HORATIA'S INFLUENCE.
The millionaire did not look very prepossessing as he stood near the
door, his tall, powerful form towering above the young skaters; his
coarse, red face darkened by a scowl.
'There's an ugly-looking brute just come into the rink,' young George
Cunningham had said to Horatia, who had replied, 'That's Mr Mark Clay,'
and had made straight for her host, dodging the skaters very cleverly.
Sarah, on the other hand, who had been near the door when her father
appeared, gave one glance at his ill-tempered face, and skated in the
opposite direction. She thought that he had not seen her. Not that it
would have made any difference, for his family were wont to avoid their
head when he was what his wife called 'put out about something'--which,
alas! was only too frequently the case.
Not so Horatia. She saw the danger-signals, but was no more afraid of him
than she would have been of a fly, to use her own expression. 'We are
enjoying ourselves so much! It was a brilliant idea of yours,' she said,
beaming at him and giving his arm an approving pat.
Mark Clay looked down at the eager little, freckled face, with its
snub-nose; and, in spite of himself, he smiled back at her. 'I'm glad you
are enjoying yourself. I did it for that. You must come and spend your
winter holiday with us. It'll be a more seasonable pastime then, it seems
to me,' he replied.
'But are you going to keep this as a rink? I thought you used it as a
barn in the autumn and winter?' inquired Horatia.
'We can build another,' he replied lightly, as if building another huge
barn was the work of a few hours. 'Come, let's see you go round.'
Horatia accordingly started off, and Mark Clay followed her with
approving eyes.
'She's a nice, dear girl, isn't she, Mark?' said his wife, emboldened by
her husband's softer expression to approach him.
'She is that,' he replied with emphasis.
'The man seems fond of his daughter. I heard he was as harsh at home as
he is abroad; but I see he has been maligned,' said a visitor, who did
not know Sarah.
'That is not his daughter, I am sure, for they say she is the prettiest
girl in Ousebank,' replied a friend.
'Well, that is a very nice, bright-looking girl, and a millionaire's
daughter is always pretty in the eyes of the world; gold makes most
things beautiful,' replied the lady; and she had hardly uttered the words
when Sarah herself, noticing that the two were strangers, and had not had
refreshments, came up to them.
'Won't you come and have some tea?' she asked in her dignified and rather
stiff way.
'Thank you; it would be nice. Are you Miss Clay, then?' inquired the
lady, who recognised that she was speaking to the prettiest girl present,
at all events.
'Yes,' said Sarah gravely.
'We thought the young lady laughing and talking to Mr Clay must be his
daughter; they seemed so friendly,' observed the stranger, as she and her
friend skirted the barn to get to the refreshment-tables.
Sarah could not help colouring slightly. 'No; she is only a schoolfellow
who is staying with us,' she replied; and the lady thought she had never
met with such an unapproachable girl, and wondered whether it was shyness
or pride. She had no idea that she was touching on a sore point.
When the party was over and the last motor had disappeared down the long
avenue, Horatia gave a little sigh of relief. 'I am glad they have gone.
I couldn't have skated another minute,' she said.
'You needn't have gone as long as you did. Why didn't you stop?' demanded
Sarah with uplifted brows. 'I was wondering at you; you scarcely rested
at all. I'm not a bit tired, because I rested at intervals.'
'I simply can't stop when I see other people. I must rink too,' she
declared.
There was a glorious sunset, and Tom Fox prophesied a fine day on the
morrow.
'So it will be too hot to rink then, and it's just as well, as you have
such a mania for it that you wear yourself out,' observed Sarah.
'Yes, my dear, you 'ave such dark circles round your eyes! I don't know
w'at her ladyship would say if she could see you just now lookin' so
tired,' added Mrs Clay.
'She would say I was a foolish girl, as she did last time I came from the
rink dead-tired. I expect it's like taking to drink,' said Horatia, and
she gave a merry laugh.
Mr Clay smiled at her. He was very quiet; but he had lost the scowl he
had when he arrived at the barn, for which his wife was very thankful.
'To-morrow I am going over your mills, you know, Mr Clay,' she informed
him.
He opened his mouth as if to protest, but only said, 'You'll be too
tired; better rest a few days. You shall go over the mills before you go
home. Not that there is anything so very wonderful to see, or to interest
a young lady like you.'
'I haven't half-written my essay yet; I expect I shall find some more to
put in after I've been round with you,' explained Horatia.
'Don't you go putting me and my mills into print,' said the millionaire,
looking almost afraid.
Horatia only laughed merrily as ever. 'I'll let you read my essay before
I send it up. Yes'--clapping her hands--'that's an awfully good idea. You
shall read it through, and tell me anything I have left out; and you
shall sign at the end, "Audited and found correct.--Mark Clay,
millionaire mill-owner."'
It was impossible not to laugh at the girl, and equally impossible to be
gloomy while Horatia was bubbling over with good spirits. The drooping
line round Mrs Clay's mouth had almost disappeared since Horatia's
advent.
During this drive even, Horatia had managed to chase away Mr Clay's
ill-humour, and his wife leant back comfortably, with a feeling that she
need not fear any storms, as the dear young lady would 'keep things
pleasant.'
When they got out of the motor and were going together to their rooms,
Horatia took Sarah's arm and began dancing along the polished surface
with a rinking movement. 'I thought you said you were tired out, and I
thought, too, that the rink was specially built to prevent you from
rinking here,' observed the latter, who was trying, with some difficulty,
to keep her balance and her dignity during this peculiar mode of
progress.
'So I did. I must stop,' agreed Horatia.
'You said I had changed, and that you did not know me before you came
here. And I certainly did not know you,' remarked Sarah abruptly.
'How am I changed? I feel just the same,' said Horatia, stopping short
and facing Sarah. 'Didn't I always laugh and make jokes at school?
Where's the difference?'
Sarah did not reply directly, for it was difficult to explain what she
meant. 'I did not say you were changed. I said I did not know you, and I
don't now. Why are you so nice to my father?' she suddenly demanded.
'I've a good mind to ask you why you are so nasty to him,' retorted
Horatia; 'but I won't, because I don't want to know. And as for my being
nice to him; you don't generally go and stay in people's houses, and then
be rude or disagreeable to them. Besides'----and here Horatia stopped.
'Besides what?' asked Sarah.
'Besides, it's time to go and dress for dinner. I shall feel quite dull
and unimportant when I go home and have to be a schoolgirl again; no
dressing for dinner, and no dinner to dress for, only schoolroom supper,
and it all depends upon cook's temper whether we get anything very nice
or not,' laughed Horatia.
As Horatia evidently did not intend to answer her question, Sarah said no
more on the subject; but she wondered very much what Horatia meant to
say. Sarah knew quite well she had not meant to say, 'Besides, it is
dinner-time.' Perhaps it was as well Horatia had stopped before she added
that she was 'sorry for Mr Clay.' 'Because,' she observed to herself,
'she would have wanted to know why I was sorry for such a rich man, and I
really could not have told her. And, besides, Sarah is so proud that she
would hate to be pitied.'
Sarah walked thoughtfully to her room, and there, instead of dressing for
dinner, she threw herself down in her favourite place, the broad
window-seat that looked towards Ousebank, her chin resting on the two
palms of her hands. 'Why am I so nasty to him?' she muttered to herself.
'Why is every one nasty to him? At least, I don't know that we are any of
us nasty--he wouldn't let us; but we are not "nice," like Horatia.' Sarah
did not attempt to answer this question; she sat there staring out over
Ousebank, and asked herself why she could not be 'nice' to her father if
Horatia could.
Naomi came to the door twice and knocked, and the second time she
ventured to open it; but, seeing Sarah, as she thought, looking cross and
staring out of the window, she went away again without daring to
interrupt her. But as time went on and no call came from her young
mistress, the good girl began to be anxious for fear Miss Sarah should be
late for dinner and thereby 'upset' Mr Clay, a thing to be avoided. So
she came in, and, standing at the door, coughed. She had to do this two
or three times before Sarah woke up to the fact of her presence, which
she did with a start. 'Oh Naomi, what is it?' she asked.
'Dinner, Miss Sarah,' said Naomi.
'Dinner?' Sarah started up in real fright this time. 'Has the gong gone?
I never heard it,' she cried.
'No, miss, not yet, but it soon will,' said Naomi, bustling about to get
Sarah ready.
'Then what do you mean by telling me such a story? I've a good mind not
to get ready at all,' said Sarah irritably and rather foolishly.
'Whatever would be the good of that, Miss Sarah, upsetting of Mr Clay for
nothing, let alone that I never told no story? You asked me what I came
for--at least, so I understood it--and I answered you, "Dinner," and
that's what I am here for. Oh, do make haste, Miss Sarah! You could keep
on that white skirt, and just slip on this pretty bodice; master won't
never notice. There's the gong! Oh dear, oh dear!' said Naomi, getting
quite flustered in her anxiety to get Sarah ready in time.
'You needn't be in such a state, Naomi; we are not all slaves or
prisoners that we have to be ready to a minute,' observed Sarah coolly,
and taking extra long instead of hurrying.
'No, Miss Sarah; but there's no call to do things a purpose to annoy any
one. Now, there's Miss Horatia going down as pleasant as can be,'
protested Naomi.
'You see we can't all be as pleasant as Miss Horatia, Naomi,' remarked
Sarah a little bitterly.
'You can be a deal pleasanter than her. Why, a word or a smile from you
goes further than all Miss Horatia's smiles, if only you'd give yourself
the trouble. Not that I'm saying a word against Miss Cunningham, for
there's no denying she makes the house a different place; and so they all
say, from the master downwards,' observed Naomi, her loyalty to her young
mistress struggling with her desire to be just and truthful.
'How does she do it, Naomi? I can't make it out. The house has been much
more comfortable since she came, and yet she doesn't do anything but
laugh, and you know any fool can laugh,' said Sarah, as she laughed
herself and ran off after Horatia.
'Miss Horatia's no fool, though,' observed Naomi, as she folded up and
arranged Sarah's clothes.
Before dinner was half-over, Sarah had to acknowledge to herself that she
had not been fair to Horatia in saying that she made things pleasant by
laughing, and it fell out in this wise.
The two girls arrived in the drawing-room at the same moment, and there,
according to his new practice, they found Mr Clay, who had taken to
coming properly into the drawing-room and going into dinner with his
women-folk. His face lightened as he saw the two girls; but instead of
offering his arm to Horatia, he gave it to his wife.
Mrs Clay did not take it for a moment. Such an attention had never been
paid her before in all their married life, for long before Mark Clay had
gained his wealth he had ceased to show any civility to his wife.
Sarah was as much surprised as her mother, though she had more tact than
to show it. Horatia looked pleased, but said nothing.
In the middle of dinner one of the footmen, who had gone out to get a
dish, came in with perturbed countenance, and said something to Sykes in
an undertone.
'Impossible,' said the butler. 'Say we're at dinner, and they must wait.'
'They say they won't wait,' murmured the footman, and added something
more, which apparently startled Sykes, who, giving some orders to the
under-footmen, left the room, and after a short absence came back and
said to Mr Clay, 'Excuse me, Mr Clay, but you're wanted just a minute.'
'Wanted?' exclaimed the millionaire, with a dark flush on his face. 'Tell
them to be off, whoever it is.'
'Please, Mr Clay, sir, excuse me, but if you'd see them a minute. It's a
deputation from the mill,' insisted Sykes.
Mr Mark Clay turned with a face distorted by rage; but before he could
say a word Horatia cried, 'Oh Mr Clay, do let me come with you and listen
to the deputation. I do so want to hear real Yorkshiremen talk.'
'You can hear me. I talk broad enow at times,' said the millionaire,
purposely speaking broad Yorkshire; 'and I've nowt to say to them.'
'You'd just better go,' she said, nodding her head at her host. 'Father
says things are topsy-turvy now, and the poor man has more power than he
used to have; and, besides, I would like to hear them talk.'
'Come forward, then,' said the millionaire, and rose from the table.
Sykes cast a look of gratitude and relief at Horatia; and poor Mrs Clay,
wiping away a tear, said, 'God bless her!'