A week later Hope travelled down to Norfolk with the united fineries of
the family in her box, a mind stored with good advice from the stock of
worldly wisdom of her sisters, and a heart filled with mingled
expectation and foreboding. It was the first time in her life that she
had paid a visit on her own account, and she realised, with a shock of
surprise, what a child she remained in spite of her three-and-twenty
years, and how unlimited was her inexperience! Now that she was really
on her way and it was too late to turn back, she sat aghast at her
temerity in daring to face a houseful of strangers, and trembled at the
ordeal of appearing before them. She would arrive at the station at
half-past four; after that would follow a drive of, say, half-an-hour.
If she arrived at the house at five o'clock, would tea be over, or only
in progress? Would the men have returned from their day's sport? Would
many guests be present to whom she must be introduced, and who would all
want to know if she were tired, if the train had been punctual, if she
had had a comfortable journey? Would there be any girls in the party
besides herself? And if so, would they be very superior and
fashionable! Would Avice be friendly and affectionate, or too much
taken up with her duties to waste time on insignificant Hope
Charrington! All these and a thousand other questions occupied Hope's
busy brain till she reached the end of her journey.
Insignificant Hope Charrington looked, if the truth were told, anything
but insignificant as she took her place in the high dogcart that was
waiting at the station. As she drove through the little country town,
more than one admiring glance was cast upon the pretty young lady whose
golden hair and pink-and-white complexion showed to such advantage
against the severe black of her attire. Tired shop assistants gazed at
her through the shop windows, and sighed with envy as they looked. It
must be so nice to be a lady and have nothing to do but enjoy one's
self, and look pretty, and never know an anxious thought all one's days?
That lovely young lady, for instance, was going to stay at The Shanty,
where there was already a houseful of guests: handsome men ready to fall
in love at a moment's notice; girls over whom the new-comer would reign
as queen! Her luggage was no doubt following in the cart: box upon box
of fineries; different dresses for every day in the week; jewel-cases
full of glittering gems!
So much for imagination, while in reality poor Hope was clenching her
hands to keep from trembling, hoping with all her might that the one
black silk evening-dress would not be a mass of creases when unpacked;
wondering if it were possible that where she was going she would meet a
friend who might be able to help her to earn some money--a little money
to put towards those terrible household expenses.
Ten minutes' drive and they had loft the town behind them; another ten
minutes and the lodge gates of The Shanty came in sight; three minutes
more and Hope was stepping inside an entrance-hall lined with fine old
tapestries, and stretching the whole length of the house. The sound of
voices came to her ear, but she could not locate them until she had
walked half-way down the hall. Then a deep recess came in view on the
right-hand side--a recess as big as an ordinary room--wherein a dozen
people sat round a blazing fire, drinking tea with leisurely enjoyment.
At sight of the new-comer there was a general pause in the conversation.
Mrs Loftus rustled forward to greet her; Avice smiled and extended a
languid hand; and Uncle Loftus murmured jocosely, "Hope on, Hope ever!
So here you are, my dear--eh! Glad to see you. Have a cup of tea!"
"Sit here, Hope. Let me introduce you," said her aunt; and Hope
listened confusedly to a long list of names, bowed automatically from
time to time, then thankfully subsided into a seat in a corner. There
were two ladies present besides her aunt and cousin--one elderly and
prosaic matron, and one young and sparkling brunette, who was busily
occupied flirting with three men at the same time, and seemed capable of
adding indefinitely to their number. For the rest, there were men in
shooting-coats and leather gaiters--old men, middle-aged men, young men,
all bronzed and healthy, and remarkably well satisfied with themselves
and their day's sport.
Hope studied them shyly as she nibbled at her scone. The buzz of
conversation had begun again by this time, and as her presence was
apparently forgotten, she was at leisure to pursue her investigations.
The stout, grey man was the husband of the prosaic lady. The merry
little man with the round bald head and the short legs was evidently an
intimate of the family, for he threw fresh logs on the fire, and even
dared to chaff Mrs Loftus herself. The fair youth with the eyeglass was
only pretending to be captivated by Miss Brunette; the older man with
the fair hair was seriously smitten; the tall, distinguished-looking
personage with the haughty eyelids and drooping moustache had the air of
being bored by everything and every one. Hope looked at him critically,
with a view to describing him to Theo. "He would make a splendid hero.
Dark features, sharply cut; two horizontal lines in his forehead; lazy
eyes that give a flash now and then, and show that he could be active
enough if he chose; a square chin; and such great, wide shoulders. He
looks quite different from the other men; and yet I don't know why he
should."
She looked him critically up and down, and her eyes, travelling upwards
again, found his studying her in return. It might have been an
embarrassing discovery, but before it had time to become so the man who
was different from other men had strolled across the hall, taken
possession of the seat by her side, and was inquiring if she felt tired
after her journey, in a tone which seemed to imply that he took not the
faintest possible interest in her reply.
"A little tired," said Hope prosaically, conscious that if Madge had
been in her place she would have been ready with a vivacious retort
which would have broken the ice of formality. She felt quite unable to
frame such a retort. Instead she said simply, "I am not particularly
fond of railway travelling, and I dislike changes. I never feel that I
can settle down comfortably when there is a change before me. Even if
it is two hours ahead, I cannot determine to undo a rug and make myself
comfortable."
"No?" said Mr Merrilies; and once again his voice sounded so flat and
uninterested that she wished she had not been so explicit in setting
forth her feelings. She allowed herself to be helped to a second cup of
tea, then relapsed into silence, waiting patiently for a fresh lead.
The other men were discussing the day's sport, and presently her
companion must needs report on "the bag" in his turn.
"We have been over the Tansy Woods to-day, seven of us, and the bag was
two hundred and fifteen pheasants, a brace of partridges, thirty hares,
and ninety-five rabbits. Pretty fair, isn't it?"
"I don't know," said Hope simply. "I know nothing about shooting.
Neither my father nor brother was a sportsman, so I cannot judge what is
bad or good. It seems a tremendous number."
She looked so pretty and so winsome as she glanced at him with her
childlike eyes that his face relaxed from its set lines, and he smiled
in involuntary friendliness.
"A few years ago it would have been a record day, a day to put in the
papers, but now it is nothing at all extraordinary. In shooting, as in
everything else, the standard has risen, and we are less easily
satisfied. It is an age of great expectations; don't you think so?"
"I don't know," said Hope again; but her brow clouded, and presently she
asked in an anxious little voice, "Do you really think the standard has
risen in everything! Would it be more difficult to do well in--er--in
any profession, for instance, than it was a dozen years ago! Would you
have to be much cleverer?"
"Oh dear, yes! certainly you would. It is a different thing altogether.
A dozen years ago people were easily pleased, and ready to make
allowances, but nothing short of perfection satisfies us nowadays. The
days of the amateur are past; even professionals need constant study to
maintain their high standard."
"Y-es," assented Hope faintly. She thought of her poor little songs, of
Theo's "worrying" story, and Madge's poster-like pictures, and felt a
sinking of heart that took away her appetite for scones and plum-cake.
She and her sisters had thought themselves geniuses at dear little
Leabourne, but three months' experience of London had brought a bitter
disillusionment. She stared at the ground, and Mr Merrilies in his turn
stared at her charming profile, and sighed to think that the prettiest
girls were generally the most stupid. He was unfeignedly relieved when
Avice came forward to take her cousin upstairs to dress for dinner.
The room which had been set apart for Hope was one of the smallest and
least handsomely furnished in the house, as became the abode of a poor
relation; but it looked attractive enough, all the same, with a bright
little fire burning in the grate and the curtains drawn cosily over the
windows. Hope's box had already been unpacked, and as there could be no
question of "What will you wear for dinner?" there lay the black silk on
the bed, solid and sober. Avice glanced at it carelessly.
"Oh yes, that will do very well. We shall be quite alone," she said,
with a nod; then leant against the mantelpiece and smiled at her cousin
with languid friendliness. She gave the impression of wishing to be
really kind, but of lacking the energy to put her intention into effect;
as a matter of fact, the girl was too anaemic to feel keen interest in
anything or anybody. "Sure you have all you want? If you require
anything just ring, and it will be brought to you at once. You needn't
be downstairs for an hour and a half. There are some books over there
if you would like to read."
"Couldn't you stay and talk to me?" asked Hope shyly; but Avice thought
not--thought she had better lie down--thought there would be plenty of
time to talk another day, and glided listlessly away, leaving the
new-comer chilled and disappointed.
A little reading; a home letter written with a "detaily" description of
journey, arrival, and first impressions; a careful if simple toilet,
made short work of the hour and a half's waiting, and Hope stopped shyly
out of her room to find her way along the corridor. Half-way down a
door creaked, a pair of dark eyes peered cautiously forth, followed by
the whole of a curly dark head, and Miss Brunette's voice accosted her
with the ease and geniality of an old acquaintance.
"There you are! I have been looking out for you for an age! Do come
and lace up my dress, there's a kind creature! I have rung the bell
three times over, but I suppose it is broken, as nobody has appeared. I
didn't bring a maid with me this time; did you?"
"I? A maid! I never possessed such a thing in my life," cried Hope,
laughing; at which Miss Brunette stared, looked her critically up and
down, and affected to frown.
"Really? But then it doesn't matter to you. You are one of those
exasperating people who can't help looking nice, whatever they do. I
_did_ bless you when you walked in this afternoon! If there is one
thing that makes me wild, it is to have a better-looking girl than
myself staying in a house. I have had it all my own way here so far,
for Avice is too lazy to count, but now I shall have to play second
fiddle. Men are so silly about pretty faces. Do you think I am pretty?
Honestly? Yes, most people do; but, to tell you a dead secret, it is
all a mistake. I am really barely good-looking, but I give an
impression of prettiness by my vivacity and strict attention to
business."
Hope laughed, and the two girls chattered gaily together over the
belated toilet. When it was finished Truda Bennett slid her hand
through Hope's arm in friendly confidence.
"You are a dear," she said. "I like you. When you came in I thought
you were bound to be slow and proper. I always mistrust fair girls with
blue eyes. Nine times out of ten they are deadly uninteresting; but I
can see you are an exception. I will try not to be jealous of you, if
you will promise not to flirt with Ralph Merrilies. I'm especially
interested in him; so play fair, won't you? You may have all the
others."
"How wholesale of you! Are you sure you mean it? From what I have
seen, I should imagine you would hardly be satisfied with one."
In dealing with such a very outspoken young lady, it seemed best to
reply in the same strain, but Hope marvelled inwardly at the
eccentricities of human nature. Imagine--just imagine--being
"interested" in somebody, and confiding the fact to a stranger the very
first time one spoke to her! It would be difficult enough to speak of
it even to Theo, her lifelong friend and companion; but to a stranger--
it was incredible! She studied the girl's dark face with curious eyes
as they walked downstairs, while the men gathered round the fireplace
below, watched them as they approached, and admired the pretty picture.
They made a charming contrast--the sparkling brunette in her amber
draperies, and the tall figure in the black dress, with the sweet
pink-and-white face.
Directly after dinner Mrs Loftus sent Hope to the piano, and the girl
sat down unaffectedly, and played several pieces in succession, to the
complete satisfaction of the company, who apparently found it much more
agreeable to discourse to music than without it. Mr Merrilies, indeed,
did stroll across the room, to stand by her side and say "Thank you" at
the conclusion, as if he meant what he said; but from a general point of
view the performance was a failure, and Mrs Loftus felt disappointed.
Hope had been invited with the especial intent of providing amusement
for her guests, and if she failed to do so there was really no reason
for her presence.
"Sing something to us, Hope," said Mrs Loftus imperiously. "Sing some
of your own songs.--Miss Charrington has composed some charming little
things," she explained to the company at large, who murmured politely in
response.
"Compose? How wonderful of you! How do you manage to do it?" queried
Truda eagerly, while the fair youth pulled his moustache and looked at
Hope as if she were a wild animal escaped from the Zoo, and Uncle Loftus
began humming what he fondly supposed to be the air of "The Song of
Sleep" to his companion on the sofa.
Plainly, the best thing to do was to begin at once before the situation
grew more embarrassing, so Hope broke into the accompaniment of song
number one, a simple but taking little production which had been
published two years before. It was greeted with applause, so
spontaneous and genuine that it could not fail to be inspiriting. Hope
forgot to be nervous, and sang "Pack Clouds Away" in her best style,
sweetly, smoothly, and with that distinctness of enunciation which is so
rare a charm. More applause followed, more exclamations of
appreciation, more queries as to how she did it, and then Uncle Loftus
must needs begin humming again, and put in a request for "The sleepy
one, you know--the one you wrote to order. That is the gem of the
collection, in my opinion. We should like to hear the sleepy one, my
dear."
Now, as it happened, Hope was by no means anxious to grant this request,
for the idea which Miss Caldecott had so slightly suggested had appealed
very strongly to her sensitive nature, and she had put into it her best
work, with the hope that when listening to it its hearers might feel
something of the same thrill, the same earnestness, which she had
experienced in its composition. She had never been able to go through
it unmoved, and it seemed almost sacrilege to sing it in this room full
of noisy strangers, who would miss its point, and at best pronounce it
"sweetly pretty." She tried to protest, to declare that she had already
monopolised the piano too long, but it was of no avail. The more she
hung back, the more eager became her audience. "The sooner begun, the
sooner it's done," she said to herself, with a sigh of resignation, and
began to sing forthwith.
Theo had clothed the idea in simple and touching words, and Hope had
seconded her with something akin to inspiration; the last few lines,
with their subtle change of key, containing an effect at once charming
and pathetic. "So to us all comes the end of the day," Bang Hope
softly--so softly that the crackle of the firewood sounded loudly in the
ears of the listeners:
"So to us all comes the end of the day.
When our playmates are lost, and our toys cast away;
Tired children of earth, when the shadows fall deep,
The Father in Heaven will grant to us--sleep!"
The pause before the last word gave to it an added emphasis, and Hope
let her hands fall on her lap with a sigh of pent-up emotion. Her eyes
were bright with unshed tears; but there were no signs of emotion in the
audience.
"How sweetly pretty!" cried Truda in the very accents which the singer
had heard in imagination.
"I say! Quite touching, isn't it?" said the youth with the fair
moustache.
There was a babel of "Thanks--thanks awfully!" and Aunt Loftus said
graciously, "You must be tired, my dear. Come and sit down. We must
really give you a rest."
For five minutes afterwards Hope was the centre of an admiring throng,
and tasted the bitter-sweet of an applause which failed to appreciate
the true merit of her work. It was pleasant enough, so far as it went,
but it left a disappointed ache behind, and she was not sorry when Truda
asserted her rights, and by means of a trick with a lead pencil, a piece
of paper, and a hand-glass succeeded once more in gathering the company
round herself.
Hope remained on the outside of the circle, a little tired after her
exertions, and thankful for a moment's breathing-space. As she stood
she became conscious of a steady gaze levelled upon her from the other
end of the room. Mr Merrilies had not taken up a position with the
other men, but was leaning against the mantelpiece, studying her face
with a grave, intent questioning. For a moment each looked deep into
the other's eyes; the rest of the figures in the room seemed to fade
away, and these two saw each other as they really were, shorn of all the
pretence and artificiality of society.
"It is true," he said to himself: "her mind is as lovely as her face.
She could not have composed that song--she could not have sung it as she
did--if she were not everything that is sweet and good. _Hope_! I
wonder--I wonder if--at last--"
He raised his arm from the mantelpiece and walked forward to join the
group by the table, while Hope shrank still farther into the shadow.
Her cheeks flushed, her heart beat with an unaccustomed quickening. "I
believe," she said to herself--"I believe he understood!"