'I WILL THINK IT OVER.'
The very faint hope which the Mildmays--Jacinth especially--had
cherished that, after all, the coming Christmas might 'somehow' be spent
by them and Lady Myrtle together, soon faded.
There was no question of the old lady's coming north, though in one of
her letters she spoke of the gladness with which she would have made the
effort had it been possible; and there was even no question of their all
joining her at Robin Redbreast, though but for a short visit, for in
November the fiat went forth which each winter she had secretly for some
years past been dreading--she must not remain in England. For her
chronic bronchitis was on her again, and a premature taste of winter in
the late autumn threatened for a week or two to turn this into something
worse.
'For myself,' she wrote, 'I would rather stay at home and take the risk,
but I suppose it would be wrong, though really at my age I have little
sympathy with that excessive clinging to life one sees where one would
little expect it. But there is nothing to detain me here specially, and
it may be that I shall benefit by the change. I want to choose one of
the winter places I was so happy at more than once long ago, with _your_
mother, when she and I travelled together with my parents.'
For the letter was to Mrs Mildmay.
And a fortnight or so later came another, which threw great excitement
into the house in St Wilfred's Place, where the children were doing
their best to give something of a festive and country look to the rather
dark rooms with the help of plenty of holly and mistletoe, which had
come in a Christmas hamper from Robin Redbreast, by Lady Myrtle's
orders, though she was no longer there. For by this time it was
Christmas Eve.
This new letter was from abroad. The old lady was already settled in her
winter quarters. Which of the many southern resorts she had chosen
matters little, as it is no part of this simple story to describe
continental towns or foreign travel. And in this particular case there
would be little interest in either, seeing that these places are so well
known nowadays to the mass of English folk of the well-to-do classes,
that accounts of them are pretty sure to be monotonous repetitions. We
will call the spot selected 'Basse.'
Lady Myrtle wrote cheerfully. She was better, and she was enjoying, as
old people learn to do, the chastened pleasure of recalling happy days
in the scenes she was now revisiting.
'It is all wonderfully little changed,' she wrote. 'I drive along the
same roads, and walk slowly up and down the same terraces, where Lady
Jacinth and I used to talk together by the hour in our light-hearted
girlhood. I even fancy I recognise some of the shops we pass, for I am
able to stroll about the quieter streets a little with the help of my
good Clayton's arm. I have actually done a little shopping, the results
of which will, I trust, please you, trifling as they are. I am sending
off a little box by the Globe Express, which will, I hope, reach you by
Christmas Day. And now, dear Eugenia, for the point of my letter. It is
Clayton's idea; she burst out with it the other day when we were busy
about this same shopping. "Oh, my lady, if only Miss Jacinth--Miss
Mildmay I should say--were here it would be nice! She's just the young
lady to enjoy the change and not mind the quiet life, and she _would_
brighten you up." So will you spare her to me for the three or four
months I shall be here? I hesitate to ask it; you will miss her so. But
I am emboldened by the belief that it might be for the dear child's own
good. She could have excellent lessons of any or every kind, and some
amount of French talking, as I have a few old French friends in the
neighbourhood, near enough to spend a day with now and then. Her father
would bring her out, and, for my sake, I trust, not grudge the time and
fatigue. The whole expenses you would surely let me defray? You cannot
be hard-hearted enough to refuse _this_, dearest Eugenia.'
Mrs Mildmay thought it over and talked it over with her husband: then
they laid it before Jacinth herself, giving her indeed the letter itself
to read. Jacinth's face crimsoned with pleasure and excitement, and her
eyes glistened. But in a moment or two they grew dewy.
'Oh, mamma,' she exclaimed, 'it would be delightful. But--I cannot bear
to think of leaving you for so long.'
These were sweet and grateful words to the mother's ears. But, as ever,
she took the cheerful and sensible view of the matter. The separation
would be but a short one, and it might really be of great advantage to
Jacinth. Besides which--and this argument, I think, had the most weight
with them all--was it not a duty to do what they could to please their
dear old friend?
So a favourable and grateful answer was sent without much delay, and
before the new year was many days old, Jacinth and her father found
themselves speeding across France as fast as the _train de luxe_ could
take them, to join Lady Myrtle in her winter home.
Jacinth enjoyed it all, and there was a considerable amount of freshness
to her in the experience, though it was not entirely unknown ground.
For, as a young child, she had spent some time in the south of France
with her mother on her way to England, and she had once in later years
passed a week or two in Paris with Uncle Marmy and 'Granny.' But the
special place which Lady Myrtle had chosen was quite new to her, and it
had its own peculiar beauties and attractions.
'Tell mamma,' she said to her father the morning before he was to leave,
'tell dear mamma and Francie that I am as happy as I can be anywhere
away from them. And I will work really hard at French and music, so that
I may be able to help Francie with hers. And it will please mamma, won't
it, papa, to hear how glad Lady Myrtle seems to have me?'
'Yes, dear, I am sure it will,' said Colonel Mildmay cordially. 'I
cannot help feeling, personally, great pleasure in having been able to
do anything to gratify her. It was generous of her to give us the
opportunity of doing so.'
'She _is_ so generous,' said Jacinth warmly, 'so large hearted about
everything, isn't she, papa?'
'She is indeed,' her father agreed with a little sigh, 'about everything
except _one_ thing. It is curious and sad to see how very deep down are
her prepossessions on that subject. And I am the more hopeless about
them, because there is really no personal vindictiveness, or even, I may
say, prejudice mixed up with these convictions.'
'It _is_ sad,' Jacinth agreed.
The next morning saw Colonel Mildmay's departure for home.
Then began for Jacinth a quiet, regular, but far from unenjoyable life.
Lady Myrtle had already made inquiries about the best teachers, and such
of these as undertook the special subjects the girl wished to give her
time to were engaged for her. So several hours of each day were soon
told off for lessons and preparation for them. As a rule, Lady Myrtle
drove out in the afternoon, her young guest accompanying her, sometimes
to pay calls to such of the visitors to the place as were old friends,
or in some few cases new acquaintances of hers; sometimes out into the
beautiful country in the neighbourhood, beautiful even in mid-winter,
where the views were as varied as charming.
And as a rule, between twelve and one o'clock, sometimes too in the
afternoon if the old lady were not feeling well enough for a drive,
Jacinth went for a brisk walk with Clayton as her duenna.
It was during one of these walks that something most unexpected happened
one day. Lady Myrtle had caught a slight cold and been forbidden to go
out. It was a bright but somewhat treacherous day, for though the
sunshine was warm there was a sharp, almost icy, 'under air' painfully
perceptible in the shade.
'I feel roasted and frozen at once; don't you, Clayton?' said Jacinth
laughingly, as they crossed the road to get into the warmth, such as it
was, again.
'Yes, indeed, Miss Mildmay,' the maid agreed. 'It's a day when you need
both a parasol and a muff together. For there is such a glare.'
A glare there was, truly. Snow had been falling now and then during the
last day or two, and though but in light and short showers, the ground
was sufficiently frozen for it to 'lie;' so that the sunshine, not
powerful enough to melt it, save here and there very superficially, was
reflected from the gleaming surface with extraordinary brilliancy.
'We really should have snow spectacles,' Jacinth was saying, when a
sudden shock made her aware that in her dazzled state she had run foul
of some one or something standing on the pathway just in front of her.
'I beg your pardon,' she exclaimed instinctively, and the stranger
turning sharply--for she had been looking in the forward
direction--almost at the same moment made the same apology, adding
quickly, when she heard Jacinth's English voice, 'I should not be
blocking up the'----But her sentence was never completed. 'Oh, can it be
you? Jacinth--Jacinth Mildmay? Is Frances here? Oh, how
delightful.--Camilla,' as an older girl came across the road in her
direction, 'Camilla, just fancy--this is Jacinth. I can scarcely believe
it,' and before Jacinth had had time to say a word, she felt two
clinging arms thrown round her neck, and kisses pressed on her burning
cheeks, by the sweet, loving lips of Bessie Harper.
The blood had rushed to Jacinth's face in a torrent, and for a moment
she almost gasped for breath.
'Bessie, Bessie dear, you are such a whirlwind. You have startled Miss
Mildmay terribly.'
'I am so sorry,' said Bessie penitently, and then at last Jacinth was
able to answer the girl's inquiries, and explain how it had come about
that she alone of her family was here so far from home.
'And are _you_ all here?' she asked in return.
'Yes,' Miss Harper answered, 'all of us except my eldest brother. The
two others are here temporarily; the little one who is going into the
navy got his Christmas holidays, and the other has his long leave just
now. And my father is so wonderfully better; you heard, you saw Bessie's
letter to Frances?' and Camilla's face grew rosy in its turn.
'Oh yes,' Jacinth replied. 'We were very, very glad. Frances wrote
almost at once.'
Bessie shook her head.
'I never got the letter,' she said; 'but we have missed several, I am
afraid. We have been moving about so. Cannot you come to see us,
Jacinth? Mother, and father too, would love to see you. We are living a
little way out in the country at the village of St Remi; we have got a
dear little house there. Camilla and I came in for shopping this
morning. Couldn't you come back with us to luncheon? We could bring you
home this afternoon, and your maid would take back word to--to Lady
Myrtle Goodacre.'
'I am afraid I cannot,' said Jacinth, with some constraint in her voice.
'I never go out anywhere without asking Lady Myrtle's leave.'
'Of course not,' Camilla interposed. 'It would not do at all. You must
do as you think best, Miss Mildmay, about getting permission to come to
see us. I beg you to believe that, if you think it better not to ask
it,' she spoke in a lowered tone, so as to be unheard by Clayton, 'we
shall neither blame you nor misunderstand you. And now, perhaps, we had
best not keep you waiting longer.'
She held out her hand with the same quiet friendliness as appeared in
her words; not perhaps _quite_ without a touch of dignity almost
approaching to _hauteur_ in the pose of her pretty head as she gave the
unasked assurance. Jacinth thanked her--what else could she do?--feeling
curiously small. There was something refreshing in the parting hug
which Bessie bestowed upon her, ere they separated to follow their
respective roads, but Jacinth was very silent all the way home.
'Nice young ladies,' remarked Clayton. 'They are old friends of yours,
Miss Jacinth, no doubt?'
'The younger one was at school with my sister and me,' the girl replied,
for Clayton's position as a very old and valued servant removed all
flavour of freedom or presumingness from her observations. 'But I
scarcely know the older one.'
And for the rest of the way home she was unusually silent. Her mind was
hard at work. Jacinth was passing through a crisis. Should she tell Lady
Myrtle of the Harpers being in the near neighbourhood, or should she
not? There was no obligation upon her to do so; their name had not been
alluded to, even if Clayton should mention to her mistress the meeting
with the young ladies, nothing would be easier than for Jacinth to pass
it off with some light remark. And with the temptation to act this
negatively unfriendly part awoke again the sort of jealous irritation at
the whole position, which she believed herself to have quite overcome.
'They perfectly haunt us,' she said to herself: 'why in the world should
they have chosen Basse out of all the quantity of places there are? And
to think'--this was a very ugly thought--'that but for mamma they
wouldn't have been able to come abroad at all! Why should they spoil my
little happy time with Lady Myrtle? And very likely no good would come
to them of my telling her that they are here. She would be sure to
refuse to see them.'
But what if it were so? Did that affect her own present duty?
'It might annoy Lady Myrtle,' whispered an insidious voice; but had not
Mrs Mildmay risked far more in her outspoken appeal, when still almost a
stranger to her mother's friend? Would not the concealment of so simple
a circumstance as her meeting the Harper girls be more than negative
unfriendliness? would it not savour of want of candour and selfish
calculation, such as in after years Jacinth would blush to remember? And
again there sounded in her ears the old north-country woman's quaint
words: 'It do seem to me, ma'am, as there's two kinds of honesty.'
And Jacinth lifted her head and took her resolution.
That afternoon there was to be no drive, as the old lady had caught a
slight cold. And after luncheon Jacinth came and sat beside her in her
favourite position, a low stool beside Lady Myrtle's chair, whence she
could rest one elbow on her friend's knee and look up into her kind old
face with the strangely familiar dark eyes, which were dearer to Robin
Redbreast's owner than even the girl herself suspected.
'I want to talk to you, dear Lady Myrtle,' she began. 'I want to tell
you whom I met this morning,' and she related simply what had occurred.
The old lady started a little as Jacinth spoke the names 'Camilla and
Bessie Harper.' But then she answered quietly: 'It was right of you to
tell me, dear,' she said. 'And you need not fear its annoying me. It is
strange that they should have chosen Basse, but really it does not
matter to us in the least. I am very glad the father is so much better.
Now let us talk of something else, dear.'
Now came the hard bit of Jacinth's task.
'Dear Lady Myrtle, that isn't all; it's only the first part of what I
have to say,' she began tremulously. 'I want to tell you _everything_,
more even than I told mamma, for till to-day I don't think I saw it
quite so plainly. I have not been as good and true as you have thought
me; nothing like Frances, or mamma, of course. And I feel now that you
must know the worst of me. I shall never be happy till you do, even
though it is horrible to own how mean I have been.'
Lady Myrtle sat silent, too bewildered at first to speak. What had come
to Jacinth, so quiet and self-controlled as she usually was? But she
held the girl's hand and said gently, 'Tell me anything that is on your
mind, dear child, though I think--I cannot help thinking--that you are
exaggerating whatever it is that you think you have done wrong.'
Then out it all came: the confession that many would hardly have
understood--would have called morbid and fanciful, perhaps. But Lady
Myrtle's perceptions were keen, her moral ideal very high, her sympathy
great; and she did not make the mistake of crushing back the girl's
confidence by making light of the feelings and even actions which
Jacinth's own conscience told her had been wrong. One thing only she
could not resist suggesting as a touch of comfort.
'I think, latterly at any rate, dear, you _were_ influenced by the fear
of troubling me. You must allow that.'
'Well, yes,' Jacinth agreed. 'But even then I should not have let even
that make me uncandid and--and--almost plotting against them.'
'No, no, dear; don't say such things of yourself. And now you may put it
quite out of your mind for ever. You have been only too severe on
yourself. But try to understand one thing, dear; _no_ child could be to
me what you are. Even--even if these young people had been in happy
relations with me, as of course, but for past miseries, might have been
the case, they would not have been _Jacinth_.'
'No; I know it is for grandmother's sake you care for me so much more
than I deserve,' said the girl, as she wiped away her tears, 'and even
in that way I should not have been jealous. I did not know it was
jealousy. I have never realised before that I could be jealous. But I
cannot put it quite off my mind till you let me feel I have done
something to make up. Lady Myrtle, dear Lady Myrtle, _may_ I ask them to
come to see you? I know they are longing to thank you. And oh, it would
make me so happy!'
'I will think it over, my dear,' was all Lady Myrtle would commit
herself to. But even that was something.