The little flat looked bright and cheery when the traveller reached
home. A new lampshade had replaced the one which Mary had burned,
sixpence-worth of flowers were displayed to the utmost advantage against
a background of dried fern, and the three sisters were beaming with joy
at the return of their peacemaker. They asked questions steadily for an
hour on end, and even then were far from being satisfied; for, though
Hope smiled and declared that she had had "a lovely time," they were
vaguely conscious of the difference which she herself felt only too
surely. Hitherto home had meant the centre of interest, and its walls
had practically bounded the world; now her heart was a wanderer, and at
every pause in the conversation roved away to that distant spot where it
had found fresh anchorage. Fortunately for the keeping of her secret,
the girls were enthusiastic on the subject of the children's
entertainment, and encouragingly sanguine of success. Theo had finished
writing the story, and read it aloud after dinner to an appreciative
audience, who unanimously decided that she must give her attention to
children's stories forthwith, since nothing more poetically graceful,
and at the same time interesting and exciting, could be wished to while
away the children's hour. Hope was humming over the refrain of a
chorus, and trying to decide which of two well-known airs would be more
suitable, when Madge drew a sheet of paper from a portfolio and held it
towards her with conscious pride.
"My share in the Amalgamated Sisters' Enterprise, Limited! I never like
to be out of a good thing, so, though I was not asked, I determined to
have a finger in the pie. You will want some sort of advertisement to
take round to entertainment agencies, and to distribute among friends.
There you are!"
There Hope was indeed, for Madge was never more happy than when she
could give full play to her fancy. For years past she had amused
herself by designing artistic programmes for the small bazaars and
concerts that had taken place at her country home, so that she had
experience as well as interest to help her on this occasion. Hope grew
quite pink with pleasure and embarrassment as she looked down the sheet
and tried to realise that she herself was the performer of whom it
spoke.
"_Tell me a story_!" ran the heading, in quaint, uneven lettering; while
immediately underneath came a sketch of two children, a boy and a girl,
with hands outstretched as though they were offering the petition.
Madge had copied the figures from an old sketch, altering only the dress
to suit the occasion; and a dainty little pair they made, most eloquent
in their dumb entreaty. Beneath came more lettering, setting forth that
Miss Hope Charrington, the children's entertainer, was prepared to give
her charming recitals at Christmas parties, bazaars, or charity
gatherings for the sum of two guineas an hour. A waving, ribbon-like
border edged the sheet, held up at the corners by four characters dear
to the childish heart--the Prince, the Princess, the Fairy, and the
Giant.
"Madge, you darling! How perfectly lo-ovely!" gasped Hope, in delight.
"So clever, so dainty, so--so beautifully professional! But oh, _dare_
I? `Charming recital'! Suppose it is a terrible failure. `Children's
entertainer'! I have never entertained any one in my life. Suppose I
were to break down."
"Practice makes perfect. Of course, you will have to try your hand.
The vicar of Saint Giles's called on us yesterday, and asked if we would
help in the parish. I asked--just as a feeler--if he would like a treat
for the school children, and he snatched at the idea. You are to let
him know what you can do; and if you run the blockade of his
street-arabs you need fear no longer. _They_ won't pretend to be amused
if they are not, that is certain."
"It will be pleasant for me if they hoot in the middle! But I'll put my
feelings in my pocket and do my very best. I must do _something_ with
my life, and I am determined that nervousness sha'n't stand in my way;"
and Hope sighed once more--the short, stabbing little sigh that had come
so often since her return.
When the sisters retired to bed that evening Theo chatted pleasantly
about ordinary matters until the gas was put out; then she stretched out
an arm, and asked in a tenderer tone than was often heard from her lips:
"What is it, deary! What is the trouble? Can you tell me?"
"Oh Theo, how did you know?" cried poor Hope guiltily. "I thought I had
hidden it so well."
And then out it came--the poor little love-story, that was hardly a
love-story at all, but only a "might have been;" the happiness of those
few days, the awakening, the bitter wrench of parting. The soft voice
trembled as it came to the end of the story, and a little sob was
swallowed with the last words: "He was hurt! I could see he was hurt.
There was a sort of strained look on his face as he stood looking after
the train. Oh Theo, do you think I did right? Do you think I have made
a mistake?"
Theo's arm pressed tenderly against the heaving shoulder. "I think,"
she said quietly--"I think you did what seemed to you best at the time,
and what was very hard to do; and that, having done it, you must not
regret. When you have chosen the narrow way, dear, you must not look
back."
"No," said Hope faintly; "but still--I can't--help--regretting. It is
cowardly, Theo, but he was so--I liked him so very much. Do you think
it is all over--that I shall never see him again?"
"He can see you at his sister's next month if he wishes to. Try to put
him out of your mind until then. Work hard, and let off steam to me
when you feel particularly blue. This new plan is going to be a
success; I feel convinced of it."
Theo was too prudent to give more definite comfort, but when by herself
she laughed scornfully at the idea that a solitary refusal could
discourage a true lover. If this Mr Merrilies had been simply attracted
by a pretty face, and was likely to forget the fancy as quickly as it
was formed, why, then, the less Hope thought of him the better. But the
artless narrative had given Theo a different impression of his feelings.
Dear, modest Hope had no idea of her own winsome charm, but her sister
felt it impossible that a man of taste could live in the same house,
learn the unselfish sweetness of her disposition, share in her
light-hearted gaiety, and watch the different emotions flit over her
face as she sang, and still call his heart his own. "If he is a
thousand times all she thinks him, he is not good enough for Hope," she
told herself proudly. "But oh, what a comfort it would be if she
married happily, and had no need to fight for her bread! She is too
sensitive to bear the `heart-breaking' that is my apprenticeship."
The slow tears rose in Theo's eyes and trickled on to the pillow. The
"worrying story" had been returned for the third time. It was looking
quite dog-eared and shabby!