DELICATE GROUND.
The two days at Robin Redbreast passed most satisfactorily, and long
before they came to an end Jacinth felt completely at home. It would
have been almost impossible for her or for any girl not to feel grateful
for Lady Myrtle's extreme kindness, but besides this, everything in the
life suited Jacinth's peculiar character. She liked the perfect order,
the completeness of the arrangements, just as--in very different
surroundings--she liked and appreciated the same qualities in her aunt's
sphere. Mere luxury or display would not have pleased her in the same
way, and except in the one matter of flowers and all expenses connected
with her garden, Lady Myrtle lived simply. The house itself, though in
perfectly good taste, was decidedly plain; the furniture belonged to a
severe and unluxurious date. The colouring was harmonious, but
unobtrusive.
But Jacinth thought it perfection. Her own room--the one which the old
lady had specially chosen for her, and which she impressed upon her she
must think of as appropriated to her--was exactly what she liked. The
chintz hangings--pale pink rosebuds on a white ground--the quaint
spindle-legged dressing-tables and chairs, the comfortably spacious but
undecorated wardrobe of dark old mahogany, the three-cornered bookcases
fitted in to the angles of the walls with their lozenge-paned glass
doors--all was just as she liked.
'It's so beautifully _neat_,' she said to Lady Myrtle. 'I like a house
to be almost primly neat. Frances says she's sure I shall be an old
maid, and I daresay I shall be. I shouldn't mind, if I had a house of my
own like this to live in.'
Lady Myrtle glanced at her with one of her peculiar but approving
smiles.
'That is another point in common between us,' she said. 'I have always
felt like you, and when--let me see, it must be fully twenty years ago
now--when, for the first time I really was perfectly free to furnish a
house to suit myself, you see I carried out my own ideas.'
'Oh, I thought Robin Redbreast was really old--furniture and all,' said
Jacinth with a slight tone of disappointment.
'So it is,' said Lady Myrtle. 'A good deal of it was here in the house,
and I had it done up--and some things I brought from Goodacre. My
brother-in-law who succeeded there kindly let me choose out things of my
favourite date. And they did not suit Goodacre, which is very grand and
heavy, and, to my mind, ugly.'
'I know what you mean,' said Jacinth, eagerly--'enormous mirrors with
huge gilt frames, and enormous gilt cornices over the window curtains,
and great big patterns on the carpets. There was a house near Stannesley
like that. It was interesting, something like an old palace, and grand;
but I shouldn't like to live in a house of that kind.'
'No, there seems nothing personal about it. One's own little self makes
no impression; you feel that you are just passing through it for the
time. Elvedon was rather like that, though the present tenants have
managed to lighten it a good deal. But our other place--I mean my own
family's place, up in the north, where I knew your dear
grandmother--though not so grand, is much more homelike than Elvedon. My
nephew and his wife live there when they are not in London. It is not so
expensive as the place here.'
Jacinth grew a little nervous and said exactly what she did not mean to
say.
'Are they not very rich, then?' and instantly blushed crimson, which
Lady Myrtle took as an expression of fear lest she had been indiscreet.
And she hastened to answer so as to put the girl at ease again.
'No,' she said; 'far from it. But they will be better off some day, and
it has been for their good that they have not been rich hitherto. The
sins of the fathers are visited on the children, as you cannot fail to
see for yourself, my dear, when you come to know more of life.' Lady
Myrtle sighed. 'My poor brother Elvedon was very weak and foolish, led
into all kinds of wild extravagance by--by another, much, much worse
than he;' and here the old lady's face hardened. 'And naturally,' she
went on, 'we--my father and I--dreaded what his son might turn out. Poor
Elvedon, my nephew I mean, is far from a clever man, but he is sensible
and steady, and so are his two sons. So, as I was saying, some day they
will be better off.'
Jacinth listened with the utmost attention. She was much gratified by
her hostess's confidence, and relieved, too, that no mention had been
made of any other Harper relatives.
'Bessie and Margaret are not Lord Elvedon's daughters, of course,' she
said to herself, 'so it does not seem as if they were near relations;
perhaps, after all, they are not relations at all. So I don't see that I
need bother my head about them; I might have mentioned them to Lady
Myrtle among the girls at school without her noticing it, I daresay.'
'This is too old talk for you, my dear,' said the old lady, after a
little silence.
'No, no indeed,' said Jacinth eagerly. 'I am so pleased you don't treat
me as a child, dear Lady Myrtle. And I love to think of you and my
grandmother long ago, when your families were almost relations, weren't
they?'
'Yes, truly--Jacinth and I often said we loved each other more than if
we had been sisters. That reminds me, my dear, that nice little sister
of yours must come to see me some day soon, and the boy too, the next
time you come. When shall that be?'
'Whenever you like, dear Lady Myrtle,' Jacinth replied.
'Well then, supposing you come again in a fortnight--next Saturday week,
that is to say. I will send for you as before, and the two children must
come with you and stay till six or seven; then I will send them home
again and you will remain with me till Monday morning. I must not be
selfish, otherwise I would gladly have you every week. But that would
not be fair to your aunt.'
'It wouldn't matter so much for Aunt Alison,' said Jacinth; 'I really
don't think she would mind. But Francie and Eugene would not like me to
be away every Sunday.'
'Then let us try to make it every other,' said Lady Myrtle. 'My dearest
child,' and she pressed the girl's hand, 'how I wish I could have you
with me altogether. But no, that would not do--it would not be a right
life for her'--she seemed as if she were speaking to herself. 'Tell me,
dear,' she went on, 'you do feel already _at home_ at Robin Redbreast?
I want you to learn to love the little place as well as its old
owner--who can't be its owner for ever,' she added in a lower voice, so
that less quick ears than Jacinth's would scarcely have caught the
words.
'I love it already dearly,' she replied. 'For your sake first of all, of
course, but for its own too. I couldn't imagine a more perfect old house
than it is.'
They were walking in the garden, for the weather was mild and Lady
Myrtle had been able to go to church that morning. It was Sunday and
late afternoon. The long level rays of the evening sun fell on the large
lawn--smooth and even as a bowling-green--along one side of which, on
the broad terrace, the two were pacing up and down. Lady Myrtle stopped
short, she was holding the girl's arm, and looked up at the windows,
glinting cheerily in the red glow beginning to be reflected from the
sky.
'Yes,' she said, 'it really is a dear old place. And for any one who
cared to fit it for a larger family there is plenty of space and
convenience for extending it.'
'It seems a very good size already,' said Jacinth, 'though of course I
cannot judge very well.'
'You must see it all,' said Lady Myrtle; 'the next time you come I hope
I shall be quite well and able to show you all over it. No, it would
scarcely need building to; but there are several rooms at the other side
in rather an unfinished condition, because I really had no use for them.
The last tenant was on the point of completing them when he left. He had
a large family, and it was getting too small for them, but he
unexpectedly came into a property elsewhere, and then my father gave me
this place. There are some very nice rooms you have not seen. Have you
been in the one where my old pensioners come for their dinner every
Saturday?'
Jacinth shook her head.
'That would make a capital billiard room,' Lady Myrtle went on, Jacinth
listening to all she said with the greatest interest. 'Indeed, Robin
Redbreast has everything needed for a comfortable roomy house. It is too
large for me, unless I had a good many visitors. When your father and
mother come from India, Jacinth, I must have you all to stay with me.'
Jacinth's eyes sparkled.
'Oh how delightful that would be!' she said. 'I have often thought how
they will miss Stannesley when they come home. For it is let for a long
time. And wasn't it funny, Lady Myrtle, that last morning when we were
saying good-bye to Uncle Marmy at the gate, we looked in at this garden,
and said how lovely it would be if papa and mamma had come home, and we
were all living together in a house like this! And to think it _may_
come true, if you ask us all to stay with you.'
Lady Myrtle stroked Jacinth's hand fondly.
'Yes, dear,' she said, 'it may come true, and I trust it will.'
This conversation took place, as I said, on the Sunday afternoon. Very
early the next morning the brougham took Jacinth back to Market Square
Place, in time for her to start for school with Frances at their usual
hour.
Frances did not receive with rapturous delight the news of her
invitation to Robin Redbreast.
'Must I go?' she said. 'Wouldn't it do for just Eugene to go with you,
Jacinth? He would enjoy it.'
'Yes, I should,' said Eugene, 'pertickerly if we have some of those
little brown cakes for tea.'
'Eugene,' said Frances in a tone of disgust, 'I'm sure Lady Myrtle would
not have asked you if she had known you were such a greedy little boy.'
They were in the dining-room waiting for their aunt, who, for once, was
a few minutes late for dinner. Just then she came in. She greeted
Jacinth pleasantly, and seemed glad to hear that she had enjoyed
herself. Then she was told of the invitation for the following week, and
Frances appealed to her to say she 'needn't go.' But Frances's hopes
were speedily disappointed.
'Not go!' said Miss Mildmay; 'of course you must go. It would be most
ungrateful to Lady Myrtle, and would, besides, put Jacinth in a very
disagreeable position. You are the grand-daughter of Lady Myrtle's old
friend as well as Jacinth, even though her special interest may be in
Jacinth.'
'It would make me look so selfish too,' said Jacinth, who, now that she
felt sure of her own place with the old lady, was far from wishing to
deprive Frances of her share in the pleasures and advantages of their
acquaintance with Robin Redbreast.
So Frances had to give in.
And when the day came she enjoyed the visit, on the whole, very much.
'If only,' she said to herself before starting, 'if only I could have
got mamma's letter in answer to mine before going. I would have known
then exactly how to do about the Harpers. Of course I can't tell
stories, and _they_ would never have wanted me to do that. I only hope
nothing will be said about school or about anything to do with them.'
Then she tried to recall the exact words of Camilla Harper's letter, by
this time two-thirds on its way to India to her mother.
Jacinth said nothing at all about the Harpers in connection with Lady
Myrtle, and Frances began to think her sister had forgotten all about
the question of their possible relationship, which in the meantime at
least the younger girl was not sorry for.
It was again a lovely day--the weather seemed to favour the visits to
Robin Redbreast--even milder than the Saturday of Jacinth's first stay
there. And this time, instead of the brougham, a large roomy pony
carriage came to fetch them, a spring cart having already called for
Jacinth's portmanteau that morning.
'How lovely!' said Frances, as she and Eugene took their seats with
great satisfaction opposite her sister and the coachman; 'I am so glad
it is an open carriage. I wish Lady Myrtle would send us home in it
again this evening: don't you, Eugene?'
'I'm sure her ladyship will be quite pleased to do so, miss, if you just
mention that you would like it,' said the man, a staid unexceptionable
old servant, though many years younger than Thornley.
'Oh well, I will. I may, mayn't I, Jass?' said Frances, her eyes
sparkling with pleasure, only damped by Jacinth's grave expression. Did
Jass think she was chattering too much already? High spirits were
Francie's native air: it was very difficult for her to be quiet and
subdued for long together. But Jacinth really loved to see Frances
happy, and she knew that Lady Myrtle would feel the same.
'She thinks her such a mere child,' thought the elder girl. So she
smiled reassuringly as she replied: 'Of course, dear, you can ask Lady
Myrtle. I am sure she won't mind if it keeps fine; and there is no sign
of rain, is there?' she said turning to the coachman.
'No indeed, ma'am,' he replied. 'We shall have no rain just yet a bit.'
'It's a _perfect_ day,' said Frances. 'I really sometimes think I like
autumn as well as spring.'
'I have always liked it much better,' said Jacinth calmly.
Lady Myrtle was walking up and down the terrace, waiting for them. She
was much better--for her, indeed, quite well--she said, and her face
lighted up with pleasure as she kissed Jacinth tenderly. Then she turned
to the younger ones and kissed them too.
'I must have a good look at you, Frances,' she said. 'No--you are not a
Moreland, and yet--yes, there is a slight _something_--in spite of your
blue eyes and shaggy hair,' and she patted Frances's head. 'And you, my
boy;' and she examined Eugene in his turn. 'His eyes are more like his
grandmother's; nothing approaching your eyes, Jacinth, but still they
are more of the colour.'
'Eugene is very like mamma,' said Frances eagerly. 'Everybody says so.'
'And I'm called after her,' added Eugene.
'So that's quite as it should be,' said Lady Myrtle. 'And some day I
hope I may have the great pleasure of comparing mamma and her boy
together. Now dears, listen to my plan--would you like to go a drive
this afternoon, or would you rather play about the garden and the little
farm? I mean Frances and Eugene--Jacinth, of course, is quite at home
here.'
The two younger ones looked at each other.
'Oh please,' said Frances, 'if we may go home in the open carriage, I
think that would be enough driving. And--it's so long since we've had a
nice big place to run about in, and--pigs and cows, you know, like at
home? Wouldn't you like that best, Eugene?'
'May we see the cows milked?' said Eugene, prudently making his
conditions, 'and, oh please, if we find any eggs, _might_ we take one
home for breakfast to-morrow?'
Lady Myrtle looked much amused.
'I will put you under Barnes's charge,' she said. 'Barnes is the
under-gardener, and whatever he lets you do will be quite right. You and
I, Jacinth, will have a long drive to-morrow, as I always go to Elvedon
church once a month, and to-morrow is the day. So I daresay you will
manage to entertain yourself at home to-day. We can go through the
houses in the afternoon.'
'Yes, thank you,' said Jacinth. 'And the house--you said you would show
me all over the house, dear Lady Myrtle.'
'Of course; that will amuse Frances and Eugene too, I daresay, when they
have had enough running about. Now your sister will go with you to your
room to take her things off;' and as the two set off, she added
playfully, 'Jacinth has a room of her very own here, you know, Frances.'
The younger girl was breathless with interest and pleasure, and the
first sight of the interior of the quaint old house--above all, of the
lovely conservatory, past which Jacinth took care to convoy
her--impressed her as much as her sister.
'Oh Jass,' she said, when they found themselves in the pleasant, rather
'old-world-looking' bedroom, where a tiny wood-fire sparkling in the
grate gave a cheery feeling of welcome as they entered--'Oh Jass, isn't
it like a _dream_? That we should really be here in this dear old house,
treated almost as if we were Lady Myrtle's own grandchildren, and you
staying here, and this called your room, and--and'----
She stopped, at a loss for words to express her feelings.
Jacinth smiled, well pleased.
'Yes,' she said, 'it really is like a fairy-tale. And'----She hesitated
a little. 'You don't know, Francie, what more may not come. Do you
remember our saying that morning to Marmy, how lovely it would be if
some day we had a house like this for our home, and how he and we would
pay visits to each other?'
Frances's face grew rather pink.
'Do you mean if,' she said, her voice growing lower and lower--'if Lady
Myrtle _left_ it to us, to you? I don't like, Jass, to'----
'Oh, how matter-of-fact you are!' said Jacinth impatiently; 'I don't
mean anything but what I say. Lady Myrtle says she is going to invite us
all--papa and mamma and us three--to stay with her when they come home,
and it's a very big house, and she has no relations she cares for. It
might get to be almost like our home. And Lady Myrtle is the sort of
person that often speaks of getting old and--and dying. I daresay she
makes plans for what she'd like to be done with her things--I know I
should--though I hope she'll live twenty years, and I daresay she will,
dear old thing.'
Frances would have accepted this simply enough, and after all, Jacinth
felt as she said. The thought that 'some day' Robin Redbreast might be
her home would be quite enough for her, and she already loved her kind
old friend sincerely. But one sentence in her sister's speech startled
Frances with a quick sharp stab: 'No relations that she cares for.'
Somehow, in the pleasure and excitement of coming to Robin Redbreast,
she had forgotten about the Harpers. Now all her old feelings of
chivalry for them, and wishes that she could be the means of helping
them, rushed back upon her, and she felt as if she had, in some queer
way, been faithless, even though she was debarred from doing anything,
debarred even from telling Jacinth all she knew. And Frances was
unaccustomed to hide her feelings; her face at once grew grave and
almost distressed looking.
'What is the matter, Frances?' said Jacinth. 'You are such a kill-joy.
What are you looking so reproachful about?'
'I didn't mean--I'm not looking reproachful,' said Frances; 'it was
only--oh, just something of my own I was thinking of.'
'Well then, I wish you would think of something cheerful, and not screw
your face up as if you were going to cry. I don't want Lady Myrtle to
think we've been quarrelling up here.'
Frances swallowed down a lump in her throat, which was far too apt to
come there on small provocation.
'Of course Lady Myrtle would never think such a thing, or if she did,
she would only think I was naughty or silly or something. She'd never
dream of _you_ being anything but perfect, Jass. I do like her for
that,' said Frances.
'You should like her for everything. I'm sure she's as kind as she can
possibly be,' said Jacinth.
'Yes,' said Frances, 'she is.'
Then they ran down-stairs again to the library, where Lady Myrtle had
told them she would be. They found her improving her acquaintance with
Eugene, who was chattering away in a most confiding and friendly
fashion, even retailing to her his self-congratulation at having been
the first cause of their making friends.
'For you see if I hadn't been so fir--_wursty_,' with a great effort,
'that day, and _made_ Jacinth let me ask; no,' suddenly recollecting
himself, 'she didn't let me, but you heard me over the wall, Lady
Myrtle; that was it, wasn't it? So it did come of me being wursty,
didn't it?'
'Yes, my dear, of course it did,' the old lady replied, with a smile.
But just then the luncheon gong sounded and they all made their way into
the dining-room. All went well till about half-way through the meal,
when a sudden thought struck Lady Myrtle.
'Oh Jacinth, my dear,' she said, 'I was forgetting to tell you. Your
young friend at school, Honor Falmouth, _is_ the niece of my friend. I
was writing to her husband the other day about a business matter--he is
one of my trustees--and I asked the question. I thought it would
interest you to hear it.'
'Yes,' said Jacinth, 'of course it does. She is a very nice girl indeed,
but she is a good deal older than I. She plays beautifully, and next
term she is going somewhere--to Germany, I think--for the best music
lessons she can have. Did you play the harp, when you were a girl, Lady
Myrtle?' she went on rather eagerly. She was vaguely anxious to change
the conversation, for she had still a half-nervous fear of Frances's
indiscretion should the subject of their school-fellows be entered upon.
'The harp!' repeated Lady Myrtle, half-absently; 'no, my love, I never
was very musical. But your grandmother sang charmingly.' And Jacinth,
believing she was launched on long-ago reminiscences, began to breathe
freely, when suddenly the old lady reverted to the former topic.
'How much older than you is Honor?' she inquired.
'About three years. I think she is eighteen, but I'm not quite sure,'
said Jacinth.
'I was wondering,' said Lady Myrtle, 'if she would like to come to
luncheon some day when you are with me. Or is there any other among your
friends you care more for?'
'No,' said Jacinth, 'I think I like Honor as much as any.'
Frances was listening with the greatest interest; her mouth half-open,
her knife and fork suspended in their operations. Lady Myrtle caught
sight of her absorbed face and smiled.
'Have _you_ any friend you would like to ask to come here some day?' she
said, kindly. 'If it were summer it would be different; we might have a
strawberry feast.'
Frances grew crimson, painfully crimson.
'Oh _how_ silly she is!' thought Jacinth.
'Thank you,' stammered Frances. 'I--I don't know. I don't think so.'
'Come, you must think it over,' said Lady Myrtle, imagining the child
was consumed with shyness. 'Who are your favourite friends, or have you
any special favourites?'
'Yes,' replied Frances, in an agony, increased by the consciousness of
Jacinth's eye, but fully remembering, too, that in replying truthfully
she was violating no confidence; 'yes, I'm much the fondest of Bessie
and Margaret, but they mightn't come. I don't think it would be any use
inviting any of them, except a big one like Honor, thank you.'
'Ah! well I know Miss Scarlett is strict, and rightly so, I daresay,'
said the old lady. 'Who are these friends of yours--Bessie and Margaret
what?'
'Bessie and Margaret Harper,' said Frances, bluntly; 'that's their
name.'
A look of perplexity crossed Lady Myrtle's face. 'Harper,' she repeated.
'Bessie and Margaret Harper. No, I never heard of them. But
still'----And the lines on her face seemed visibly to harden. 'Ah well,
I will only ask Honor Falmouth then. You must see about it, Jacinth, and
let me know when I should write to her or to Miss Scarlett.'
And then they talked of other things, Jacinth exerting herself doubly,
to prevent Lady Myrtle's noticing Frances's silence and constraint. But
afterwards, when they were by themselves for a moment, she took her
sister to task.
'Why did you speak of the Harpers?' she said; 'and why, still worse, if
you thought you shouldn't have named them, did you look so silly and
ashamed as if you had done something wrong? I daresay you felt
uncomfortable because, as Aunt Alison said, there have been such
disagreeables in Lady Myrtle's family, and these Harpers may be some
relations of hers. But--couldn't you have managed not to mention them?'
Frances looked quite as distressed as Jacinth could have expected--or
more so. 'I'm sure I didn't mean to speak of them,' she said. Her
meekness disarmed Jacinth.
'Well never mind,' she said reassuringly. 'I daresay Lady Myrtle didn't
notice; at least, if she did, she couldn't have thought you knew
anything about her family affairs. _I_ don't want to hear about them;
I'd rather not know what sort of relations the Harpers are, or if
they're any. Don't think any more about them.'
And with this, Frances had to be or to appear content. But besides the
little Jacinth knew, she had her own sorer feelings. Though Bessie and
Margaret had scrupulously carried out the advice, Frances could see,
they had received from home, and while as affectionate as ever to her,
refrained from the very slightest allusion to family affairs or even to
Robin Redbreast, yet, now that her eyes were opened as it were, Frances
noticed many things that had not struck her before. As the season
advanced and the weather grew colder, most of the girls appeared in new
and comfortably warmer garments, for Thetford stands high and is a
'bracing' place. Well-lined ulsters, fur-trimmed jackets, muffs and
boas, were the order of the day. But not so for Bessie and Margaret.
They wore the same somewhat threadbare serges; the same not very
substantial gray tweeds on Sundays, which had done duty since they came
to school; the same little black cloth jackets out-of-doors, with only
the addition of a knitted 'cross-over' underneath. And one day, admiring
Frances's pretty muff, and congratulating her on the immunity from
chilblains it must afford, poor little Margaret confided to her
impulsively that she had never possessed such a treasure in her life.
'It is one of the things I have always wished for so,' she said simply,
'though these woollen gloves that Camilla knits us are really very
good.'
Then on another occasion both sisters consulted their friend on a most
important matter. It was going to be mother's birthday. They _must_ send
her something; they had never been away from her on her birthday before,
and at home one could always make something or find out what she wanted
a good while before, so as to prepare. _Could_ Frances think of
anything? She must be used to thinking of things that could go by post
because of her mother being in India; only--and here Bessie's eager face
flushed a little, and Margaret's grave eyes grew graver--'you see it
mustn't cost much; that's the worst of it.'
Frances tried not to look too sympathising.
'I know,' she said. 'I quite understand, for of course we haven't ever
much money to spend. I will try to think of something.'
And for once she thoroughly enlisted Jacinth's sympathy for her friends.
Possibly, far down in Jacinth's heart, candid and loyal by nature, lay a
consciousness that, notwithstanding the plausible and, to a certain
extent, sound reasons for not meddling in other people's affairs, and
for refraining from all 'Harper' allusions to Lady Myrtle, she was going
farther than she needed in her avoidance of these girls, in her
determination not to know anything about their family or their possible
connection with her old lady. Her conscience was not entirely at rest.
And in a curious undefined way she was now and then grateful for
Frances's ready kindness to Bessie and Margaret: it seemed a vicarious
making up for the something which she felt she herself was withholding.
And this little appeal touched her sympathy; so that with a good deal of
tact--more tact than Frances, blunt and blundering, could have
shown--she helped to suggest and carry out a really charming little
birthday present, most of the materials for which she had 'by her,'
lying useless, only asking to be made into something.
Never had Bessie Harper felt so ready to make a friend of the
undemonstrative girl; never had Francie herself felt more drawn to her
elder sister.
And the little present was carefully packed and sent off; and the tender
mother's letter of thanks, when it came, was read to the Mildmays as but
their due, and for a while it seemed as if the friendship was to extend
from a trio into a quartette!
But alas! a very few days after the cheery letter from Southcliff,
Frances, spending a holiday afternoon at Ivy Lodge, as often happened,
especially when Jacinth was with Lady Myrtle, found Bessie Harper pale
and anxious, and Margaret's eyes suspiciously red. What was the matter?
'We didn't want to tell you about our home troubles,' said Bessie. 'I'm
sure it's better not, because of--you know what. But I must tell you a
little. It's--it's a letter from Camilla. Father has been so much worse
lately, and they didn't want to tell us. They hoped it was only
rheumatism with the cold weather. But--mother managed to get him up to
London to see the great doctor, and--he gave a very bad report.'
Here Bessie's voice failed.
'He's not going to die?--oh don't say that!' burst out Frances in her
heedless way.
Margaret flung out her hands wildly.
'Oh Bessie,' she cried, 'is that what it really means?'
Bessie looked almost angrily at Frances.
'No, no,' she exclaimed; 'of course not. Frances, why did you say that?
Margaret, you are so fanciful. Of course it is not that. It is just that
the doctor says his leg is getting stiffer and stiffer, and unless
something can be done--some treatment in London first, and afterwards a
course of German baths--he is afraid dad must become _quite_ a
cripple--quite helpless. And that would be dreadful. It's bad enough
when people are rich'--it was sad to hear the old sad 'refrain' of
poverty, from lips so young--'but when they're poor! Oh no, I can't face
the thoughts of it. What would his life be if he could never get out--he
is so active in spite of his lameness--if he had to lie always in his
poky little room? How would darling mother bear it?'
And then brave Bessie herself broke down and fled away to the
house--they were in the garden--to hide herself till she had recovered
some degree of calm.