the conversation, but only succeeded in extracting
monosyllables in reply. Still her sister did not look depressed,
certainly not cross; it was much more as if her thoughts were elsewhere.
'What are you dreaming about, Frances?' said Jacinth at last with a
touch of sharpness. 'Are you very tired?'
'Did you not enjoy yourself this afternoon?' asked Miss Mildmay,
following suit.
Frances started, and pulled herself together.
'Oh yes,' she said, '_very_ much. I never enjoyed myself more. I was
only--oh, I was only thinking of things.'
'What sort of things?' asked her aunt good-humouredly. 'Had you much
grave and learned discussion at Ivy Lodge?'
Frances reddened a little.
'We did talk quietly part of the time,' she said. 'We weren't playing
games _all_ the afternoon. I was a good while walking up and down with
Margaret, and afterwards with Bessie.'
Miss Mildmay glanced inquiringly at her elder niece.
'Yes,' said Jacinth, replying to the unspoken question. 'Those are the
girls Frances is so fond of--the Harpers.'
'Oh yes, I remember,' said Miss Mildmay. 'Their mother is an old friend
of the Scarletts, and the good souls were delighted to take the girls
at'----She stopped suddenly, aware that she had been on the point of
betraying a confidence, realising, too, that the subject of it was
scarcely suited for her young auditors, for Frances especially. But in
her slight confusion she stumbled on the very thing she was anxious to
avoid, so that it required little 'putting of two and two together' for
Jacinth to complete to herself, with an inward smile, her aunt's
broken-off sentence. 'They are not--the Harpers, I mean--they are not at
all well off, and--a large family, I fancy,' Miss Mildmay went on.
'No,' said Frances in her clear young voice, rather to her hearers'
surprise, 'no, they are not _at all_ rich.'
Then she started, grew crimson, and looked round in affright: had she
said something she should not have said? A strange, silly, nervous
feeling came over her; as if she must, in another moment, burst into
tears.
'Frances,' said Jacinth, 'what are you looking so terrified about?
There's no harm in what you said. It's no secret; Aunt Alison said it
herself first.'
Her tone was not unkindly, though slightly sharp. But a look of relief
overspread her sister's face.
'No, of course not. I'm very silly,' she murmured.
'I think you must be a little over-tired,' said Miss Mildmay vaguely.
She had not specially noticed Frances's expression. 'I wonder,' she went
on, 'I wonder if those Harpers are any relation to the Elvedons? I
can't quite remember what Miss Scarlett said about them. It was their
mother she was interested in, though--not their father. If they were
Elvedon Harpers, Lady Myrtle would know about them; at least'----
'Harper isn't at all an uncommon name,' interrupted Jacinth.
But Miss Mildmay did not resent the little discourtesy--her mind was
pursuing its own train of thought. 'I don't know that it _would_ follow
that she could know anything of them,' she said. 'Some of the last
generation of Harpers were sadly unsatisfactory, and I believe the old
man, Lady Myrtle's father, disinherited one or more of his sons. So if
you ever go to Robin Redbreast, girls, I think it would be just as well
not to mention your school-fellows of the name.'
Jacinth shot a rather triumphant glance at her sister.
'It is generally better, and more well-bred, not to begin about "Are you
related to the so-and-so's?" or "I have friends of your name," and
remarks like that; isn't it, Aunt Alison?' she said. 'I was telling
Frances so, only yesterday.'
Frances reddened again.
'Well, yes,' said Miss Mildmay. 'Still, one cannot make a hard and fast
rule about such matters. It calls for a little tact.'
She was very inconsistent; who is not? Something in Jacinth's premature
wisdom--almost savouring of 'worldly' wisdom--rather repelled her,
careful and unimpulsive though she herself was. Then she felt annoyed
with her own annoyance: it was unjust to blame the girl, when she
herself had been inculcating caution.
'In this case,' she added, 'I am sure it is best to keep off family
affairs, you being so young and Lady Myrtle Goodacre so old; and as I
know, there have been sore spots in her history.'
Then she rose from the table.
'Francie, dear, I think you had better go to bed early. You _are_
looking tired,' she said kindly, and as she kissed the little girl she
almost fancied--was it fancy?--that she felt a touch of dew on her
cheek.
'I'm afraid I don't understand children at all,' she thought to herself,
though with a little sigh. 'What in the world can Frances be crying
about?'
Jacinth, once they were alone, did not spare her sister.
'I do think you are too silly,' she said. 'If you go on so oddly after
having an afternoon's play, I am sure Aunt Alison won't let you go
again. First you seemed half asleep, then you jumped and looked
terrified for nothing at all, and now you are actually crying. What _is_
the matter?'
'I didn't mean'----began Frances.
'I believe it's those girls,' continued Jacinth, working herself up to
rare irritation, for as a rule she was gentle to her sister. 'They
really seem to bewitch you. Are you crying because you're not a boarder
at school, so that you could be always beside them?' she added
ironically.
'No, of course not. I wouldn't be so silly,' said Frances, with a touch
of her usual spirit.
'Then what _are_ you crying about?'
Frances murmured something about 'thinking Jacinth was vexed with her.'
'Nonsense,' said Jacinth. 'You know I wasn't in the least till you got
so silly. I don't understand you to-night one bit, but I will say I
think it has something to do with the Harpers, and if they begin coming
between you and me, Frances, I shall end by really disliking them.'
'I think you dislike them already,' retorted Frances, 'and I'm sure I
don't know why.'
To this Jacinth vouchsafed no reply. She would have said the accusation
was not worth noticing. But yet at the bottom of her heart she knew
there was something in it. A vague, ridiculous, unfounded sort of
jealousy of the Harpers had begun to insinuate itself.
'I wish their name had been anything else,' she said to herself. 'I
don't believe they are really any relation to Lady Myrtle--at least not
anything countable. But it is so disagreeable to have the feeling of
knowing anything of people who _may_ be--well, rather objectionable
relations of hers. Well, no; perhaps that's putting it too strong. I
mean relations she doesn't want to have to do with, and I don't see why
she _should_ want to have to do with them. I shall take care, I know,
not to speak of them to her, for it would only annoy her, and it's no
business of mine. I do wish Frances hadn't taken them up so, she is so
silly sometimes.'
Frances on her side began to think she had gone too far. She glanced up
at Jacinth, and saw that her face was very grave.
'Jass,' she said, stealing up to her and speaking in a soft apologetic
tone, 'I'm very sorry for being cross. I think I _am_ rather tired,
though I did so enjoy myself this afternoon. Perhaps I'd better go to
bed, for I want to write most of my letter to mamma to-morrow. I want to
write her a good long one this time.'
'Very well,' said Jacinth as graciously as she could. 'I'm sure I
haven't meant to be cross either, Francie; but--I don't like the idea of
_any one_ coming between you and me.'
'Of course not; nobody _could_, never,' said Frances eagerly. 'Kiss me,
Jass. I really don't know what made me begin to cry; it was a mixture.'
Her voice trembled a little again. In terror of incurring Jacinth's
displeasure, Frances tugged at her pocket-handkerchief. Out came, for
the second time that day, the old Christmas card.
'What's that?' said Jacinth.
Frances smoothed it out and showed it her, reminding her of its history.
'I think it was that that made me feel rather--queer--this afternoon,
first,' she said. 'It brought things back so.'
'Well, dear, go to bed and have a good night. And to-morrow you'll be
fresh for a nice long letter to mamma in the afternoon, when we come
back from the children's service; there's always plenty of time. I want
to write her a long letter too.'
The letters were written, neither sister reading the other's. This was a
recognised rule, and a wise one, as it kept each child more directly in
touch with the absent mother, and also enabled her to judge of her
children's gradually developing characters. The very way in which the
same occurrence was related by each threw many an unsuspected light on
the 'Jacinth' and 'Frances' she had personally so sadly little knowledge
of.
And then for some days life at Number 9 Market Square Place, which had
been to a certain extent enlivened or disturbed, seemed to revert again
to its usual monotony. It was almost like a dream to Jacinth to recall
the strange visit to the quaint old house and the unexpected confidences
of Lady Myrtle Goodacre; the more so that she had at first allowed her
imagination to run wild on all the possibilities thus opened up. And to
Frances it was even more bewildering to remember the glimpse vouchsafed
to her by her young friends into their past family history. For though
they were both as affectionate and friendly as before--more so, indeed,
it seemed to her--neither by word nor allusion was the Saturday's
conversation referred to. Margaret had evidently promised Bessie to keep
off the subject, and Frances of course could but do the same.
'Perhaps,' she thought to herself, 'they will never speak of it again to
me; perhaps that is what their mother has told them she wished. But
after all, it doesn't look as if this would much matter, for there is no
sign that Lady Myrtle means to take any more notice of us, not even of
poor Jass. I'm not surprised; any one that can be so unkind about her
own relations _can't_ be very nice.'
Frances was sorry for Jacinth, and a little disappointed for herself,
and there had still lingered in her some dim hopes that possibly
_somehow_ their own acquaintance with the old lady might have been of
use to her friends. Jacinth, though she said nothing, was feeling very
chagrined indeed, and not a little bitter.
What could have happened to change Lady Myrtle so? Could it be that she
was really very fanciful and whimsical? It scarcely seemed so,
considering that she had written so promptly to Miss Mildmay, not losing
even one post! And this thought suggested another explanation. Could
their aunt's letter in reply have contained something to annoy the old
lady? Jacinth began to be very much afraid it must be so, and it made
her very vexed with Miss Mildmay, though she did not in the least
suppose it had been done _intentionally_.
'Aunt Alison is perfectly straightforward,' thought the girl. 'If she
meant to stop our going to Robin Redbreast, she would have said so right
out. But she may have written in a stiff, stuck-up way, as if it would
be a great favour to let us go, which would very likely offend Lady
Myrtle. I do think she might have told me what she said.'
And but for Miss Mildmay's being particularly busy that week, and very
engrossed by some unexpected difficulties which had arisen in connection
with one of her benevolent works, she could scarcely have failed to
notice Jacinth's extremely icy manner and unusual silence.
But on Friday morning came a thaw.
Miss Mildmay looked up with a smile--her smiles were somewhat rare, but
not without a certain charm--as the girls entered the dining-room,
_even_ though they were too late for prayers.
'We are so sorry, Aunt Alison,' said Frances eagerly. 'We _just_ got to
the door in time to be too late.'
'Well, I must forgive you, for I cannot say that it often happens.
And--I have something to tell you, Jacinth,' was the gracious reply.
Two things had pleased Miss Mildmay that morning: a letter with the
welcome news that, thanks to her judicious management, the difficulty
alluded to had been got over, and another letter from Lady Myrtle
Goodacre, with a cordial invitation to her elder niece. For Miss Mildmay
herself, though it was not her way to express such things, had felt a
little annoyed and considerably surprised at no further communication
from the owner of Robin Redbreast.
Now, however, all was cleared up. The old lady had been ill,
'otherwise,' she wrote with studied courtesy, 'she had hoped before this
to have had the pleasure of calling.' But under the circumstances she
felt sure that Miss Mildmay would excuse her, and in proof of this,
would she allow her niece Jacinth to spend Sunday at Robin Redbreast? by
which she explained that she meant from Saturday to Monday morning.
'My carriage shall call for her about noon,' wrote Lady Myrtle, 'and she
shall be sent home, or straight to school, at any hour she names on
Monday.'
Jacinth's eyes sparkled. This was just the sort of thing she had been
hoping for, but with the self-restraint peculiar to her, unusual in one
so young, she said nothing till her aunt directly addressed her, after
reading aloud Lady Myrtle's note.
'Well, what do you say to it? Would you like to go?' asked Miss Mildmay.
'Very much indeed,' Jacinth replied, 'except'----And as her eyes fell on
her sister she hesitated. 'I wish Frances had been invited too,' she was
on the point of saying, but she changed the words into, 'I hope Frances
won't be dull without me.'
'Oh no, don't think about that,' said the younger girl. 'I really and
truly would not like to go; I shouldn't care about it in the least, and
I am _very_ glad I'm not asked.'
And Jacinth saw that Frances thoroughly meant what she said.
Before the day was over, Frances felt still more glad that she had not
been included in the invitation, for as soon as morning lessons were
finished, and the day-scholars were getting ready to go, Bessie Harper
came running to her with a letter in her hand.
'This is for you, Frances,' she said. 'It is from my sister Camilla,
who was here, you know, when you first came, for a little.'
Frances was staring at the letter in surprise.
'I scarcely knew your sister at all,' she said. 'She was so big compared
with me--even with Jacinth.'
'Ah well, you will understand when you've read it. It came inside one to
me,' said Bessie. 'It'll be all right when you've read it. But I must
go.' And off she ran.
Frances looked again at the envelope and then deposited the letter in
her pocket. She had a feeling that she would read it when she was alone,
for she began to have some idea what it was about. She read it at home
that afternoon. It ran as follows:
SOUTHCLIFF, _October 7th_.
MY DEAR FRANCES--I am writing to you instead of my mother,
for as you and I were, though only for a short time,
school-fellows, we think perhaps I can explain better what
Bessie's letter makes us think necessary to say. Mother is
not vexed with Margaret for what she told you, for there is
nothing secret about us or our history, though there have
been sad things in father's family long ago, as you know.
Bessie told us of your kind feelings about us, and though I
saw so little of you, I can well believe them. But with
regard to our great-aunt, both my father and mother hope she
will hear nothing about us. Father has long left off any
thought of friendly relations with her. Of course there is
no reason why our name should not be mentioned to her by
yourself, or your sister, if it happened to come up in
conversation; but we should be sorry for her to think we
murmured about being poor, or that any of us ever thought of
her as a rich relation who might help us. So we shall all be
very glad indeed if you will try to forget that you know
anything of us Harpers except as school-fellows who will
always be pleased to count you a true friend. Mother wishes
you to do just what you think best about showing this
letter to your sister or not. And of course you will tell
your mother anything or everything about the matter. Yours
affectionately,
CAMILLA HARPER.
Frances gave a sigh.
'I won't show it to Jacinth,' she thought. 'Aunt Alison said it was
better for her not to speak about the Harpers to Lady Myrtle, so there's
no use in saying anything about them. And it's more comfortable not to
have something in your head you're not to tell. I suppose I must try to
put it all out of my head, but it _would_ have been nice to help to make
that old aunt of theirs like them. I'll put the letter in an envelope
ready addressed to mamma--that'll keep any one from touching it--and
I'll send it to her in my next letter.'
But it called for some self-control not to tell it all to her sister,
even at the risk of her displeasure. And Frances was conscious of a very
slight feeling of relief when Jacinth, evidently in high spirits, though
quiet as she always was, set off in state the next day for her visit to
Robin Redbreast.
She had made up her mind to enjoy herself and to be pleased with
everything, and it was not difficult to carry out this programme.
Everything Lady Myrtle could think of to make her young guest feel at
home had been done, and Jacinth was both quick to see this and most
ready to appreciate it.
She drew a deep breath of satisfaction when she found herself seated in
Lady Myrtle's comfortable brougham, which, though a trifle
old-fashioned, was, like everything belonging to the Robin Redbreast
establishment, thoroughly good of its kind.
'It is like being at Stannesley again,' thought Jacinth, 'only poor
granny's carriage and horses, and old Simpson the coachman, weren't half
so nice as all this is.'
And, to confess the truth, I think a passing regret went through her
that the road to her destination lay straight out from the town on the
Market Square Place side, so that there was no chance of her meeting any
of her school-fellows and giving them a smiling nod of recognition.
The door was opened by the neat parlour-maid, but behind her
appeared--to do special honour to the young lady, no doubt--a
functionary whom Jacinth had not seen before--no less a personage than
Mr Thornley, Lady Myrtle's old, not to say aged butler. He came forward
gently rubbing his hands, and bending with a decorous mixture of
paternal solicitude and deference which Jacinth by no means objected to,
though it made her inclined to smile a little.
'Miss Mildmay, I presume?'
'Miss Mildmay' was quite equal to the occasion. She bent her head
graciously.
'Her ladyship is awaiting you in her boudoir, if you will have the
goodness to follow me,' the old man proceeded.
They were standing in the hall. It was large--at least it seemed so in
comparison with the impression given by the outside of the house, which
Jacinth knew so well, and which was really cottage-like. The hall was
wainscoted in oak half-way up, where the panels met a bluish-green
Japanese-looking paper. A really old oriental paper it was, such as is
not even nowadays to be procured in England, so thickly covered with
tracery of leaves and flowers and birds and butterflies in a delightful
tangle, that the underlying colour was more felt than seen. A short
staircase of wide shallow steps ran up one side, disappearing apparently
into the wall, and up this staircase, rather to Jacinth's surprise--for
there were several doors in the hall leading, no doubt, to the principal
ground-floor rooms--stepped Thornley in a gingerly manner till he
reached the little landing at the top. There he threw open a door,
papered like the walls so cleverly as to be invisible when closed,
though it was a good-sized door--wide and high. And as soon as the girl,
following behind, caught sight of the vista now revealed, she wondered
no more, as she had been doing, at Lady Myrtle's choosing an up-stairs
room for her boudoir.
'In a town it would be different,' Jacinth had been saying to herself,
'but in the country it's so much nicer to be able to get out into the
garden at once.'
But she did not understand the peculiar architecture of Robin Redbreast.
A glow of colour met her eyes, for the door in the wall opened on to a
gallery, three sides of which ran round an inner hall on the
ground-floor, while the fourth--that facing her--was all conservatory,
and conservatory of the most perfect kind. The girl started,
half-dazzled by the unexpected radiance, and drew a quick breath of
satisfaction, as the butler passed along the side of the gallery and
threw open a door leading in among the flowers--she, following closely,
lingered a moment while the old servant passed on, partly to give him
time to announce her, partly to enjoy for half an instant the fragrance
and beauty around her.
Then came a voice, and a figure in the inner doorway--the figure that
already seemed so familiar to her, though she had seen it but once.
'My dear child--my dear Jacinth,' and she felt two kind arms thrown
round her, and the soft withered cheek of the old lady pressed against
her own. 'This is delightful--to have you all to myself--my own child
for the time.'
Jacinth's usually cold unimpulsive nature was strongly moved; there is
always something impressive and touching in the emotion of the aged. And
Lady Myrtle, one felt by instinct, was rarely demonstrative.
The girl looked up in her face, and there came a slight mistiness over
the hazel eyes, which her new old friend seemed to know so well--oh so
well!--the sight of them carried her back half a century; and, above
all, when Jacinth began to speak, she felt as if all the intervening
years were a dream, and that she was again a girl herself, listening to
the voice of Jacinth Moreland.
'I am so very pleased to come. I have been longing to see you again,'
said her young guest. Thornley had discreetly withdrawn. 'And how lovely
it is here! You don't know how I enjoy seeing flowers again like these.'
'It _is_ pretty, isn't it?' said Lady Myrtle, pleased by the frank
admiration. 'In cold weather I am sometimes shut up a good deal, and my
garden is my great delight. So I tried to make myself a little winter
garden, you see. I have had to stay up here the last few days, but I
hope to go about again as usual to-morrow. And of course I shall go down
to luncheon and dinner to-day. I waited to ask you to come, my dear,
till I was better. I could not have let you be all by yourself in the
dining-room.'
'Oh,' exclaimed Jacinth, with sudden compunction, 'I should have asked
if you were better. How could I forget?'
'Why, you have not been two minutes here, my dear child. And I wrote
that I was better. It was only a cold. But at my age, "only a cold" may
come to be a great deal, and I have got into the way of taking care of
myself, I scarcely know why; it is natural, I suppose, and after all,
however alone one is, life is a gift. We must not throw it away. I am
not _quite_ well yet'--she had coughed more than once while
speaking--'but the weather is milder again.'
'Yes,' said Jacinth, 'a sort of St Martin's summer. I hope,' she added
gently, 'you will let me wait upon you a little while I am here.
Wouldn't you like the door shut?'
Lady Myrtle smiled. She liked the allusion to St Martin's summer; it
seemed like a good omen. Was this bright young life, so strangely
associated with her own youth, to bring back some spring-time to her
winter?--was Jacinth to be a St Martin's summer to her?
'Thank you,' she said. 'Yes, please shut the outer door. Poor old
Thornley often thinks he has closed it when he hasn't; his hands are so
rheumatic. I like the door into the conservatory left open. Yes, that's
right. And now come and talk to me for a few minutes before you take off
your things. There is still half an hour to luncheon. Tell me what you
have been doing these last few days--busy at lessons? That fair-haired
little sister of yours doesn't look as if she _over_worked.'
Jacinth smiled.
'No,' she said, 'I don't think Francie _over_works, but she does very
well. The being at school has really been a good thing for her, for she
feels herself that she is the better for emulation.'
'And the Scarletts are gentlewomen, thorough gentlewomen,' said Lady
Myrtle, musingly. 'That makes a difference. And I suppose a good many of
the pupils are really nice--lady-like and refined?'
'Yes,' said Jacinth, readily. 'The boarders are all nice--some of them
really as nice in every way as they can be, clever, too, and anxious to
learn. I don't seem to know them quite as well as Frances does, for,
somehow, I am not very quick at making friends,' and she looked up at
Lady Myrtle with a slight questioning in her eyes. The confession did
not sound very amiable. But the old lady nodded reassuringly.
'Just as well or better that it should be so,' she said. 'Few friends
and faithful has been my motto. Indeed, as for _great_ friends I never
had but one, and you know who that was, and I verily believe she never
had any one as much to her as I was.' She sighed a little. 'Your sister
is quite a child--a very nice child, I am sure, but she is not a
Moreland at all. I have heard of some girls at Miss Scarlett's--let me
see, who were they? What are the names of the ones you like best?'
Jacinth hesitated.
'There are the--the Eves,' she said, 'two sisters, and the Beckinghams,
and Miss Falmouth. She is almost too old for us.'
But the Harpers she did not name, saying to herself that her aunt had
advised her not to do so. In this she deceived herself. Miss Mildmay
would never have counselled her direct avoidance of mention of the two
girls whom Frances--and she herself in her heart--thought the most
highly of among their companions.
Lady Myrtle caught at the last name.
'Falmouth,' she repeated. 'Yes, it must have been of her I heard. I know
her aunt. Very nice people.'
Then she went on to talk a little of Jacinth's own special tastes and
studies, to ask what news the girls had last had from India, how often
they wrote, and so on, to all of which Jacinth replied with her usual
simple directness, for she felt perfectly at ease with her hostess. And
the little reminiscences and allusions to the long-ago days when all the
young interests of Jacinth Moreland and Myrtle Harper were shared
together, with which the old lady's talk was so interspersed, in no way
bored or wearied this girl of to-day, as it might have done some of her
contemporaries. On the contrary, such allusions made Jacinth feel more
on a level with her companion, and flattered her by showing her the
confidence with which she was regarded.
'I don't suppose she would speak of those past times to _any one_ but
me,' thought Jacinth proudly. 'Except, of course, perhaps to mamma.'