Another person lay in bed that night watching the fireglow light up the
room and make fantastic patterns and shadows on the walls.
Caroline had been thoroughly tired out when Mrs. Brenton's maid had
arranged everything and she had been left alone. But she was too tired
to sleep.
The strangeness of her surroundings, and the strangeness of her
position generally, filled her with a kind of excitement. She had not
very much in front of her of a pleasurable nature, and yet the morrow
had for her a certain glamour.
As the first sensation of alarm and indignation provoked naturally by
the treatment she had received, by the abruptness with which her life
of dependence had been ended, died away, Caroline became conscious that
there was an undoubted charm about her present situation. A day before,
the future (when she had thought about it) had stretched before her in
a grey, a monotonous, an almost desolate fashion. Now all things were
possible, and hope began almost immediately to shed a glow on her
thoughts.
It was an amazingly delightful sensation to feel that she owned no
master.
Indeed, she felt a little irritated now with herself that she should
have supported so much with such an unquestioning docility, or that
having given so much obedience she should never have tried to satisfy
herself why this should have been exacted.
At school, of course, it had been the outcome of rules, of a _regime_
which had existed ever since she could remember, but when the school
life had ended, and she had gone to Mrs. Baynhurst, there really had
been no occasion, so she told herself now, to have accepted the laws
laid down for her with the same old obedience.
"Only she really never gave me the chance to speak," the girl mused to
herself, "and then I was such a little idiot when I first met her that
she frightened me! I expect she will be furious because I went to Mr.
Haverford. Now that I have seen him and spoken with him, it is easy
enough to understand why his mother prefers to see him only on rare
occasions. He has a blunt, straightforward way about him which must be
an abomination to her. He was not too amiable to me. Still, I must do
him justice," Caroline admitted here readily; "he saw at once that I
had a sort of claim on him, and duty with him evidently counts for a
good deal."
She turned comfortably on the soft pillow.
It was her first experience of a really luxurious bed, for she had been
better housed and better fed at school than as a dependant in Mrs.
Baynhurst's household.
She ought really to have gone to sleep, but whenever she closed her
eyes some new thought of the morrow and of all the other morrows would
make them spring open again.
The events of the last few hours had been so new that they had left her
startled out of her usual quiet acquiescence. Mrs. Brenton's warm
sympathy seemed to Caroline a heaven-sent gift. She had never realized
the lack of this sympathy in her life till now, nor, in truth, all the
many other things that she had lacked--those trivial everyday things
which stock the lives of most young creatures. Her childish joys had
all been secondhand ones. She had never had holidays, never any
excitement; there had been no Christmas or birthday presents for her,
no books or work-baskets, lace collars or ribbons. As a matter of fact,
she did not even know on what date she had been born, and except for
her school friends, and the little children whom she had taught the
last two years, she had never been kissed. Yet for all this she had
been a happy child and a happy girl.
Her orphanhood had cast no blight upon her, and she had made pleasures
for herself out of her very unpromising surroundings, as most healthy
young creatures will do.
Perhaps her greatest trial since she had lived with Octavia Baynhurst
had been the fact that she had never once left London, and the call of
the country to her nature at times had been so pressing that she had
felt like a wild flower cribbed and confined in a world of bricks and
mortar.
There had not even been a green leaf on which she could look. Mrs.
Baynhurst did not care for flowers. Neither did she consider it
necessary that anybody required exercise or fresh air.
Caroline had been rather a plump girl when she had said "good-bye" to
her school, but she had wasted woefully in the last ten months. Though
she had called herself strong when she had been speaking to Rupert
Haverford, she possessed at this moment very little of her normal
physical strength, but she had the force of a powerful will (although
up to the present she had had scant opportunity of exercising this) and
great courage, and to this she added the blessed gift of a cheerful
spirit.
With the very smallest encouragement Caroline Graniger would be happy.
There was nothing lachrymose about her or subservient. She had gone to
Mrs. Baynhurst's primed with good intentions and eager to give of her
very best to the woman who had claimed her.
Her schoolmistress had evidently been relieved to pass on the
responsibility of Caroline to some other person, and, at the same time,
had been rather flattered that one of her pupils should have been
called upon to fill an important post with a person of such mental
eminence.
Reflecting now on the events of the day just gone, Caroline came to the
conclusion that she was rather glad there had been no opportunity of
speaking with her first guardian, the mistress of the school.
"She would have put me through a cross-examination, and then I should
have told her the truth, and then she would have been cross with me. I
wonder where she has gone to? I feel sorry I have not written all these
months. Perhaps she thinks me very ungrateful, for I firmly believe she
kept me for a long time without any money."
This brought her back to the thought of what lay in the immediate
future.
"I wish I knew a little more," she said restlessly to herself, "I am
really very ignorant. No wonder that Mrs. Baynhurst found me useless!
How she would sneer if she could know I have been trying to teach
myself a little all these months!... Having made up her mind to the
fact that I am a fool, she would strongly object to have to acknowledge
that she had made a mistake, and I am _not_ a fool," said Caroline to
herself, with half a sigh and half a smile.
Really the bed was very comfortable, and the room was so cosy and
pleasant. She would have liked the night to have lasted much, much
longer than its proper span of hours.
"No, I am not a fool," she determined firmly, "and I shall demonstrate
this by informing Mr. Haverford to-morrow that, whatever comes, I don't
intend to go back to his mother's house. If she _is_ my guardian, she
has proved that she is not fit for the post, and as she has practically
turned me out of doors, it is not likely that I shall go back and ask
for re-admittance. I should like to go to school again, but not here in
London, somewhere where I can breathe, where I can run if I feel I want
to. No doubt," she mused, half wearily, a little later, "Mr. Haverford
will have some suggestions to offer. I dare say he will want me to go
into one of his charity institutions. Perhaps he will send me to the
workhouse."
She laughed at this, and so, thinking and pondering, she grew drowsy by
degrees, and sleep came to her just as the day (a clear, bright frosty
day) began to creep into existence.
It had been arranged between Mrs. Brenton and Haverford that Caroline
Graniger should go to him early in the morning, but when her maid
brought the news that Caroline was still sleeping, Mrs. Brenton sent
him a telegram, asking him to call that afternoon instead.
It was nearly half-past nine before Caroline Graniger joined Mrs.
Brenton at breakfast. The girl was greatly upset.
"I never slept late in my life before," she said. "I am generally awake
about six, and I always get I up soon after I wake."
"You're like me, I expect," said Mrs. Brenton. "I never sleep very well
the first part of the night when I am in a strange place, and then, of
course, I am drowsy in the morning."
"I was so excited," said Caroline, "I could not go to sleep. It was so
strange and so delightful to be in such a nice room. I am not used to
luxury. I think I know now how the children feel on Christmas Eve, when
they hang up their stockings, or when they expect a birthday. I kept my
eye on the chimney, almost expecting Santa Claus to appear every other
moment."
She laughed as she warmed her hands by the fire.
"Perhaps he did come, after all," Agnes Brenton said, "and there is
something nice waiting for you to-day."
Caroline Graniger turned and looked at the speaker.
"You have already filled my stocking," she said, her thin face full of
colour. Mrs. Brenton noticed that her eyes were not black, but dark,
very dark blue. "It was your goodness to me last night that made
everything so wonderful, so delightful. I never knew that any one could
be so kind as you are. I have a much better opinion of the world this
morning...."
"Let us talk about yourself," said Mrs. Brenton, as she poured out the
coffee. "Of course, you are not going back to Mrs. Baynhurst?"
"No," said Caroline; she was silent a moment, and then she said "No" a
second time. "But," she added, "I don't quite know what I _am_ going to
do." She stirred her coffee, and coloured. When she had that colour in
her face she looked much younger, and rather attractive. "I have been
wondering if you would advise me," she said, with some hesitation. "I
don't think I have the right to ask you, especially as you are so
wonderfully kind to me; but people who are kind always have to pay some
penalty. I found out that much when I was a very tiny child."
"How old are you?" asked Mrs. Brenton.
Caroline knitted her brows.
"I believe I am about nineteen. But I don't really know. I only go by
what Miss Beamish told me. That is the woman who kept the school where
I lived for such a long time," she explained; "and she always said that
I was about four when I first went to her."
"Four years old," said Agnes Brenton quickly. She felt a sharp pang of
pity for that little forlorn four-year-old child of the past. "That was
starting life early with a vengeance."
"Yes," said Caroline Graniger, "but we all have to begin some time or
another, and as, apparently, there was no one to object, I began at
four." She spoke quite cheerfully. Then she smiled. "Miss Beamish has
often told me that I was a very difficult child. They could not get me
to eat anything. She declares that very often she had to sit up half
the night and nurse me because I would not go to sleep in a bed." The
smile rippled into laughter. "I have often tried to imagine Miss
Beamish nursing me," she said. "If you knew her you would realize how
funny it sounds."
"Funny!" said Agnes Brenton to herself.
She busied herself attending to the material comfort of her guest for a
minute or two. Then she said--
"Of course I will advise you, Miss Graniger, and I shall be only too
glad to help you if I can. Just tell me what you think you could do.
What would you like to do?" Mrs. Brenton asked, going straight to the
point in her practical way.
"It is difficult," said Caroline Graniger, "for I don't quite know what
I can do. I have no accomplishments. I adore music, but I was never
taught a note. Music was an extra, and I was a charity girl. I can read
and write, and do a little arithmetic; I can sew, and I can dig," she
finished with another smile. "I am really quite a good gardener," she
said. "Whatever I do, I want, if possible, to be somewhere where there
is a garden, or at any rate where I can see grass and some trees. The
oppression of bricks and mortar is a great sufferance to me! Mrs.
Baynhurst's house is built in by other houses; the rooms are so dreary.
There is no air, and the windows are never open, and I never got out. I
used to drive with her occasionally, but I never walked."
Agnes Brenton fretted her brows into a slight frown.
"Do you like children?" she asked, after a little pause.
The thin, sallow face lit up.
"Children, yes, I love children. I was a pupil-teacher two years before
I left school. There were some quite tiny tots with Miss Beamish. She
had a large Indian connection, and also children from all parts of the
world. When I left there were two dear little souls there from
Barbados. I cried at leaving them," she sighed, "and I don't often
cry," she said.
Mrs. Brenton went on eating her breakfast, and Caroline Graniger
relapsed into silence for a moment. Then, with a rush of colour to her
cheeks, she said--
"But please don't let me bother you in any way, Mrs. Brenton. You have
been already much too good. I dare say Mr. Haverford will arrange
something for me."
Agnes Brenton was about to answer this with some kindly words when they
were startled by a sharp rap with a stick on the door, and then the
door was opened and Camilla presented herself.
She was in a riding-habit, and looked slim and boyish and radiant, and
extraordinarily pretty and young.
"Oh, you lazy Agnes," she said, "not finished breakfast yet! Look at
the time--nearly ten minutes past ten, and I have been out since
half-past eight." She bent to kiss Mrs. Brenton, and then gave Caroline
a smile and a little nod, as Agnes Brenton hurriedly introduced them.
"Give me something to eat, for the Lord's sake! I am positively
famished," she declared. She threw off her riding-gloves and tossed
them, with her stick and her hat, on to the couch.
"Didn't you have anything before you went out?" asked Mrs. Brenton.
"Good heavens, no!" said Camilla.
She stood in front of the looking-glass and ruffled her hair becomingly.
"Sammy sent word at eight o'clock that he was coming at half-past
eight. He made Dennis wake me up. There was no time for anything except
a bath, and how I tumbled into these things _I_ don't know."
She sat down opposite to Caroline, and began to eat with real enjoyment.
"I am rather glad you are breakfasting late; it is a bit of luck for
me. You have no idea how lovely it was in the Park, Agnes," she said.
"There was not a scrap of fog. Thank goodness for that! Those two dear
chickies of mine will be able to get out to-day. And oh! Agnes, another
blow! Nurse came to me this morning, just as I was going out, with a
doleful story about her father, or her mother, or somebody being
dreadfully ill, and asking me if she might go and nurse the sick
person. Isn't it too tiresome? She had only been with me a few months,
but really she seemed quite a likely person. Those poor children! They
do get such chopping and changing. Oh, by the way!" said Camilla, "I
think I had better send the horse away; I can go home in a hansom. May
I ring the bell?"
She half rose from the table, but Caroline Graniger was quicker.
"May I take your message?" she asked. She spoke shyly. This young and
very pretty woman was a new experience to her. She felt a little out of
the atmosphere, and imagining swiftly that Mrs. Brenton and Mrs.
Lancing might have something to say to one another, she seized the
chance of leaving them together.
"Oh, thank you!" said Camilla; "you are very kind. Just say to the
groom that Mrs. Lancing will not ride any more to-day.--Poor little
soul," said Camilla, sympathetically as the door closed, "how miserably
thin she is; she looks as if she had not had enough to eat, and you are
in your proper quarter, Agnes, playing the part of the good Samaritan.
Well, now you must help _me_, my dear, because nurse is in earnest. I
quite expect to find that she has gone when I get back. Why on earth do
servants have parents and relations? I believe they exist on purpose to
have the most mysterious diseases at the most inconvenient moments. Did
you ever know a cook whose mother had not a bad leg, whatever that may
be? Oh, how I hate housekeeping! I feel half inclined to live in an
hotel."
"You ought to take the children into the country," said Mrs. Brenton in
her quiet way.
Camilla ate a very good breakfast, and then looked up at her friend
with a quizzical expression.
"Well, Agnes," she said, and paused.
Mrs. Brenton just smiled.
"Well, Camilla?" she answered.
Mrs. Lancing laughed as she spread some butter on some toast.
"When you look straight down your nose in that fashion it means the
wind is in a bad quarter for somebody, and I fancy that somebody is me
just now."
Agnes Brenton laughed, but only slightly, and, getting up, moved to the
fireplace.
"My dear child," she said, "I wish you would not do these sort of
things."
"What sort of things?" asked Camilla.
Mrs. Brenton took up the poker and stirred the fire vigorously.
"You know quite well what I mean," she said a little impatiently, "and
I confess I don't understand you, Camilla. I thought you really
disliked Sammy Broxbourne. You used to be always running him down, I
remember."
"Oh! it's Sammy you object to, is it?" said Camilla. "My dear, dear
soul, I do assure you there wasn't a creature about this morning! That
is why I enjoyed the ride. We flew through the Park as if we had been a
couple of birds."
"You have such a heap of people that you can go about with," said Mrs.
Brenton, half impatiently; "why choose the one man that is likely to do
you harm?"
"Oh, you know that is all rubbish, Agnes!" Mrs. Lancing said a little
impatiently in her turn. "Sammy is not a hero, but he is no worse than
any other man; and then we are connected, you know, and that goes a
long way."
"He is a second cousin of your late husband's," said Mrs. Brenton;
"that is no kind of relationship. However," she added, "I suppose you
know your own business best, and I have no right to interfere as long
as you are happy, my dear child. Happiness is the one great thing,
after all."
Camilla finished the toast, and then got up.
She sighed a quick, impatient sigh.
"If I sit here I shall eat all there is on the table, and I have driven
that girl away," she said; "she looks rather nice, Agnes. What is she
going to do?"
"I was just talking things over with her," said Mrs. Brenton, "though I
suppose really this is a matter for Mr. Haverford to settle. But she
interests me, and I feel so sorry for her. She will not go back to his
mother, that is very sure. I think she will try and get a place as
nursery governess or something of that sort. She seems devoted to
children."
"Perhaps she would do for me," said Camilla in her impulsive way.
Mrs. Brenton only smiled.
"We must go into matters a little bit more," she said, "before we can
come to any conclusion."
"Well, you are going to bring her to lunch, aren't you?"
At this moment a maid came in and handed a telegram to Mrs. Brenton.
It was from Rupert Haverford, announcing that he would be with her
directly, as in the afternoon he was unfortunately engaged.
Camilla picked up her hat and gloves in a great hurry.
"Oh, let me get away!" she said. "I don't think I will bother to have a
cab, it is such a short distance, and I can walk that far. Don't forget
lunch, one-thirty."
As she passed out, Camilla met Caroline Graniger on the stairs.
"Mrs. Brenton is going to bring you to lunch with me to-day," she said.
"I hear you like children, I am sure you will like mine. They are two
such sweethearts."
She nodded brightly, and ran down the staircase.
Mrs. Brenton handed Haverford's telegram to Caroline when the girl
joined her.
"Perhaps it is as well that he should come over early," she said, "then
we can have the rest of the day to ourselves." They chatted a little
more on the subject of Caroline's future. Mrs. Brenton wanted the girl
to have some definite scheme to propose to Haverford when he came.
While they talked she apprised Caroline's different points, and found
many things that she liked.
Caroline spoke very well. It was not the pretty, careless method of
speech which Camilla affected. She seemed to be chary of her words, as
a rule. When "no" sufficed, she said "no," and nothing more. She walked
well, and her manners were those of a lady.
"Such a girl," said Agnes Brenton to herself, "must have patience in
her bones. Not patience by nature, but by education. I am not at all
sure that she would not be the very person for Camilla's children. They
want a refined influence about them; education and all the rest can
wait a year or two; but Betty ought not to be so constantly with
uncultivated people. Camilla hardly seems to realize that the child is
no longer a baby."
When Haverford arrived, Mrs. Brenton left Miss Graniger and he together.
"I telegraphed to my mother first thing this morning," said Rupert
Haverford, breaking a slightly awkward pause as the door closed behind
Mrs. Brenton. "I hope to have some communication from her during the
day."
"Yes," said Caroline Graniger. She had fallen back into her stiff
attitude of the night before.
"I have asked her for an explanation. Meanwhile," Rupert added, "I want
to arrange something for you. Mrs. Brenton has been extremely kind, but
I feel sure you will not like to encroach on that kindness." He put
some bank-notes on the table. "I have brought you twenty pounds," he
said; "with that I dare say you can manage for a little while, and I
know of a place where you can stop till we have heard satisfactorily
from my mother."
"I don't think it matters very much what your mother writes," Caroline
Graniger said shortly; "she may have explanations to give you, and I
shall certainly require such explanations later, but I have determined
to cut myself adrift from Mrs. Baynhurst for good and all." She paused
an instant, and then, colouring vividly, she said, "I--I will borrow
five pounds, Mr. Haverford, it will be quite enough, and I shall be
very glad to stay at this place you speak of till I get some kind of
work."
"I advise you to take the twenty pounds," said Haverford a little
drily, "you may want to buy things. You can always repay me at some
future date. This is the address of the lady who will be very glad to
give you house room for a little while. She is a woman who does a great
deal of work for me, and, as she is in contact with all kinds and
conditions of people, she may be able to find you employment."
There was another pause, and then he addressed her rather abruptly.
"Has my mother never told you anything about yourself at all?"
She shook her head.
"And you have no recollection beyond the school where you lived?"
Again she shook her head, and then hurriedly she said--
"Sometimes a vague memory comes to me. If I shut my eyes I can imagine
myself being carried in some one's arms, hearing a voice singing to me,
and the sound of the sea in the near distance. It is none of it very
clear, but I have always imagined that I must have been on board a ship
at some time when I was a tiny child, because I recollect seeing the
dark sky with stars in it, and then some ropes and a tall, straight
piece of wood like a tree, that I know now must have been a mast. I am
rather fond of that old memory," Caroline Graniger said. She spoke
dreamily, as if to herself.
He looked at her sharply, and he pitied her.
She must have had a very unlovely existence in his mother's house.
Mrs. Brenton came back at that moment, and Haverford told her what he
had arranged.
"Well, I dare say that will be all right, but I cannot part with Miss
Graniger till to-morrow, or perhaps a day or so later," said Mrs.
Brenton in her brisk, pleasant manner. "As a matter of fact, I have
some ideas of my own which I should like to discuss with her. You won't
mind staying with me a little while longer, will you?" she said,
turning with a smile to Caroline. The girl did not answer; she bit her
lip sharply.
The tears that would never come for harshness or even for sorrow rushed
to her eyes now. She turned away and stood looking out of the window
while Mrs. Brenton chatted on lightly to Mr. Haverford, and in a few
minutes he took his leave.
"Now I must write some letters," Agnes Brenton said briskly. "My dear,
do ring that bell, and we will have that table cleared, and after that
we must go out, it is a shame to lose this bright morning. Just make
yourself cosy by the fire, and look at these papers. Camilla sent them.
She buys every newspaper going, and when she reads them is a mystery."
Caroline took the papers, but they lay in her lap untouched.
She sat looking at the roofs of the houses opposite. They were powdered
with the white of a hoar frost, and the red, red sun shone from behind
and made the frost a network of jewels.
A slight mist hung in the air like a veil. The sense of unreality, the
delightful excitement that had held Caroline as in a spell throughout
the night had sway with her again now; nothing was very tangible or
distinct. Rupert Haverford had brought her spirit to earth and hard
facts for a few moments, but as he had left the house the range of
resentful feeling he had roused had gone with him. She even passed away
from the vexation of having to be temporarily obliged to him. As she
rested back in the comfortable chair, looking at the glory of the
winter sky, she felt that she and happiness had really met for the
first time.
"There!" exclaimed Mrs. Brenton, "my letter to Dick is written. A very
long time ago I spoiled my husband," she said, looking back over her
shoulder; "whenever we were apart I promised to write to him every day,
and now he holds me to this bargain. I really do owe him a letter this
morning, however," said Agnes Brenton, "for I came away in such a hurry
with her. Mrs. Lancing insisted on bringing me up to town, and I had
scarcely time to explain things, or arrange my household affairs.
Happily, Dick is an old hand at housekeeping...." She broke off, and
turned again in her chair.
From the staircase beyond there came all at once the sound of an
important approach; there was a great stamping of feet, accompanied by
observations in clear, high-pitched little voices.
"Camilla's children!" said Mrs. Brenton.
As she put down her pen and rose the door was opened very widely, and
two small persons entered hand-in-hand.
Caroline had never seen two prettier little mortals, or two so daintily
attired.
They flung themselves on Mrs. Brenton, and hugged her with enthusiasm.
"Good morning, Auntie Brenny," said Betty, the eldest, and she settled
her ruffled plumage as she spoke. "How is you this morning, darling?
Aren't you very pleased to see us? We comed because we have brought you
this letter from mother, and because we promised to come." She advanced
to Caroline and took her little sister with her. "Good morning," she
said; "how d-ye-do? Say 'Good morning', Baby."
Baby put out a tiny hand in a white woollen glove with fingers that
were much too large.
"Dormez bien!" she said, with an angelic smile and a doubtful accent.
She cuddled up to Caroline to be kissed, and then, detaching herself
from her sister, went and seated herself at the table, while Betty
administered correction.
"'Dormez bien' is not 'good morning,' Baby; it's 'good night,'" she
said; then she looked at Caroline and shrugged her shoulders. "Baby
does say such extra-ninary things," she observed.
"I want somefing to eat," said Baby in a very determined voice.
Dennis, the maid who was in charge of the children, and was speaking to
Mrs. Brenton, advanced quickly.
"Oh no, Miss Baby, dear, you _can't_ want anything to eat, I am sure!
Please ma'am," appealing to Mrs. Brenton, "don't give her anything."
But Miss Baby had her own views on this subject.
"I want some 'oney and some 'am," she said, tearing off her pretty grey
fur cap and removing her gloves. "Nasty Dennis, go away! I'm awful
'ungry!"
Betty was making great friends with Caroline.
"I like you," she said candidly; "why have I never met you before? What
is your name?" Then she whispered, "I'm going to have a birthday in
March; but don't tell Baby, she'll want it too, and she does fuss so
when she wants things. How old are you?" Caroline knelt down the better
to study the child's brilliantly lovely little face.
Betty Lancing at six had all the charm and distinction of her mother.
Already she commanded homage.
"I was only born yesterday," Caroline answered the child, and her voice
was not quite steady.
"Oh!" said Betty. She stared at Caroline thoughtfully. "You look very
big for a baby," she said, "I've seen littler babies than you. Mrs.
Bates, that's the lady that cleans our kitchen sometimes, has a tiny,
tiddy little baby, and it is three months--that's older than you, a
lot. Your eyes are wet," said Betty pointedly; "are you crying? What
for? Has any one smacked you?"
Fortunately at this moment Betty was awakened to a sense of her
responsibilities, for she turned and saw her sister regaling herself at
the table.
"Baby!" she exclaimed. She darted forward and vigorously shook the
shoulder of the small person devouring bread and honey.
"Oh! you greedy greed. And you had such a lot of breakfast! I never
knowed such a child in all my life," commented Betty severely; then,
shrugging her shoulders, she turned to Mrs. Brenton. "I can't do
nothing with her!" she said.
This remark provoked a scene in which Baby amply demonstrated that
honey was excellent for strengthening the vocal cords.
Finally she consented to sit on Caroline's knee whilst her hands and
little person generally were made clean, and then--Betty having eaten
several biscuits meanwhile--the time for halting was declared at an end.
"If we don't go now we shall get no walk; and Miss Betty, please
promise to hold my hand," pleaded Dennis the maid. "She do play such
pranks, ma'am, she makes my heart fair jump, that she do."
But Betty and Baby were hanging on to Caroline.
"We want you to come out with us," was their cry; and Betty added
magniloquently, "We'll be most awful good if you'll come too."
Mrs. Brenton smiled into Caroline's eyes.
"Put on your things and have a good run with them," she said.
A few moments later three persons attempted to go down a very narrow
staircase abreast. It was a difficult occupation, and Caroline in the
centre was quite wedged in. Useless was the voice of remonstrance from
Dennis in the background, Betty and Baby refused to be separated from
their new companion.
"It must be managed some way," said Caroline, who had a resourceful
mind; and, picking up both small grey-coated figures, she carried them
down the stairs under her arms like parcels.
The result was most satisfactory.
"Do it again," said Baby delightedly. But Betty came to the rescue.
"No, no, Baby," she said, "it's cruel; can't you hear her blowing? And
just look how red she is!"
Outside in the street, Betty scanned Caroline closely and critically.
"Nurse has a jacket like that, but it's new, and she wears awful smart
gloves. She's a lot smarter than you...."
Dennis intervened piteously.
"Miss Betty ... my dear!"
But Caroline only laughed, and off they started down the street--a
little grey fairy hooked on to either arm--so quickly that Dennis had
almost to run to keep up with them.
Mrs. Brenton stood at the window and watched them with a smile till
they were out of sight, then sat down to her writing again.
"It might be the very thing both for the girl and the children," she
mused.
Then she opened the little note Betty had brought her from her mother.
Camilla wrote in a hurry.
"Such a fearful bore!... I have just had a telegram from Violet
Lancing, inviting herself to luncheon.... I know what this means! the
old story of prying and questioning, all done under a pretence of love
for 'poor Ned's children.' Don't, for Heaven's sake, fail to come. I
shall feel a little better if you are with me. Oh, how tired I am of
being overlooked by these Lancing people! Really, I do think I shall
have to do something that will make me free of this worry, at all
events. Don't the children look sweet in their new coats?
"Ever yours,
"Camilla."
"P.S.--Of course nurse has gone. Honestly, I should like to try this
girl who is with you. She looks capable, and if she has had such a bad
time with that Baynhurst woman, I dare say she would manage to rub
along here. If you don't think she will do, then, darling, _do_ try and
find some one else."
Another postscript:
"I have half a mind to tell Violet that Miss Graniger is the
children's new governess; she is sure to pull a long face if she hears
that they are without a nurse. And it would not be _quite_ untrue. What
do you think?"