Theo's pride made her represent the interview with Mr Hammond in its
most favourable light to her sisters. He was satisfied that she had the
makings of a successful author, was anxious to consider MSS from time to
time, and had suggested a likely home for the present story. The
future, in fact, was assured, but a period of probation must necessarily
elapse while she served what he called her "apprenticeship." The girls
appeared duly impressed, and Theo felt with satisfaction that this
verdict from a high authority would go far towards procuring for her
that respect and admiration which it is so difficult to obtain from the
members of one's own family.
"He advises me to read a great deal, to study the styles of the best
masters, and to write only what I know. I think that is rather a
mistake. If one possesses the literary instinct, it must surely be
possible to project one's self, as it were, into the place of another,
and so create an environment. How can one be expected to experience
personally the whole gamut of human emotions?"
"Cast your ruminating eye upon me, my love," said Madge suavely,
pointing with a thin forefinger to herself. Behind Theo's back she had
been occupied in rolling her eyes and waving her hands in dramatic
illustration of the other's high-flown phrases, so that Hope had rushed
to the window to stare at the chimney-pots, while Philippa had dropped
her needle on the floor and grovelled on all-fours in order to redeem
it. The two returned to their seats with expressions of preternatural
gravity, while Madge continued to declaim her offers of help.
"Study my character! It is full of rich and unexpected qualities. When
you get to an _impasse_, ask my advice, and I'll tell you how I should
behave in the circumstances. Though young in years I am old in wisdom,
and you would go far before you discovered a better preceptor."
Theo laughed with good-natured disdain. "Old in experience, indeed!
Poor little country mouse, what do you know of life? You have never
even been in love."
"Oh, haven't I, though! Shows how little you know," cried Madge darkly.
"I have never been out of it since I was eight years old. The first
one was Tommy Egerton. Do you remember those Egertons who took The
Chase for a year? Tommy was the little boy who wore a fawn coat with a
sealskin collar, and dear little brown gaiters. I doted on him! And
one day his mother brought him to call, and I had on a soiled pinafore.
Oh, my feelings! I consider that my character has been warped for life
by the humiliation I endured that afternoon. Then there was that
freckled boy who used to send me valentines:--
"The rose is red, the violet blue,
And sugar's sweet, and so are you.
"Dear, dear, how bashful I felt the first time I met him after that
special valentine arrived! Then there was the curate who spoke through
his `dose.' That was the love that was born of pity! Every one abused
him, so there arose in my heart that almost maternal tenderness and
compassion which is inseparable from the love of every good woman.
Ahem!" Madge glanced up with dancing eyes, then grew grave again and
added slowly, "And now there's that student at the Slade School. I
asked him some questions the other day, and he was _so_ kind! He has a
lovely chin. I expect we shall be great friends. Look at Philippa
growing pale with anxiety."
"It's all very well," cried Philippa irritably. "I like young men
myself, and wish we knew many more than we do, but we _must_ be careful.
I hope you girls will not make any friends until you have had time to
judge whether they are the sort of people we ought to know. I don't
want to preach. I hate preaching. It is very hard to be in the
position when it falls to me to say all the disagreeable things, but,
situated as we are, we can hardly be too particular. We want to make
friends who will be a help to us, not a hindrance, and whose influence
can never be hurtful to Barney when he is with us."
The mention of Barney brought a smile to each face, followed by sighs of
anxiety, for it was impossible not to realise that the reckless,
high-spirited boy would be a care as well as a pleasure. Stephen was
already looking out for a suitable opening in the City, and, with
Philippa's consent, had written to Mr Loftus to ask his assistance in
the search. As an influential shareholder in many large concerns it was
likely that he would be able to find a situation, and his kindness of
heart made it seem probable that he would put himself to some trouble on
the boy's behalf. So far no letter had been received in reply; but one
afternoon about five o'clock the electric bell sounded through the
little flat, and Hope ran to open the door to save trouble to the one
small servant who was wrestling with preparations for the evening meal.
She thought it might possibly be the postman with a letter from Miss
Caldecott to say how delighted she was with the new song; but instead
she found herself confronted by two life-size fashion-plates and, hidden
away behind flowing skirts and ruffling chiffons, one small and dejected
lord of creation!
The Loftus trio! Aunt Loftus come to pay her first call, on the very
occasion when Mary had set fire to the pretty lampshade, so that the
smell of burning pervaded the air, and a naked "chimney" took the place
of rosy frills; when Philippa had felt too tired to change her
morning-blouse, and naughty Madge had taken advantage of an idle hour to
wash her hair, and was even now stretched before the fire in all the
glory of a dressing-gown too old to be spoiled! Hope was speechless
with consternation, but with the drawing-room distant about two yards
from the front-door escape was hopeless, and she was obliged to
introduce the visitors with what composure she might.
To the credit of their breeding, be it said, Philippa and Madge rose
nobly to the occasion, and welcomed the unwelcome guests without either
apology or confusion. Madge smiled sweetly through her wisps of hair,
and discussed the weather in orthodox fashion, before sailing out of the
room to clothe herself in more suitable attire. Hope was proud of her
sisters, and unselfishly annoyed that she should appear to better
advantage than they; for she had dressed early after her return from a
wet and tiring walk. She met her cousin's curious gaze, and sat down
beside her with a friendly smile.
"You are Avice. I have so often wondered about you?"
"You are Hope. I have a picture of you as a little girl. It is so
pretty! You haven't changed a bit."
"Oh, oh, you shouldn't! But how nice of you, all the same! I love
compliments," confessed pretty Hope, blushing in bewitching fashion
between gratification and embarrassment. She looked at Avice in her
turn, and decided that she was not at all pretty. But, oh, what
clothes! What a dream of a hat! What distracting ruffles and laces
peeping from between the sables! What twinkling lights of diamond
brooches! She paused for a moment to do obeisance before a vision of
herself clad in similar garments, then continued, with a smile, "I am so
glad to meet you! It feels lonely to be absolutely without friends in
this great London, and so far we know no one at all."
"You are the musical one, aren't you?" Avice asked curiously. "You are
all geniuses, father says, and determined to make a name in the world.
Have you begun work? What have you done so far?"
Hope smiled with pardonable satisfaction.
"Well, really, I think we have made a good start. Theo has interviewed
one of the most influential editors in Fleet Street, and has been asked
to send MSS to his paper. Madge has sent in her two show-pictures to
the Slade School, and is to begin regular work there at the half-term.
Meantime she is studying the different exhibitions and collections, and,
as she says, picking up `quite valuable hints' from old masters. She is
so amusing! She comes home every evening with absurd accounts of her
adventures. Most people would find it rather dull spending a whole day
at the National Gallery, for instance, but Madge has the faculty of
finding amusement wherever she goes, and, even apart from the pictures,
has a dozen little histories and romances to recount."
"Y-es," assented Avice flatly. She herself had little sense of humour,
and was by no means prepossessed by the plain, elf-like figure of her
youngest cousin Hope, on the contrary, was graceful and charming, and
had been already mentally adopted as the friend of the future. "What
are _you_ doing?" she asked, with an interest which could not fail to be
flattering, and Hope moved her chair a trifle closer with an impulse of
girlish confidence.
"Oh, I am getting on so well! I have had my first lesson in harmony,
and my master is so kind and encouraging. He seems to think that I know
a great deal already, and his work is so interesting. In the mornings I
study and practise, and in the afternoons I try to hear as much music as
I can. I go to cheap seats at concerts and recitals, or to service at
the Abbey or Saint Paul's. And fancy! I have had a commission to write
a song for a professional--a real professional--a lady who sings at
concerts all over the country. You may know her name--Miss Minnie
Caldecott."
Yes, Avice knew it quite well, and was duly impressed by the news. She
passed it on to her mother, who was sitting silently criticising the
details of the room, while her husband talked to the older girls. She
also appeared impressed, and expressed a desire to hear Hope perform one
of her own compositions. Accordingly the piano was opened, and the girl
sang, not one song, but two, so that her relations might appreciate the
variety of her style: first the graceful and would-be classical setting
to the words which Miss Minnie had despised, and then the more taking,
if less high-class, "domestic" ditty. Mrs Loftus had little of the
maternal instinct in her composition, but even her hard face softened as
Hope's fresh voice sang the sweet, simple words. Uncle Loftus cried
"Bravo! bravo!" and Avice opened wide surprised eyes. Mrs Loftus put up
her eyeglasses and examined the singer in critical fashion. So young;
so pretty; so exceptionally gifted! Really, the girl would be a useful
addition to an evening's entertainment or a house-party in the country.
She made a mental note that Hope was the "presentable" member of the
family, then rose to take her departure, murmuring society nothings as
she shook hands with Philippa, and checking Avice's farewell words with
a warning frown.
"Oh yes, we must arrange to meet again. I will look over our list.
Don't make any plans to-day, dear; you are so overdone with
engagements."
She rustled to the door, followed by her obedient spouse, who was
allowed no time to speak, but instead delivered himself of a succession
of mysterious nods and smiles, which left the girls in a state of amused
mystification. The explanation was, however, speedily forthcoming, for
ten minutes had not elapsed after the departure of the three when a
second bell sounded, and there stood Mr Loftus, erect and
self-confident, a man on his own account, with no overwhelming feminine
element to keep him in the background.
"Back again like a bad penny!" he cried jocosely. "Just a word to say
to you, my dears--a word in your ears. Put the ladies into the
carriage, and went on `to my club.' He, he! Useful things, clubs!
About that boy, now. Don't approve of your spending capital--never
approved of that, you know--but pleased to help you all the same.
Edgar's children. Yes! Ought to give you a lift. Fifteen--eh? Young
to leave school, but can't be helped, I suppose. Was speaking to Spence
the other day--most influential man--thinks he might take him in there.
Eh? Insurance office--huge place--hundreds of clerks. Spence is
manager. Always taking in new fellows. What do you think of that--eh?"
"Please sit down, uncle," said Philippa, greatly puzzled by the short,
jerky sentences; and, so far as she could judge of the proposal,
thinking about as badly of it as it was possible to do. "It is very
kind of you to remember Barney, and we are most anxious to find him an
opening, but I don't know that insurance--and such a number of clerks,
too! Would not a boy be likely to be lost among them, and drudge on
year after year without promotion?"
"In an ordinary way, yes; but this would be different. I'm on the
Board, you see--on the Board--chairman last year. Spence a personal
friend. Could help him on if he stuck to his work. Don't know the boy,
but if Spence took a fancy to him, there isn't a man in town who has
more in his power. Peculiar man, Spence! Difficult temper--autocratic;
but if he takes a fancy, there's nothing he won't do. Barney, now--what
kind of a boy is Barney?"
"All kinds," replied Philippa, smiling. She felt perfectly satisfied
that Mr Spence _would_ take a fancy to Barney, but whether that young
gentleman would "stick" to his work was another and a very different
question.
"He is a very handsome boy, Uncle Loftus, and full of fun and mischief.
He is clever, but I'm afraid not too industrious. We hope that he will
settle down and realise that he has his way to make; but he is young, as
you say. Mr Spence might not have patience with him."
"Oh, Spence would have nothing to do with him at first. He would have
to obey the head of his department. Send Stephen to me to talk it over.
Men understand business; girls, you know--pretty girls like you--think
only of bonnets. That's it, Hope, isn't it? Quite right, too. Get a
becoming one, my dear, and come and see me in it when it is bought. Now
I must be off. Glad to have seen you all Pretty little nest at the top
of the tree! Hope it may be prophetic. Hard on my legs, though. Stiff
in the knees. Not so young as I was, my dears--not so young as I was."
He went toddling out of the door, smiling and chuckling to himself, and
as he descended the staircase the echo of disjointed phrases reached the
girls' ears: "Top of the tree! Ha, ha! Not so young as I was.
Prophetic--eh! Hope it is prophetic."
"Poor little mannikin!" said Philippa pitifully. "I feel like a mother
to him. He daren't even be kind in his wife's presence, he is so kept
down. How I do detest to see women snub their husbands and fathers!
When I marry I intend to look up to my husband and think him the finest
man in the world. I'd rather be ruled by some one stronger and wiser
than myself than have it all my own way. _My_ husband is going to be
master of his own house, or I'll know the reason why."
She was leaning over the banisters as she spoke, listening to the
departing footsteps of the "mannikin" as he trotted along the stone
entrance-hall; but as she finished speaking she drew back with a gasp of
dismay, for a cadaverous countenance was raised to hers from the landing
immediately beneath, and the tenant who had objected to Hope's
practising stood for a moment buttoning his coat, then slowly took his
way downstairs. With one bound, as it seemed, the girls were back in
their own sitting-room, confronting each other with horrified, scarlet
faces.
"The Hermit!"
"The author creature who writes all day and sits up all night. Do you
suppose he _heard_?"
"Heard! My dear, he has ears; how could he help it? If you _will_ air
your ideas as to your future husband on the landing of public buildings,
what can you expect? Never mind. Perhaps it's just as well that you
should understand each other from the first."
"Don't be vulgar, Madge. That kind of joke is in the worst possible
taste."
"'Pologise! My vulgar nature, I suppose. _Didn't_ he stare? He looks
shockingly ill. I should say his nerves were overstrained, and he
wouldn't be too pleasant a companion. I hope he won't call."
"People never call in London, child, unless they have some sort of
introduction or a mutual friend. Besides, the porter told me that the
Hermit is quite a celebrity. Why should he call upon us? He writes
articles for the reviews, and long, learned books which no one can
understand. I will never try to, for one. I hope I may never, never
see his face again!" cried Philippa, in a sudden outburst of passion,
for it was really most trying to discover a strange man playing the part
of audience on the one occasion on which she had "let herself go."
Stephen called upon Mr Loftus as suggested, was taken to interview the
eccentric Mr Spence, and eventually decided to accept the offered
opening for Barney. It was not exactly the position which he would have
chosen, but beggars cannot be choosers, and his uncle's influence,
backed by a personal introduction to the manager, seemed to hold out a
reasonable chance of promotion. At the worst, the experience would give
the boy some knowledge of office life, and prevent his running wild over
London, getting into fresh mischief with every hour, as his custom was.
The half-term arrived, and with it Mr Barnard himself. The lad drove up
in a hansom, and smiled patronisingly upon the sisters assembled to
welcome him in the bare entrance-hall. He was nearly as tall as
Philippa herself, and very like her in appearance, though his sparkling
face lacked as yet her characteristic strength and earnestness of
expression. So far, indeed, life had appeared one huge joke to Barney,
and his radiant spirits had suffered no eclipse. He allowed himself to
be kissed and hugged by one sister after another, and was then escorted
up the stone staircase with all the honours of a returned hero, the
while his bright eyes roved from side to side in search of adventure.
He tested the banister, calculated its length from top to bottom, and
offered to race Madge down with a handicap of half a minute. He pointed
to the bottles of fire-extinguishers ranged on each landing, and cried
genially, "We'll start an alarm of fire one night, and watch the
Johnnies rush out and smash 'em!" Then seeing the words, "_Do not knock
unless absolutely necessary_," printed on a card nailed to the
"Hermit's" door, he lingered behind to give such a resounding
rat-tat-tat to the knocker as woke the echoes to life. The girls
scuttled upstairs like so many frightened mice; but what was the good of
that? They could not hide the noise of their footsteps, and once in the
precincts of their own flat they one and all fell upon Barney, covering
him with reproaches. How could he? How dared he? It was rude,
ungentlemanly, unfair to his sisters. He must never--no, never--do such
a thing again!
"Well, scarcely ever!" cried the beaming culprit. "So this is the
rabbit-warren, is it! What a rummy little show! When will the feed be
ready? I'm dying of hunger. Hope you've slain a jolly big calf while
you were about it."
When the "calf" appeared, and the reunited family seated themselves
round the dining-room table, Barney wished to bet some one "a tanner"
that without leaving his chair he could ring the bell, poke the fire,
pull up the blind, and put a plate on the sideboard; and proceeding to
give practical illustration of his words, overbalanced himself, grazed
his head against a corner of the bookcase, and made an ugly stain upon
the wall-paper with the contents of his overturned plate.
"Really, Barney--really! That's not at all amusing. I don't feel in
the _least_ inclined to laugh," protested Philippa severely; but she
belied the truth of her words by smiling lovingly on the culprit
throughout the meal. It was easy to see who was going to be master of
_that_ flat!