AT TEMPLEMORE.
The girls did not find themselves thoroughly comfortable at Templemore.
The room upstairs was small. It faced north, and the furniture was
shabby. In vain they demanded better furniture. No notice was taken of
their request. What the Rector had endured for years without uttering a
word they must endure now by their own choice and desire. The Rector's
illness had been greatly brought on by his unsuitable bedroom.
Maureen poured out tea, Maureen coaxed the servants into a good humour,
Maureen picked flowers, and with the help of Pegeen arranged the _menu_
for the kitchen and also for the hall, where they generally partook of
refreshments in the hot weather. Maureen was growing very tall and very
slim, and the ugly red glow had faded from her cheek. Nevertheless, she
had her trials. Henrietta and Daisy saw that as they could not work
openly, they must work by guile. She might still be the pretended head
of the establishment, but they could make her unhappy. They managed
this by many clever dodges.
On a certain night when the Mostyns had been at Templemore for a few
days, the Colonel came to dine. There was an excellent meal planned
by Maureen, and the family and visitor alike were waited on by old
Burke, and a smart-looking girl, who called herself by the uncommon
name of Vivian. She was the head-parlourmaid, and being truly Irish by
birth, was accepted by Burke as worth training. When the dinner had
come to an end, the Mostyns, who were wearing bright pale blue gauzy
frocks (they had refused to put on any sort of mourning for their
mother), and Maureen, who was in simple white, with a green bow, the
true Irish green, in her soft brown hair, were standing together in the
drawing-room.
The Mostyns had not made any way whatever with the Colonel, and,
although the Rector was kind to them, it was a distant sort of kindness
with no love in it. He had begged them on their arrival to wear black
for their mother, but as they positively refused to do anything of the
sort, he did not press the point.
Denis and Kitty had both retired to bed; Dominic, the one person
whom the girls could endure in the family, was nowhere to be seen;
but Maureen was there, looking exquisite and fair, with her pale,
creamy complexion, her dark brows and soft brown eyes to match her
hair--Maureen, the interloper.
"Do you know," said Henrietta suddenly, "that you are a robber?"
"Please, Henrietta, don't talk like that," said Maureen.
"Let her alone," cried Daisy; "if we don't she'll begin to cry, and we
have our fun prepared upstairs to-night."
"Whisper, whisper." The other girl nodded, and a pleased expression
came over her face.
"I say, what larks!" she exclaimed. Then she said suddenly: "What a
glorious piano. When did mumsie buy it?"
"Your mother didn't buy it," said Maureen. "It was Colonel Herbert who
bought it and gave it to me."
"That's another of your lies," said Daisy. "All right; let's see what
it sounds like."
She could hardly play a note of music, but she could pound wrong notes
and crashing chords to any extent. Henrietta stood by her, smiling.
"How," said Henrietta, "you shall play my accompaniments. I have a
great voice."
She set to work with great fervour, Daisy improvising the
accompaniment. Her song was one just then very much in vogue: "Cheer
Up; Never Say Die!" The partly cracked, untrue voice, the hopeless
accompaniment, brought the gentlemen, who were all musical, out of the
dining-room.
"Good heavens!" said Colonel Herbert. "Maureen's piano will be broken
if that sort of thing goes on."
They entered the room long before they were expected. The Colonel
said with extreme politeness to the two Mostyns: "Thank you for your
performance. Now may we have the pleasure of a song from Maureen."
Maureen immediately sat down and sang the songs "dear Colonel" loved
best. Her voice was gaining in power and richness every day. Dominic
stood by and turned the pages for her, but suddenly a burst of giggling
in a distant part of the room caused him to leave his place. He went
up to the two girls, who were choking and stuffing their handkerchiefs
into their mouths.
"If you wish to laugh, will you go outside," he said. "We want to
listen to Maureen."
"You come along with us, Dommy, boy," said Daisy.
"Thanks; but I would not lose the pleasure of Maureen's singing for the
world."
"You call _that_ singing?" said Henrietta. "I call it the squealing of
a cat."
"Thanks. You will perhaps allow me to retain my opinion. Don't laugh
again when something beautiful is being done."
Maureen was singing "Those Evening Bells" when he went back to her. Her
eyes were wonderfully soft and bright, and the Colonel patted her on
the shoulder and kissed her on the cheek when he went away.
"We'll have a long ride to-morrow, girleen," he said. "You and I and
Fergus and Fly-away. I'll call for you early, for I want to go a good
long way; and, oh, by the way, Rector, may Maureen dine with me at
Rathclaren to-morrow night? I can send the horse back by the groom, and
will bring the child back in my motor-car in time for bed."
"Certainly. You would like that, Maureen," said the Rector.
"Oh, yes," said the little girl. "I should love it."