MISS GREGSON'S HEART SINKS
"I hope I was not wrong in having up tea before you came home this
afternoon," said Meg, "Mr. Fortescue and his friend were just awful
hungry."
Her companion hastily put her hands over her pretty little ears,
exclaiming—
"Awful hungry! Oh Meg, how can you say such things! It is better not to
talk at all than to make such fearful mistakes."
"I'm sorry," said Meg miserably.
"I wonder how you have been talking to Mr. Fortescue and his friend,"
continued Sheila severely, "and, by the bye, you must try and not look
quite so eager during your conversations. It's scarcely the thing to
show your feelings in the way that you do. People of the world in which
you now live, do their utmost to hide emotion. When a girl looks with
such extraordinary animation into the face of her companion as you were
doing this afternoon, it attracts attention and makes one wonder what
the conversation is about. What were you talking about?"
Meg was silent. If it had not been Sheila who was questioning her she
would have been angry, but anger with Sheila was quite out of the
question. Had not she done everything in the world for her? But for all
that the girl was silent for a moment; not because she did not wish her
companion to know what her conversation with Peter had been about, but
because she found it difficult to explain herself.
They were sitting in the garden after dinner with their books, but
neither of them had made much progress in their reading as both were
busy with their thoughts. Sheila had forgotten her vexation with her
protégé and was going over in her mind her conversation with Peter,
when Meg interrupted her train of thought by her question. Now however
that her companion had reminded her of the events of the afternoon her
old feeling of vexation returned.
"I was telling Mr. Fortescue how ignorant I felt," said Meg.
"I almost think that you had better make those kind of confessions to
me," said Sheila coldly. "We don't want to be constantly reminding
people of our mistakes. The great thing, Meg, is to try with all your
power to improve. Now at this concert that I am giving next month, do
try and remember that it is far better to be silent than to forget your
grammar and to use those terrible expressions."
Meg, who two years ago had been wishing to tame lions, was entirely
shorn of her strength by the young girl beside her. She was conscious
that in Sheila's presence she had no courage. A look of reproach or
anger from her benefactor, though only a girl of twenty-one, was more
appalling to her than the roar of a lion. She sometimes wondered at
herself, as she remembered how in the old days the only thing she was
in the least afraid of was her supposed father's stick, and even then
she would never confess or show her fear. Now however the fear of
disappointing her friend was so great that she lived a life of dread;
and every day the feeling of nervousness increased.
When Sheila had first taken her up and showered gifts upon her Meg was
much less afraid of her benefactress than she was now, and consequently
was more natural in her behaviour. Everything she did then pleased
her friend, who would constantly praise her for her efforts to break
herself of little habits and expressions that belonged to her old
life. Now Sheila seldom praised, and had grown much more critical;
consequently her protégé had become nervous, and made many more
mistakes than formerly.
As Sheila took up her book to read her companion followed her example,
but both girls' thoughts were engaged with one another. Sheila was
thinking how tiresome Meg was growing, and Meg was wondering what she
had done to make Sheila speak and look so coldly at her. Did not she
like her talking to Peter? Perhaps it was not the correct thing to do.
The girl wished she knew more of the world and its ways: she was afraid
that through ignorance she made endless mistakes, which must vex her
friend who had done so much for her. It seemed to Meg that there was
really no such thing as freedom in Sheila's world. There were evidently
so many rules and regulations, about which she knew nothing, which
could not fail to rob a person of her individuality. If only she might
be herself and act without fear of making some terrible mistake.
The girl let her book fall on her knee and looked around at the lovely
garden, feeling it for the moment to be a prison. Her old longing for
freedom took possession of her. What would she not give to be out on
the wide heath able to live her own life without let or hindrance! The
scent of the heather and bracken seemed to be wafted to her. She closed
her eyes in the hope of being better able to realise it, but instead of
the wide heath there came the sound of the tap, tap of her 'father's'
wooden leg, and she looked up quickly with a sense of gratitude that
she was at Friars Court, protected from all the misery and evils that
had surrounded her old life. And, after all, how she loved the place.
What could she have been dreaming about to think for a moment that the
heath was preferable. Meg looked gratefully at Sheila. She fancied she
saw her shiver.
She rose at once to fetch a shawl. When she appeared with it over her
arm, her friend looked up with an annoyed expression on her face.
"I knew you had gone for that, but I am not in the least cold. Who
could be on such an evening? I wish you would not watch my every
movement, Meg, in the way you do. It quite gets on my nerves." She
ended her sentence with a slight laugh, but it did not hide the fact
that she did not appreciate the attention that had been paid her.
Meg looked contrite, and felt miserable. What could she have done to
make Sheila in this mood? The girl sat down again feeling depressed,
then suddenly she wondered why she should not ask outright what her
offence had been.
"I know I've vexed you," she said, leaning forward with her hands
clasped on her knees, and looking remorsefully at Sheila. "I expect I
didn't do the right thing this afternoon. I don't suppose I ought to
have had up tea before you came home."
"You were perfectly right. You could not have done anything else as
Peter and Mr. Poynter had had that long walk, and it was so late. If it
had been earlier of course you should have waited for me."
"Then I don't think I ought to have stayed and talked to Mr. Fortescue.
Was it not the proper thing to do?"
Sheila flushed up angrily. Really, Meg was getting on her nerves. "What
nonsense," she said shortly. "The natural thing is always the right
thing to do."
The tears welled up into Meg's eyes but they did not fall.
Sheila rose and walked away leaving Meg looking sadly after her.
A sudden fear knocked at the girl's heart.
Was Sheila growing tired of her, did she want her to leave Friars
Court? The very suspicion of such a thing was paralyzing. She sat quite
still for a few minutes as if she had been struck.
That night Miss Gregson, who was sitting by her bedroom window reading
before preparing for bed, heard a knock, and the door opened to admit
Sheila, who, throwing herself on the sofa with her hands clasped behind
her head exclaimed—
"Angel dear, I do hope you are not tired, for I simply must have a talk
with you."
Miss Gregson shut up her book and looked towards her visitor. There
had been a time in her life when she had had hopes of being an artist
and had indulged in absorbing dreams of her pictures hanging on the
line at the Royal Academy. These dreams had gradually vanished like
many another hope of her young days; but she still had great delight in
beauty and was quick to see it when it came in her way. As she looked
at Sheila she longed for her paint brush. The girl was wearing a soft
pink silk, draped with ninon, low at the neck, on which gleamed a
diamond pendant. She looked the picture of worldly prosperity, and Miss
Gregson wondered what caused the shadow that lay in her eyes. She was
soon to learn.
"Angel dear, prepare for a shock. You know I always surprise you, but
I'm afraid this time it will be more than a surprise." Then she added,
while the shadow was displaced by a merry twinkle, "Have you your
Homoeopathic box at hand? I know you will need it."
"My dear, what is the matter?" asked Miss Gregson, ignoring the last
remark.
"Well I've come to the conclusion that I am the most unsatisfactory
person in the world. What am I to do?"
Miss Gregson was somewhat of the same opinion, but all the time the
girl was talking she could not help thinking what a lovely creature she
was.
"Do help me, Angel," pleaded Sheila.
"I can't unless you enlighten me a little more."
"But I don't know that I wish to; you rather like me I know, and if I
let out how horrid I am, you will never care for me again. But you know
I am horrid."
"Well, we'll take that for granted," said Miss Gregson laughing. "What
next?"
"I simply can't tell you till I see the Homoeopathic box by your side.
Where is it?"
"Don't you think you had better get this confession off your mind?"
said Miss Gregson, leading her companion's thoughts away from her
medicine box.
"What you say reminds me of my conversation with Meg. Don't you agree
with me that it is scarcely the thing for a girl like her to confide in
a man like Peter? I find she has been confessing her ignorance to him.
I'm not sure that Meg is not spoiling. Have you noticed any signs of
it?"
"No, I can't say that I have. She always strikes me as a most sweet
girl. Of course she makes mistakes both in regard to behaviour and
conversation, but what can you expect? It is almost pitiable to see how
hard she tries to do and say the right thing."
"Shall I confess something? Do you know, Angel she is getting on my
nerves. What on earth am I to do?"
Miss Gregson nearly groaned aloud. What she had dreaded had come to
pass! She felt it her duty for once to speak severely. She must do it
even at the risk of losing her comfortable berth. Perhaps it would
result in her also getting on Sheila's nerves! But for the poor child's
sake she must risk it.
She took off her spectacles and wiping them put them on again
before she spoke. It was amazing that that scrap of humanity lying
so comfortably on the sofa, and looking sadly into her face, had
nevertheless the power of making this elderly woman's heart beat so
fast, that if she could have done so without being seen, she would have
stretched out her hand for the Homoeopathic box and have taken one of
her little pilules to quiet her nerves. This comfort was, however,
denied her, by Sheila's presence. She felt the girl's really anxious
gaze as she awaited for her verdict.
"Isn't it very despicable of me?" asked Sheila.
"I scarcely like to tell you what I really think," said Miss Gregson
slowly, "for fear lest it may seem rude."
Sheila laughed.
"Oh dear! how quaint you are!" she cried. "Of course, I shan't mind
whatever you like to say. You may tell me I'm a brute, or use any
strong language you like. It will be refreshing, for as you know I
never do get the truth about myself, and it is quite amusing when I
hear it from your lips. Peter sometimes begins to lecture but I won't
have it from him."
"Well then," said Miss Gregson quietly, "the truth is that you must
make every effort to get rid of this feeling about Meg. It would be a
sheer act of cruelty to send her out into the world again after all you
have taught her to like and to depend upon. I could never for a moment
believe you would be capable of such a thing."
There was a slight flush on Miss Gregson's face as she spoke these
strong words, but this was the only sign that could be detected that
her heart was beating and that she felt agitated. Sheila watching her
from the sofa did not notice the flush, and had no idea of the tumult
her words had aroused in the heart of her companion. Had she imagined
for a moment that her old governess found it difficult to reprove her,
it would have been fatal. Miss Gregson's influence lay a great deal in
the fact that her former pupil deemed her quite impervious to her own
moods; she was the one person who dared to tell her the truth about
herself.
"You really are original," she said laughing. "You just say what you
think, regardless of consequences. That is why I like you so much and
don't tire of you. You know, Angel, you are quite as surprising in your
way as I am. I had no idea that anyone could think so badly of me if
I acted as my feelings prompt me at this moment. You use very strong
language. But do you really think it would be so wicked of me to change
my way of acting towards Meg, and to advise her to try and find her own
living? I mean, of course, after the concert. You see I have given her
thoroughly good singing lessons. Don't you think she might teach?"
"Teach after only a year's lessons! My dear, you are dreaming. Who
would go to her for lessons considering all the first rate teachers
there are in the world."
Sheila sighed, and knitted her brows.
"I'm afraid I've got into a muddle," she said.
Then the two relapsed for a few minutes into silence. Miss Gregson,
relieved that her words had not offended, took off her spectacles, and
seeing that the girl's eyes were closed, opened the little black box at
her side, and selecting a bottle from the many that lay in neat rows,
took a dose. When, however, she had accomplished her desire she looked
round to find Sheila's laughing eyes fastened upon her.
"Ah! you can't hide it from me!" she said. "I knew I was going to
give you a terrible shock, and that you would want the support of
your little friends. But I won't tease you as I want you to answer a
question that has been weighing on my mind for the last few weeks. How
is it that everyone with whom I have to do becomes so tame? You are the
only exception."
"Take Meg for instance. When she first came I was attracted to her
partly because she was so different to other girls. Do you remember
how she almost insisted upon sleeping in the garden, and then
authoritatively said she must have more air and I had to fly at her
bidding to open the window. She was full of surprises in those days. I
never knew what she would say or do next. She provided me with a lot of
excitement."
"But now she is quite tame! and cringes to me. All her strong
delightful personality has dwindled away. She looks scared if I move,
and watches me like a cat watches a mouse, or rather like a mouse
watches a cat. What is it in me that has changed her?"
"You see, Sheila, my dear," said Miss Gregson, "you are one of those
people who entirely dominate others unless they have the courage to
defy you. But it would not have done for Meg to defy you. Besides,
unfortunately for you both, she is so devoted to you that she does not
wish to."
"Then I wish she was not so fond of me. What can I do to cure her?
If only she would stand up to me I should like her much better. But
she, like the rest of the world, entirely gives into me. I suppose I
ought to be going to bed," she added as she rose. "I believe you are
right, and I suppose I must make the best of it, as it seems to be my
own fault. I must have patience, and anyhow she'll be an addition to
my party. I know she is a really nice girl, but oh! for a little more
spirit."
"Then you must see that you don't depress her," said Miss Gregson.
"Well then you really must tell her, that if she looks at me and
watches me, anticipating my every want with those anxious eyes of hers,
that I shall go mad. I can't stand it. Tell her to be her own natural
self."
"That's just what you won't let her be, dear."
Sheila laid her hands on Miss Gregson's shoulder and looked down at her
laughing.
"I shall never get tired of you, so long as you don't eat humble pie
before me. You are a dear," and to her old friend's surprise, the girl
bent down and gave her a kiss on the forehead. As she disappeared out
of the door, she turned round saying, "I am sure my kiss gave you
another shock, by the surprise I read in your eyes. My advice is that
you should take ignatia at once."