Out in the Park Caroline found a land of veritable enchantment. The red
sun had mounted higher into a clear, cloudless sky, and it endowed the
earth with a ruddy suggestion of warmth, but it was merely a
suggestion; the keen cold of the air held its own, and the grey bloom
of the hoar-frost lay like a veil on the grass.
Dennis was left far behind. She had a pinched look, and her nose was
red.
"Keep on the path, please, Miss Betty," she feebly protested every now
and then.
But her voice was thin and weak; in any case Betty had no ears for her.
She danced, and she sang, and she curveted gracefully on the
frost-covered grass.
"Isn't it lovely? I want to roll in it!" she declared, as she paused at
last and panted for breath.
Baby looked up at Caroline with half-shut eyes.
"I want a bun," she said plaintively.
"A bun!" cried Caroline.... "What _is_ a bun?"
Both children exclaimed at this, and then proceeded to volunteer
explanations.
"You see," Betty said to Baby, and she stooped her flower-like face
confidentially to the smaller one, "she can't know as much as me and
you, 'cause she was only borned yesterday, and I don't suppose she's
ever eated a bun."
"Oh!" said Baby, looking at Caroline meditatively.
She had such an adorable air, standing with her little head on one
side, and her eyes black as sloes, full of mysterious thought, that
Caroline was obliged to hug her.
After that they had races, and Dennis watched them with pleasure and
some envy as she stood shivering in the cold wind.
"You're the proper sort to be with children, miss," she remarked to
Caroline, when at last they turned homewards. "Now I never do know what
to do with 'em, and Miss Betty she does ask such queer questions too."
Caroline returned from her walk flushed and dishevelled, but happy-eyed.
It was almost impossible to recognize in her the thin, white-faced,
rather defiant girl of the night before.
"What dear little loves!" she exclaimed, as she and Mrs. Brenton met.
She had accompanied the children back to their home, and was rather
late in making her appearance.
Another note had come from Camilla, in which Mrs. Brenton was urged to
be with Mrs. Lancing at least a quarter of an hour before lunch-time.
"Then we can have five minutes to ourselves," Camilla scribbled, "and I
shall feel fortified to meet all the catty things Violet means to say!"
Caroline rather drew back from the thought of accepting Mrs. Lancing's
invitation.
"She is really very, very kind," she said earnestly, "but still I don't
know that I ought to go to lunch."
Agnes Brenton answered this promptly.
"Of course, you must come with me. Camilla is the most hospitable
person in the world, and I know she will be very disappointed if you
don't go. She has taken a fancy to you."
Mrs. Brenton did not think it desirable to add more than this. She knew
Camilla so well.
It would be unkind to put false hopes into the girl's mind; in all
probability the suggestion Camilla had made about Miss Graniger would
have passed already from her thoughts.
So it was settled, and Caroline made her modest toilet. That is to say,
she arranged her hair carefully and put on her shabby hat and coat with
more consideration than she had ever worn them before.
When they reached Mrs. Lancing's small house, Camilla, who had
evidently been waiting for them, pounced on them both, and drew them
into the dining-room.
"Violet arrived at a quarter to one," she announced, "Isn't it like
her? I know she thought to have a good time alone with my
writing-table, but I was a little too sharp for her! I locked up
everything. She pretends she is very glad to meet you, Agnes. She has
got a cold," said Camilla, the next moment, "and looks more like a
poached egg than ever. By the way, you are going to have a wretched
lunch, my dear friends, so I warn you!... I did intend giving you
something nice, and Violet loves good things to eat, but she would
sniff at a sole if she saw it on my table, and faint if we had a
pheasant, and all the Lancing family would shake with horror at the
extravagance of a sweet and cheese at the same time! Never mind!"
Camilla added, with a sparkle in her eyes, "you shall have a lovely tea
to make up for everything. Agnes, do go up and speak to her, there's a
dear."
As Mrs. Brenton obediently went up the stairs, Camilla slipped her hand
through Caroline's arm.
"The children are quite mad about you, Miss Graniger," she said, "and
they have been entreating me to let you stay with them. I wish you
would! I am so tired of having ignorant and unsympathetic people about
them. Agnes was telling me this morning that you would like to be with
children. Why shouldn't you be with mine?"
Caroline did not find it very easy to speak.
Mrs. Lancing's manner charmed and yet startled her; it was so new, too,
and so pleasant to be addressed in this semi-familiar, easy fashion.
When she found her voice it was to make a protest.
"I do love children," she said, "and it would be a great happiness to
me to be with yours.... But you don't know anything about me. I am sure
you would want some one cleverer and better than I am, and
then"--Caroline paused an instant.... "Mrs. Baynhurst is sure to give
me a very bad character," she added hurriedly.
Camilla snapped her fingers.
"I am not going to trouble about Mrs. Baynhurst," she said. "Everybody
knows that she is a crank. Look here, we'll settle all sorts of things
afterwards. Now I must go upstairs, or I shall have my dear
sister-in-law crawling down to see what I am doing. Betty will come
down to lunch," Camilla added, "and it would be so sweet of you if you
would just keep an eye on her; she shall sit next to you. Would you
like to go up to the nursery and come down with her?"--this was
suggested with the air of one who has a sudden and happy inspiration.
"You can leave your hat and coat in my bedroom."
Caroline followed Mrs. Lancing up the stairs.
She was fascinated into compliance. Camilla's pretty ways won her heart
very much as the children had won it. There was something magnetic in
the sympathy that pervaded her.
Caroline felt bewildered, and moved, and excited, but only in a
pleasurable sense.
When they reached the drawing-room door, Mrs. Lancing smiled and
whispered.
"My room is on the floor above this," she said, "and the nursery is
above that again. Do, like a dear, see that Betty has her hair done,
and that her face and hands are washed. Her aunt always examines her as
if she were a curious insect or a mineral specimen. Babsy will have her
dinner with Dennis, and come down later."
Camilla gave a little sigh of contentment as Caroline Graniger passed
up the stairs, and she glanced at herself in a long mirror that was
placed at a convenient angle to make the staircase seem bigger.
Her appearance satisfied her. Dennis had picked out the oldest gown she
possessed, and she had carefully denuded herself of all the little
jewelry that she was accustomed to wear. But a shabby gown could not
dim the real radiance of her beauty.
Mrs. Horace Lancing was sitting bolt upright by the fire, talking to
Agnes Brenton; she was rather plump, with masses of yellowish hair, had
short-sighted eyes, and a dull white skin. She always used long,
blue-tinted glasses, and turned them on Camilla now.
It was evident that the drawing-room had been arranged for her coming.
Like Camilla's own charming person, the room had been swept of
innumerable little prettinesses, and it looked bare and almost shabby.
Sir Samuel's flowers had been carefully concealed.
"Dear Violet," Camilla said, "won't you really take off your hat? It
looks as if you were going to rush away so soon, dear, and, of course,
you are going to stay the afternoon."
Mrs. Horace Lancing shook her head stiffly.
"I have to meet Horace at the stores at three," she said, "we are going
back by the three-fifty train, so I must leave you early. Aren't the
children in yet, Camilla?"
"Betty is being made ready for luncheon, and Baby will come down
by-and-by. You have no idea, Agnes, how much I like Miss Graniger ...
the children's new governess," Camilla explained to her sister-in-law.
Mrs. Brenton half frowned and half smiled. She had not supposed that
matters would have gone so far in so short a time, and resented the
prevarication on Caroline's account and on her own. But she said
nothing.
"Isn't that a new photograph of you, Camilla?" asked Mrs. Lancing,
getting up and peering at a frame on the piano.
"A snapshot," said Camilla, lightly. She moved near to Mrs. Brenton for
an instant, and said in a low tone, "Don't glare at me so fiercely,
Agnes.... I have arranged everything; she is enchanted, and I know she
will be just the very girl for me...."
Mrs. Horace Lancing put down the portrait.
"Extremely well done for a snapshot," she said coldly. "I did not know
you went in motors; those furs are new to me."
Camilla laughed.
"I am a fraud," she cried, "dressed up in other people's possessions.
Ah! here is lunch at last! I hope you can eat leg of mutton, Violet? I
confess I am not very fond of it, but," with a sigh, "everything nice
is so dear. Don't you think life costs more and more every day?"
Out on the staircase Betty was standing with her arm entwined in
Caroline's. She allowed herself to be kissed with reluctance by her
aunt, but clung about her mother's neck ecstatically for a moment.
Camilla had done well to warn her guests; it was a very depressing
luncheon; the mutton was underdone, the greens were gritty, and the
potatoes full of water. Camilla made a few apologies.
"A good cook is quite beyond my means, you know," she said plaintively.
Mrs. Brenton tried hard not to laugh as she remembered the dainty fare
Camilla's cook usually provided.
She made the best of everything, but Mrs. Horace Lancing, who was very
hungry, looked annoyed.
"I never have cheap food," she observed, "it is not an economy."
At this Camilla opened her eyes.
"Do you really think that?" she asked; "and I am always trying to be so
very cheap."
Conversation lagged. Betty at the lower end of the table, had a good
deal to say to Caroline, but it was all said in whispers.
When, however, the suet pudding with treacle had made its round the
child demanded some dessert, and her mother, forgetful for the moment,
gave her permission to carry round a silver basket from the sideboard,
in which grapes and pears and other delightful fruits were clustered
together in picturesque fashion.
"She is learning to be useful, you see, Violet," Camilla observed
plaintively.
But Mrs. Horace Lancing was looking at the dessert through her
blue-tinted glasses.
"Peaches!" she said, her tone a mixture of satisfaction and hostile
criticism.
Camilla bit her lips, and was thankful that she had locked away her
tradesmen's books with her letters and intimate papers.
"Take care, Betty, my sweetheart," she said, and then she explained as
the child cautiously carried her burden from one to another. "A
present," she said, "Mr. Haverford often sends me fruit; it is so good
of him; such things are much appreciated by us."
"Mr. Haverford," repeated her sister-in-law, "who is he? I don't know
his name."
"He's a dear," Betty responded before her mother could speak. "I 'dore
Mr. Haverford! I wish he lived with us.... I tell you what," continued
Betty, her eyes glistening, her little voice clear and high, "I wish
he'd come and sleep with us, mumsy ... that would be really, really
fun! I'm sure he wouldn't snore like nurse does, and I know he'd tell
us a lot of stories. Oh, here is Baby! Come along, ducksie, and have a
bit of Betty's appy...." Betty was always maternal with her little
sister.
After luncheon the two children were ranged in front of Mrs. Horace
Lancing, who interrogated them with a nervous manner and in the
unnatural voice that some people think necessary to affect with
children. Betty resented her questions and was mute, and she in her
turn resented, as she always did, the little creatures' dainty
appearance.
They only wore overalls of brown holland, but no home scissors had cut
the holland, and, like their mother, they had already attained the art
of giving distinction to the most ordinary garments.
Mrs. Brenton had discreetly withdrawn, and Caroline would have gone
too, but a pleading look from Camilla restrained her.
She stood in the background, feeling amused rather than uncomfortable
as Mrs. Horace, failing in conversational efforts, scanned the two
small figures critically through her glasses.
"Don't you think you ought to have Marian's hair cut?" she queried. "It
is so bad for little children to have such long hair. And I think
Elizabeth is looking very thin," was her verdict on Betty. "Camilla, do
you give her maltine or anything nourishing?"
Camilla knelt down and took both her children in her arms;
surreptitiously she kissed her baby's bright curls.
"Now, darlings, kiss Aunt Violet, and run away. Miss Graniger, I think
it must be another walk, it is such a lovely day, but please come in
quite early."
The two little persons disappeared with a right good will, and as the
sisters-in-law were left alone they heard sounds of laughter and
singing, signs of joy at freedom, from the staircase beyond.
"I am very lucky to have such a nice governess," Camilla said.
Mrs. Horace said--
"Yes; but I always think these sort of persons want such a lot of
looking after. I never would have a governess. Mabel went to school
very early. I suppose you have good references with that girl? To me
she looks too young," she said the next moment; "and Elizabeth needs to
be in such careful hands. She is intelligent, of course, but her manner
is rather pert.... But then I suppose you never attempt to correct her,
Camilla?"
"I was never slapped when I was a child, so I don't know how to slap
other people," said Camilla.
She drew up a stool in front of the fire, and sat down on it.
She was perfectly well aware that something disagreeable was coming,
and she ranged herself to meet it with resignation.
"I have no doubt," she added, with a little laugh, "that it would have
been an excellent thing for me if daddy had spanked me now and then;
but, dear old soul, he couldn't hurt any living creature, much less me.
When I was naughty he gave me chocolates instead of the whip; but, on
the whole, I was a fairly good child. I have a theory, you know,
Violet, that sympathy can do far more than punishment. If Betty sees me
unhappy when she is naughty, it makes her wretched; that is just how I
was with daddy. Ah! well, if I had no slaps in those old days, I have
plenty now!"
"I don't think you have much to grumble at," said Violet Lancing.
Camilla looked up at her and frowned slightly, then she smiled.
"Let us get it over," she said. "I can see that you have come here to
scold to-day."
"Horace has been waiting to hear from you as you promised," said Mrs.
Horace, stiffly. "You had your quarter's allowance quite six weeks ago,
and you have never written."
Camilla frowned again, this time sharply; she was shielding her face
with her two hands. She had expected the usual tirade; not this. So
Horace had given her away! How mean of him! She had never supposed that
he would have confided in Violet.
"I am so sorry," she began, and then she stopped with a quick sigh. She
was so weary, so unutterably weary of this kind of thing! There came
upon her a reckless sort of feeling to speak out frankly, and send this
woman to the uttermost ends of the earth, or to perdition; the latter
for choice.
"I don't think you know what it means to us," said Violet Lancing,
getting agitated. "If Horace had told me about your letter when it came
in the summer, I should never have permitted him to lend you that
money. I only found it out by chance the other day, and I must say I am
surprised, Camilla, that you should have gone to Horace for help. You
know perfectly well that we have the hardest work to get along on what
we have. I suppose you think grandpa does a lot for us," ... here the
speaker laughed shortly. "As he almost ruined himself over Ned, you
see, he has no money to give to any of the rest of the family!"
"And naturally Ned's widow and children are eating him out of house and
home," Camilla said. She had grown pale. Except on occasions like this
she never spoke her dead husband's name.
"I am not grumbling about that, Camilla. You have a right to be
provided for, especially as Ned treated you so badly. But you ought to
manage better, and I can only repeat that you have no right to borrow
from us. Horace advanced you a hundred pounds last August, and you
promised _faithfully_ to give it back to him when grandpa sent you your
quarter's cheque. A hundred pounds is not a hundred pence," said Mrs.
Horace, sententiously; "it isn't to be picked up every day."
Camilla got up and kicked the stool away.
"I am horribly sorry, Violet. I give you my word of honour I intended
to send Horace the money, but you don't know how pressed I was in
September. I have an awfully hard time to make ends meet. Of course,
Ned's father is very good to allow me what he does, but the fact is it
is practically impossible to live on what I have."
"Yes, as you live, certainly," agreed Mrs. Horace Lancing; "but you
could manage splendidly if you did what you ought to do--cut down
expenses in every direction, and go into the country. You ought never
to have kept on this house."
Camilla moved about the room.
"Oh, that old, old story again!" she exclaimed impatiently. "Don't you
know how we threshed out all the ways and means when...?" She hurried
on, "Colonel Lancing himself decided that it was best for me to stay on
here, and so if you want to quarrel with any one, go to him, Violet; it
is no use coming to me...."
Mrs. Horace Lancing got a little red in the face. "I don't want to
interfere with you or your arrangements, Heaven knows," she said; "I
only want you to be just with us, for, whatever you may say, you know
as well as I do that you ought to have paid Horace back as you
arranged." There was a little pause. "I shall be very much obliged if
you will let me know what you are going to do about this, Camilla. We
are not in a position to wait indefinitely. I really came here to-day,"
Mrs. Horace Lancing said, firmly, "to ask you to let me have some of
the money at once."
Camilla stood by the window flicking the long curtains.
This subject, and the recrimination it provoked, made every nerve in
her body tingle; in such a moment the sordidness of this perpetual
difficulty with money, the ugliness of money itself, settled on her
spirit, crushing it down as by some actual physical effort.
The spell of ease and relief that Haverford's generosity had signified
had been very brief. After a good deal of deliberation, she had filled
in the blank cheque for a thousand pounds.
Her inclination and her necessity had both urged her to make it three
times that sum, but she had been temperate, feeling the need of
caution. The cheque had gone to her bank the day before, and already
she had drawn very largely against it. She dared not drain the money in
its entirety, otherwise she would leave herself unprotected should the
evil she feared (to meet which she had borrowed this sum) fall upon her.
In casting up her position, she had dealt only with those things that
were disagreeably prominent ... and she had absolutely forgotten her
obligation to her brother-in-law. She regretted now, impatiently
enough, that she had not drawn upon Haverford for a much larger amount.
If she were to give Violet even a portion of this debt, she would leave
herself without a penny of ready money once more.
Mrs. Horace Lancing was continuing to press the matter home in an
aggravating way; she enumerated the many necessities her life lacked,
and all that she would have done during the last few months if only her
husband had cultivated prudence instead of generosity.
It suddenly dawned upon Camilla that her brother-in-law must have
passed through an exceedingly unpleasant time.
"Poor Horace!" she said to herself. He was the only member of her
husband's family who had shown her a particle of sympathy, and she felt
honestly sorry in this moment that she should have trespassed so
heavily on that sympathy.
She let the curtain slip from her fingers.
"Look here, Violet, I can't possibly do anything now, really I can't;
but at Christmas I promise faithfully."
Mrs. Horace laughed.
"At Christmas! Oh yes! And when Christmas comes it will be, 'Violet
dear, I am so very sorry, but can't you possibly wait till Easter?' Oh,
I know ... I know!"
There were two bright patches of unbecoming colour on her cheeks; she
was adjusting her veil with hands that trembled.
"You have no right to say that sort of thing!" said Camilla, hotly; "it
is very unjust and very untrue."
"And you have no right to go behind my back and borrow from my
husband," said Violet Lancing. Her pale eyes looked very angry. "If you
wanted money so badly you might have asked grandpa, I think, or
somebody else. I consider it was awfully mean of you to go to Horace,
and not to let me know a word about it. We have all sorts of worries
ourselves, and the boys cost us no end of money; but you are just Ned
all over again, Camilla! Everything you want you must have without
considering any one or anything but yourself. I used to think all the
old trouble was Ned's fault, and I was awfully sorry when you were left
to fight for yourself, but now I know better!"
"Is all this necessary?" Camilla asked in a low voice.
But Mrs. Horace was wound up.
"I can't help it. You've brought it on yourself, and you ought to hear
the truth now and again. You're not only horribly selfish, you're as
deceitful as you can be.... You can't pretend so easily with me,
Camilla! I know perfectly well that your life isn't dull and miserable
as you try to make us believe, and I know, too, why you never want any
of us to come here unawares." She jerked her veil down over her chin
and tore it. "I am not a fool!" she finished, with a hard laugh,
"though you may think I am."
"You are very angry with me, and you are talking a lot of nonsense,"
said Camilla.
She looked away from the other woman.
"I am very sorry you are vexed simply because when I was in trouble I
turned to Ned's brother. It seemed the most natural thing to do. I know
if Horace had asked Ned ... to help him in the old days he would have
done it, and gladly, too!" She caught her breath, and for a moment she
could not speak; then in a low voice she said, "I shall send this money
back before Christmas; on that you may rely."
Mrs. Horace Lancing made a curious expression with her mouth, and rose
to go. Instantly Camilla's manner changed.
"I am sorry you won't stay to tea.... You had such a horrid lunch. Give
Horace my love, and tell him I am extremely hurt with him because he
did not come here and fetch you. Will you have a cab?"
Violet Lancing shook her head, she picked up her tweed coat and
squeezed herself into it with an effort. Her gloves took some time to
put on. To make conversation and relieve the strained atmosphere,
Camilla asked after the health of all the people she detested. She was
particularly anxious to know how matters were passing with Mrs.
Horace's own household, but she avoided all mention of her
father-in-law a fact Mrs. Horace quickly made a note of.
"I didn't tell grandpa I was coming here," she observed, as she
buttoned the last glove-button; it was evident she had more to say, and
she said it. "I think it only friendly to let you know, Camilla, that
grandpa is not very nice about you just now," she said. "Though you
never see him, he seems to know all that is going on. The other night
when you were being discussed at dinner-time, he was quite angry."
"He has always been nasty with me. That is nothing new," said Camilla,
quickly.
Mrs. Horace Lancing looked at her in a sly kind of way.
"Well, of course, it is none of my business, but I do think you are
foolish not to try and make friends with him. Have you ever thought
what would happen if he were to stop your allowance? I have heard him
threaten this more than once. And then he complains bitterly that you
never take the children to see him. It would help things a lot for you
if you were to do this now and then. He is an old man, you know, and
old people like to be remembered sometimes."
Camilla's eyes were bright.
"I am sorry, but the suburbs make me ill. If Colonel Lancing wants to
see the children he must come here...."
There was almost a frightened expression for an instant on the other
woman's face; evidently "grandpa" was no joking matter to her.
"Well, you can't say I haven't warned you," she said, and then she
laughed. "The suburbs have their uses all the same sometimes, haven't
they?" she observed. "Let me see. I think I left my umbrella
downstairs."
Camilla accompanied her departing guest to the door.
"Are you sure you won't have a cab; it is getting late, you know."
There was a package lying on the hall table beside Mrs. Lancing's
umbrella.
"Do you mind taking that to Mabel?" asked Camilla. "It is some
chocolate, it won't do her any harm; it came from Paris."
When she was alone she mounted the stairs slowly and sat down once more
on the stool in front of the fire. With a sigh, she clasped her hands
round one knee, and swayed backwards and forwards, shutting her eyes,
and Agnes Brenton, coming in rather softly, found her like this.
Mrs. Brenton paused a moment before advancing, and then she went
forward and put her hand gently on Camilla's shoulder.
"What is it, dear? Did she scratch you very badly?"
Camilla turned and laughed faintly.
"She always manages to upset me, and as she came on purpose to be
disagreeable, her visit has been most successful."
Mrs. Brenton pulled forward a chair, and sat down. She had left her
knitting on one of the small tables the day before, and she took it up
now mechanically, and began to move the needles to and fro.
Camilla watched her in a dreamy sort of way. Vaguely she wondered to
herself how many hundred pairs of socks Agnes had made in her life.
"I must be a horribly wicked woman," she said suddenly, "otherwise I
could not possibly have been given such a scourge as being compelled to
take bread from these people."
"I thought a long time ago," said Mrs. Brenton, in her calm, quiet way,
"you had realized what to expect from Violet Lancing. Dear child, it is
hardly possible that she should be sympathetic to you."
"I don't care two figs about her," said Camilla, "and, as a matter of
fact, I am rather sorry for her. Did you see the cut of her skirt? And
tea at the stores is the only gaiety she ever has, poor soul. If she
would only give me half a chance," Camilla added, "I should be awfully
kind to her."
After a moment's pause Camilla said--
"It's the old man whom I really hate. Ned always said his father was an
old devil, and so he is! It appears he is extra furious with me because
I never take the children to see him.... How can I? If he forgets all
the horrible things he did and said to me, I have unfortunately a much
better memory!"
Agnes Brenton took this matter up quickly.
"You have never understood Colonel Lancing," she said, "just as he
could never be expected to understand you. That he is a hard man I know
well; but I am convinced he is not so hard as you imagine. He set his
face against your marriage with Ned, not because he objected to you
personally; that would have been ridiculous," interpolated Mrs. Brenton
with a smile; "but because he knew it was going to be a miserable
business for you." Agnes Brenton paused half a moment, and then said in
a low voice, "And the result justified that belief pretty surely."
Camilla spread out her two small hands to shield her face from the fire.
"Don't deceive yourself, Agnes; there is nothing good about him; he is
hard, he is cruel, he is horrid." She moved restlessly. "I wish I could
cut them all out of my life, especially the old man. What a difference
to my daddy. Oh, Agnes, if I only had daddy with me now! Dear, good,
loving heart, why did you die?"
She bent forward suddenly and rang the bell.
"I must have the room arranged again," she said. Her pretty voice
sounded a little husky. "It looks too hideous for words, and then,
dearest, you shall have something to eat. On second thoughts, I am not
sorry that Violet had a bad lunch. I hate every one who belongs to that
old wolf! Oh, Agnes, let us talk about that girl Caroline--what's her
name?"
Mrs. Brenton turned the heel of the sock, and her needles clicked
musically for a few moments. Then she said--
"Well, I don't think you ought to do anything without consulting Mr.
Haverford."
"Good Heavens! why not?" exclaimed Camilla. "Bring back the flowers,"
she ordered to the maid who appeared at the door at this moment. She
got up and began to arrange the room in a restless fashion, unlocking
drawers, and taking out all the things she had hidden. "I really don't
see what Mr. Haverford has to do with it," she said irritably, after a
while.
"Don't you?" queried Mrs. Brenton, with a smile. "You must remember
that Miss Graniger went to him last night for advice and help."
Camilla moved impatiently.
"Oh! he will take a month to deliberate. He is so slow. Really it is
very ridiculous. You know I must have some one for the children, and
Miss Graniger wants work. Why on earth should she not come to me?"
"I don't like things done in a great hurry," said Mrs. Brenton. And
then she added again, "It may annoy Mr. Haverford."
"And what do I care if it does?" exclaimed Camilla. She was nervous,
and it did her good to speak sharply. "Anyhow, I can't very well draw
back now. I have practically engaged the girl, and I settled that we
would discuss terms and other things this afternoon. I like her, Agnes.
She is a lady, and I think she is just the very person we want for
Betty."
As the flowers were brought in and placed, Mrs. Lancing ordered tea.
"Tell cook to send up all sorts of things," she said. "I am ravenous.
How much do you think I ought to give her, Agnes?" was her next
question. "Fifty pounds a year?"
"My dear child!" said Mrs. Brenton, and then she sighed. "When will you
learn the value of money?"
"Well, look here," said Camilla, sitting down on the stool, and putting
a pleading note in her voice, "will you arrange all this for me? I
don't want to let this girl slip through my fingers."
She looked over her shoulder at this juncture; the door was half open,
and they caught the sound of the children returning.
"Well, have you been good little people?" she called aloud, and she got
up briskly and went to the door. "I hope you are not tired, Miss
Graniger? Oh, my dear! What are you doing? You must not carry that big,
big, little lump!"
Baby had climbed up into Caroline's arms, and had her arms about the
girl's neck, her head was cuddled on Caroline's shoulder.
"I is so awful tired, mammy," she said plaintively. Then Betty chimed
in--
"I telled her a heap of times she was not to ask poor Caroline to carry
her, but"--with a shrug of her shoulders--"you know what Baby is. The
most onstinant creature in the world."
But Baby only smiled, and kissed Caroline.
Even when her mother tried to entice her away, she clung to the girl
affectionately. So Camilla went up to the nursery, also scolding
tenderly as she went.
She wanted to take Miss Graniger down to have tea with her, but the
children opposed this so strenuously that she had to give way.
She did not leave them till she saw them seated at the table
luxuriating in all sorts of delicacies.
"Don't let them worry you," Camilla said to Caroline. "Dennis will take
them off your hands."
However, it seemed that Caroline had no intention of calling Dennis to
the rescue, so Mrs. Lancing went downstairs, and wore a very triumphant
expression as she entered the drawing-room.
"Believe it or not, just as you like, but it is a fact that that girl
is absolutely happy with the children," she declared. "You ought to be
pleased, Agnes. You pretended you were sorry for her. Can't you imagine
the sort of existence that she has had in Mrs. Baynhurst's house. Well,
here at least she will be treated like a human being." Then abruptly
Camilla crossed the room, and sat down at her writing-table. "I am
going to write to Mr. Haverford," she said, "and then I hope you will
be satisfied, you dear old fidgety frump."
The note written, she had it despatched by a cab, and requested that an
answer might be sent back.
"I don't see what earthly objection he can have," Camilla said, "but if
he has any--well, now let him speak, or for ever hold his peace."
The cab came back in a very little while, bringing the information that
Mr. Haverford had been called to the north unexpectedly. Further, it
appeared that the butler had added that Mr. Haverford intended going to
Paris when he came down from the north.
Mrs. Brenton smiled as she sipped her tea.
"That means he intends to see his mother, and go thoroughly into this
Graniger business. There are no half measures with him."
Camilla moved petulantly.
"Oh! we all know by this time that you think him a paragon of
perfection.... He is just your pet idea of what a man should be--solid,
stodgy, prosaic. A creature as flat, and as level, and as enduring, and
as uninteresting as a Roman road."
"Well," said Mrs. Brenton, picking up her knitting again, "there is a
good deal to be said in favour of a smooth road, whether it is Roman or
otherwise."
Camilla ate a cake, then some sandwiches, and then another piece of
cake.
"The only thing worth having in life, except food when one is hungry,
is the thing that comes unexpectedly. You can keep all your smooth
roads to yourself, Agnes; give me Piccadilly when the wood pavement is
simply honeycombed with holes, and one stands the chance of being
jerked out of a cab, and perhaps out of existence, too, every other
moment. Anyhow," she determined, brightly, "this settles matters so far
as I am concerned. Miss Graniger will now stay, and if Mr. Haverford
does not like this arrangement--well, he can lump it! Have some more
tea? No? Well, then, let us go up to the children."