Stephen Charrington had expressed a wish to consult with his aunt and
uncle less from any preconceived intention than from a feeling of
helplessness which took possession of him as he penned the news of his
father's death. It had seemed to him at the moment that the advice of
any one older and wiser than himself would be of value in deciding plans
for the future, but no sooner was the letter irretrievably on its way
than he began to tremble at the prospect of telling Philippa of what he
had done. Philippa had been left co-trustee with himself, and she was
not a young woman who would meekly be put on one side. What she
thought, she said; what she willed, she accomplished; and anything like
interference was to her as the brandishing of a red rag in the face of a
bull. Stephen resolved to wait for a favourable opportunity before
breaking the news of the intended visit, and to introduce it casually in
the midst of a general conversation, when there would be less chance of
a "scene." On Tuesday he decided to speak on Wednesday; on Wednesday
there seemed abundant reason why he should postpone the disclosure until
Thursday; on Thursday his uncle's note arrived announcing his arrival on
the following day, and there could be no longer delay. Stephen betook
himself to the morning-room, where his sisters sat in conclave, and hid
himself behind a newspaper, awaiting his opportunity.
Despite the gloominess of the autumn day and the mournful nature of the
work on hand, the scene was far from being doleful. To begin with, the
background was pretty--a long, low apartment, half studio, half
workroom, its walls washed a rich crimson hue, and covered with
unmounted sketches, plaster casts on brackets, and a hundred quaint,
artistic odds and ends. Against this background the four sisters made
an interesting group as they busied themselves with the sewing on hand.
There was no money forthcoming to pay dressmaking bills, and little
enough to buy material, so it was necessary to use up what was in the
house--to turn and twist and remake, and cover over, and patch
together--an occupation which involved no little ingenuity in addition
to the mere manual labour.
Philippa stood by the table, the big cutting-out scissors in her hands;
a handsome girl with clearly cut aquiline features, and dark hair which
rippled back in a soft, smoke-like mass, and was coiled gracefully
together on the nape of her neck. Her shoulders were broad and square,
and had a trick of broadening still further in dignified, self-assertive
fashion when their owner was annoyed or wished to exercise her
authority. Madge always declared that she looked at Philippa's
shoulders when she wished to see how the wind blew; but then Madge was
so daring and inconsequent in her remarks that no one paid much
attention to what _she_ said! Behold her now, running seams on the
old-fashioned treadle machine, with bent back and long, pointed chin
poked forward over the needle. As often as not a jerk of the hands or
an erratic movement of the feet would be followed by a jar, a knot, a
breaking of the thread; and when this occurred Madge would clench both
fists together and mouth dumb anathemas, the while she rolled tragic
eyes to the ceiling. If there was one thing on earth which she detested
more than another, it was plain sewing; but this morning she had
gallantly volunteered to do the machining, and machine she would, no
matter what tortures it might cost her! She was a little scrap of a
thin, starved-looking creature, with a long, narrow face, plain
features, and just the prettiest, happiest, most lovable pair of hazel
eyes you can possibly imagine. Even to-day they looked happy, for there
was a certain transparency and twinkling light in the iris which seemed
independent of varying moods. Madge was eighteen, and was going to be
an artist and have pictures hung on the line in the Academy or know the
reason why, and in her opinion her time would have been much more
profitably employed daubing in the attic than doing dull, useful work
downstairs; but, as has been said, there are occasions when personal
inclinations have to be laid in the dust.
Theo sat by herself, unpicking a coloured lining from a black grenadine
dress, with an expression of tragic despair. It was not that she
sorrowed for her father more deeply than her sisters, but it was Theo's
nature to revel in emotion and deliberately to work herself up to the
height of rejoicing or down to the depths of despair. She was a tall,
graceful girl, with a face which was decidedly interesting if not
regularly pretty, and her broad forehead and deep-set eyes seemed to
portray a greater brain-power than that possessed by the rest of the
family. Theo had written stories for her own amusement since the age of
ten, and was even now engaged upon a full-fledged novel with which she
hoped to burst upon an astonished world. It seemed a horrible,
ghoul-like proceeding to examine her own feelings in order to be able to
depict what Veronica, her heroine, should feel in the hour of her
desolation; and she was disgusted with herself because, despite all
resolutions, she had been mentally taking notes during the whole of the
past week. Now, as she sat unpicking the pretty pink lining and casting
it ruthlessly on one side, her busy brain was weaving a simile by which
it appeared that all the brightness of life was left behind and nothing
remained but blackness and desolation.
By Philippa's side--adviser, assistant, and architect-in-chief--stood
golden-haired Hope, sweet as her name, and all unselfish anxiety for the
good of others. Her white forehead was wrinkled with the strain of
trying to induce two yards of silk to do duty for three, and she stood
at attention, staring down at the pattern spread over the black folds,
and rubbing her chin in solemn calculation as she discussed the knotty
point.
"If I were to make the yoke of something else, and let the silk come
from the arm-holes only, do you think we could manage it then? There is
some of that old black velvet that could be used for the yoke, and it
could be made to look very nice. I am afraid we couldn't match this
silk even if we tried."
"Don't want to try," said Philippa shortly. "Spent quite enough as it
is. Well, we shall either have to do it that way or make the sleeves of
another material to match the skirt.--Theo, it's for you. Which would
you rather have?"
"Don't care at all. Make it as you please; I take no interest in the
matter," replied Theo, turning her head elaborately in an opposite
direction and speaking in a tone of implied rebuke, which brought a
flash into Philippa's eyes.
"Then you _ought_ to take an interest! How are we to get on if no one
will say what she wants? We want to do our best for you, and it's not
much trouble just to say what you like, and help us to decide."
Theo looked round at that, and lo! her eyes were full of tears.
"I think it's hateful to think of clothes at all," she cried
passionately. "What does it matter _how_ they are made? Make me a sack
if you like; it will make no difference to me."
"Yes, dear, it will; you are mistaken there. We shall have to wear
these things for a long time, and the day will come when it would worry
you very much to wear what you did not like. I know you feel no
interest just now, but it would be really unselfish to rouse yourself
enough to consider the question and help us with our work," said Hope,
the peacemaker, speaking just in time to stop Philippa's sharp retort
and so avert the threatened storm. Theo, the emotional, was always
ready to be swayed by a soft word; besides, she adored Hope, and was
especially sensitive to her wishes. So the black skirt was dropped to
the floor, and she came forward obediently to discuss the important
question of sleeves _versus_ yokes. It was wonderful how particular she
became when once her attention was aroused, and what precise
instructions she had to give concerning shape and size. Madge dropped
her chin until it looked longer than ever, and exchanged a sly glance
with Philippa; for if the two middle girls paired together, the eldest
and youngest had a wonderful sympathy of feeling, and rarely failed to
understand an unspoken message.
"Very well, then; _that's_ settled," said Theo, in conclusion. "And
when it is done you needn't trouble to make anything more for me, for if
there is any chance of going to London before winter I would rather wait
and get what I want when we can shop in comfort. Did you see Mr
Matthews to-day, Stephen, and tell him that this house might be to let
at Michaelmas?"
Poor Stephen! He quaked behind his newspaper, knowing that his hour had
come. "No-o, not to-day," he said feebly; and then Madge must needs
fall upon him in her turn, and cry:
"Oh Steve, how foolish! We told you he was looking at the Masons' house
last week, and if you put off seeing him he may take it before he knows
there is a chance of getting this one. You really must go to-morrow.
If we let him slip, goodness knows when we may find another tenant."
Stephen put down the newspaper and braced himself for the fray. After
all, he was the eldest of the family, the man and master, and it was
cowardice to shrink from what a girl might say! "I can't see him
to-morrow, for I shall be otherwise engaged. I have had a letter from
Uncle Loftus to say that he and Aunt Gertrude are coming down to-morrow
to talk over arrangements with us and give us their advice as to the
future. When I wrote to them last week I said I should be grateful if
they would help us in this way, and it is good of them to come so far on
our account. Uncle writes most kindly. He seems really interested. I
think we have misjudged him in the past. At any rate, his wife was
father's nearest relative, and it seemed right that they should be
consulted."
Silence. The three girls looked fearfully at Philippa, and Philippa
studied _her_ pattern with an air of elaborate carelessness, making
dainty snicks at the silk with the cutting-out scissors.
"And for how long, may I ask, have you invited them to stay? It may be
necessary to make a few preparations, and as the house is hardly in a
state to receive visitors, we had better begin at once."
"They are not coming here; they are to put up at the inn. Now, Phil,
come! don't take it like that. Honestly, I never intended to do
anything behind your back. I was so worried and puzzled when I wrote
that I said on the impulse of the moment that I wished they would give
us their help. I did not tell you about it, for, to tell the truth, I
never expected that they would come. Surely you feel, as I do, that we
are ignorant and inexperienced, and would be the better for advice from
people who know the world. You are a sensible girl; I am sure you
agree."
"I don't think it is a question of understanding the world so much as
understanding _us_ and our circumstances," said Philippa, standing up
suddenly and facing him with kindling eyes. She seemed about to add
something sharp and stinging, but controlled herself with a visible
effort, and said quietly, "You should not have done this without
consulting me, Steve. If we have to work together there must be
confidence between us. But let that pass. I don't want to make
unnecessary difficulties. We have enough as it is, goodness knows! I
should welcome any advice that came from a reliable source, but the
Loftus connection have shown so plainly of late years that they wished
to have nothing to do with us, that I can't say their opinion will have
any weight with me. They are selfish, worldly creatures, who only think
of their own convenience."
"Even so, my dear, they may be useful to us. Worldly wisdom is an
ingredient which has been conspicuous by its absence in our family up
till now. It is time we made a reform," said Steve, with a tinge of
bitterness in his voice; for it is a heavy burden for a young fellow of
twenty-five to find himself saddled with the responsibility of an
impecunious young family, and it was difficult to subdue a feeling of
resentment as he remembered the careless _regime_ of the past. "When it
comes to the final decision you and I must give the casting votes, but
it would be an ease to my mind, at least, if a man of the world like
Uncle Loftus approved of what we were going to do. Come now, Phil! it
would to you too. If the worst came to the worst, and our venture
proved a failure, it would be a comfort to you to feel that you had not
acted alone."
"I don't think anything could comfort me then," said Philippa sadly.
She leant against the table and snapped unconsciously at the air with
the scissors. "If it will be any satisfaction to you, Steve, I am glad
that they are coming; but, honestly, they won't alter my decision. I
have thought and thought until my brain feels like a jelly, but there
seems no way out of the tangle but the one we propose. If Uncle Loftus
tries to dissuade me, I shall be obliged to tell him that in this matter
I consider my own judgment better than his. How can he decide what is
best for us? What does he know of our characters and possibilities? We
are not like other families. We may be less amiable and worthy in many
respects, but we _are_ cleverer. It isn't conceited to say so, for it's
true. We have inherited father's gifts, and ought to be able to do
something with our lives. Other girls might be content to stodge along
and never see anything of the world, and teach the doctor's children,
and marry the curates, and be as poor as Job all their lives, but--"
"`But that's not me nor you!'" quoted Madge vigorously, stopping the
machine with the usual jar and snap, and tossing her determined chin
with an air of defiance. "I won't stodge for any one. If fifty aunts
and a hundred uncles came and sat in rows round the room, and besought
me to be a good little girl and stay where I was, I'd snap my fingers in
their faces and tell them that I had to live my own life, and I'd take
jolly good care that I lived it in my own way."
"Madge!"
"Sorry! Didn't mean to interfere. Thought you might like to know my
sentiments--that's all. Keep me out of the room when the Loftuses are
here if you don't wish them to hear home-truths. I don't mince my words
when I'm roused, as some of you know to your cost I'll shake hands with
them when they come, and say good-bye when they go, and they will say to
each other as they drive away, `Plain, heavy-looking girl that youngest!
They will never be able to do anything with her.' Ha, ha!" and Madge
laughed in a mocking, derisive fashion, which brought an answering
flicker of amusement to the anxious faces of her companions. It was
evident that she fully expected an hour to come when her relatives would
be stupefied to discover the genius of the age in the "plain,
heavy-looking girl" whom they had despised, and it said volumes for her
attainments that the prospect seemed within range of possibility to more
than one of her audience.
Theo, however, had an objection to make. "I think you are very foolish
if you do anything of the kind," she said severely. "We ought to make
the best of ourselves, not the worst, if we want them to agree to our
plan. They know that we are poor and have lived in the country all our
lives, and I suppose they imagine that we are great, awkward, clownish
creatures who know nothing about society or how things should be done.
I vote we surprise them. Let's all put on our nicest things, and make
the house look its very, very best, and prepare a _chic_ little
luncheon, and give them coffee afterwards; and let them see that we
don't require any patronage, and are quite able to take care of
ourselves. I'm sure that's the best plan; isn't it, Phil?"
"I don't know, I'm sure. Go your own ways. You want to appear better
than you are; Madge wants to appear worse. I'm going to be myself--
horribly myself! I don't feel that I can pretend one bit. It's all
very well for you; you are only standing on the ramparts. I have to go
down and fight the battle," cried poor Philippa dismally, and Hope's arm
stole round her waist with a close, encouraging pressure.
Hope was so sorry for every one in turn that she had no time to be sorry
for herself. "It will soon be over," she whispered fondly. "Cheer up,
Phil! By this time to-morrow they will have come and gone."