chattering to her, flattering her adroitly, altogether treating her as
if she were quite grown up, instead of not yet sixteen.
She was much easier to get on with than Meg, although she was a little
shy. They found out from her, by dint of much questioning, that the
young man with earnest eyes was Dr. Alan Courtney, and that--"yes, he
was engaged to Meg." They learnt that Pip was in his second year, and
went out a great deal; also that he played tennis splendidly, and had
won the singles tournament at the University, but that he liked football
much better. That the thin boy with brown, rough hair was John, and the
little bright-faced girl who wore big hats and always sat next to him
was Winifred. How Poppet would have smiled to hear her baptismal name!
That Pete--Rupert and Essie were the "second family," and that the tall,
beautiful girl they at first had thought was the eldest Miss Woolcot was
the step-mother. Meg intimated to Nellie it was glove-putting-on time,
and tried to draw her away, but Mrs. Courtney came up at the moment and
engaged her attention.
"I _wish_ you could have come to tennis," the eldest Miss Browne said,
"or to our evenings; we have such awfully jolly ones."
Nellie admitted, half hesitatingly, that she should like to "very much
indeed."
"It's a shame for a pretty girl like you to stay at home," Miss Isabel
said. "It isn't fair to the poor men, my dear."
Nellie blushed exquisitely, and both the Misses Browne thought she was
the sweetest-looking girl they had ever seen.
"I'm not out yet, of course," she said shyly. "I suppose I shall go to
places when I'm as old as Meg."
But they seemed to think that was a very old-fashioned notion. When
they were fifteen, and even younger, they said, _they_ had gone to
parties and no end of things.
"I don't suppose you could just run up to us one day next week by
yourself, and have a game with us?" insinuated Miss Browne, who would
fain show the glories of Trafalgar House to this young girl, who was
trying, unsuccessfully, to hide her well-worn gloves from their gaze.
Nellie was "afraid not," but the "not" was very dubious; she was
wondering if she could not manage it in some way, and when Meg, released
from Mrs. Courtney, came down the church for her, the first seeds of the
intimacy had been sown.
*CHAPTER XV.*
*THE GOVERNMENT OF MEG.*
"Alas! how easily things go wrong."
A week later, cards, very thick, gilt-edged, and perfumed, arrived at
Misrule, requesting the pleasure of the company of Mr. Philip and the
Misses Woolcot's company at an "At Home" at Trafalgar House.
Pip said it was "fair cheek." Meg raised her eyebrows, but Nellie
longed ardently to accept, and almost wept when a formal answer pleading
regret and a prior engagement was sent in return.
A fortnight passed, and more cards arrived.
MR. AND MRS. FITZROY-BROWNE.
_The Misses Woolcot,_
FRIDAY EVENING.
_Dancing. R.S.V.P._
Meg left out the "prior engagement" this time in her reply, and merely
"regretted the Misses Woolcot could not have the pleasure, etc."
But the girls gushed over Nellie just as much whenever they met her.
She used to go occasionally to the Parsonage to play mild tennis with
Mr. Macintosh's delicate son, who had been ordered the exercise. The
Misses Browne also went there at times; they considered that to visit
there on equal terms was a hall mark of gentility, and persevered
therefore, even though they yawned afterwards all through the drive
home.
They always drove wherever they were going, they seemed to think foot
exercise below them. It was even said that when they went to return a
call of the Macarthys who lived two doors off, they went in their great
open carriage, with high-stepping horses, coachman, and footman
complete. So, also, whenever they went to the little homely Parsonage
on the hill top, the imposing equipage took them there, the footman
stood in petrified state while they alighted, and afterwards handed the
two racquets out with as much ceremony as if he was assisting in some
public function.
Innate good taste sometimes whispered to Nellie that these things ought
not to be so, but she generally chose to be conveniently blind.
How could she find fault with them when they petted her and flattered
her till her silly little head was swimming? when they pressed gifts
upon her,--a gold bangle that one of them wore and she had admired, a
brooch with a tiny chrysophrase heart, even a parasol composed of
billowy chiffon. She had the good sense certainly to refuse the
presents, though she looked at them with longing eyes, but none the less
she admired and envied girls who had it in their power to make the
offers.
"Your people seem determined not to come to our house," Miss Isabel said
one day on the Parsonage tennis ground.
"They--they have so many engagements," said Nellie, with hesitating
mendacity and a blush of distress. What would they say if they knew the
contempt the cards met with at Misrule?
Miss Browne spoke of the great ballroom at Trafalgar House, of
illuminated grounds, of the throngs of guests; to Nellie, who had not
yet been allowed more harmful dissipation than tea-parties, picnics, and
children's romps, it sounded entrancing. "Yes, I should love to come,"
she said wistfully, as they once again regretted she should not give the
world an opportunity to see her beauty.
The child naturally was flattered that two grown-up young ladies should
take so much notice of her, and tell her so frequently of her good
looks; it seemed strange, even to her, that with all their money and
friends they should trouble to make much of a girl of her age who never
wore anything more expensive than muslin, crepon or serge, and always
trimmed her own hats.
The reason was that the Misses Browne, though they had really taken a
genuine liking to the shy, beautiful-faced child, had a great respect
for the name of Woolcot, the high esteem in which the family was held,
peccadilloes notwithstanding, and envied greatly their unquestioned
entry into the society that, strive as they would, opened not its doors
for them. And they thought, if they could once get on to a friendly
footing at Misrule, other people in the neighbourhood who had looked
coldly on them hitherto would immediately hold out hands of friendship,
and come to their doors with the magic bits of pasteboard they so
desired.
The best means to this end they considered would be to dazzle the eyes
of the family with the luxury and unstinted wealth at Trafalgar House.
But Nellie was the only one they could get hold of, so they fed her
young vanity without stint, and tried to lure her up to the great red
mansion.
"Yes, I should love to come," she had said on this occasion. They were
standing on the Parsonage court after a sett, Nell in a pink cambric
blouse and well-worn serge skirt, the Misses Browne in elaborate
costumes of Liberty silk with crossed tennis racquets worked all round
the skirts.
"Well, _come_," they said,--"don't wait for the others; we want
_you_,--why can't you come even if they won't?"
"Oh," said Nell, who had not dreamed of independent action, "how could I
if Esther and Meg don't?"
Miss Browne gave a little laughing sneer.
"What a good little girl it is! Does it always ask permission for
everything, and do exactly as it's told? Why, when we were your age we
never dreamt even of consulting our parents where we went, and they
never dreamt of interfering. Why, it's a very old-fashioned notion to
be in bondage like that to your parents."
Nell flushed half-shamefacedly.
She began to believe that she really gave in too much to her elders,
that she ought to have more freedom, and be more independent, now she
was nearly "grown up."
"Perhaps I will come some day," she said a little uncertainly.
"Just show them a few times that you are not a child, to be dictated to
as they wish," advised Miss Isabel; "after that it will be quite easy.
Why, I'd just like to hear ma or pa say we shouldn't go here or mustn't
go there, shouldn't you, Beatrice?"
Beatrice's laugh of utter scorn was sufficient answer. "Why, it's just
the other way," she said: "we tell ma what to do."
"Some day" Nellie had said, but had not imagined how soon the day would
be offered to her.
General Blaxland, the head of the forces in New South Wales, had decided
to send a certain Lieutenant Holloway and Captain Birsted to India, with
a view to gaining information from the forces there about several
reforms he wished to introduce into the colony.
Just at the last Lieutenant Holloway fell ill, and the General had asked
our Captain whether he could manage to tear himself away from the bosom
of his family for the time required, or whether they must send one of
the younger lieutenants. The Captain had asked for a day to think it
over, hastened home to Misrule, and told Esther if she would go with him
he would accept, for it would be a delightful holiday for both.
Esther was charmed with the idea. India had always seemed a kind of
beautiful enchanted country to her, where Arabian Night kind of
entertainments went on from morning to night. She begged for small
Essie's company, but the Captain would not hear of such a tie. So as
they would only be away four months Esther at length consented, and
delivered her baby into Meg's care with numberless injunctions.
There was one week of wild confusion at Misrule. The children had
holidays from lessons; dressmaking and millinery seemed going on all
over the house; trunks, cabin boxes, and portmanteaux stood gaping open
in Esther's room, and the Captain had a fit of intense irritability all
the time.
Monday, the day the _Orotava_ started, came at last, and Meg awoke from
the confused dream she had been in all the week to find herself on the
Quay waving a wet handkerchief to a boat almost out of sight, and only
refraining from more tears by a hastily got up argument between Peter
and Essie.
"Ze tissed me last," said Essie, trying to derive tearful superiority
from the fact.
"The waved to me latht, tho there!" Peter said.
"Ze never!" said Essie.
"The did!" cried Peter.
Meg thought it time to put away her handkerchief and interpose herself
between the two "grass orphans," or the quarrel would end in Essie
slapping Peter, and Peter growing red and pushing her down on the
ground.
Every one was looking a little grave and upset. It is impossible to see
a great ship bearing our dear ones move slowly away toward the wide,
terrible ocean without quickened heart-beatings, and serious if not
misty eyes, even if they are only going for a very little time, and
accidents are unheard-of things with such splendid ships.
Meg proposed an adjournment.
"Let's go and have tea and cakes or ice-creams at Quong Tart's" she
said.
"Who'll pay?" asked Bunty the practical.
Meg waited a moment; she half hoped Pip would come with them, his own
merry self again, and offer to "go halves," but he made no movement.
"I might take it out of the housekeeping money just this once," she
said. "Seven of us,--that would be three-and-six; only, Peter, you
mustn't ask for ice-cream too if you have a custard roll or anything;
every one can only have one thing, or it makes it too expensive."
Pip moved away.
"Won't you come, Pip?" she said half beseechingly, and catching his coat
sleeve.
But he gave her a cold look.
"No, thanks," he said, and walked off.
So only six of them went to drown their grief in tea and ice-cream.
There had been talk of asking Mrs. Hassal to come down and look after
Misrule and its inmates for the four months; but then, what would have
become of Yarrahappini?
Meg begged her father to have no one. Surely, she said, for that short
time she was capable of being head of the house. The cook was a married
woman, and would give an air of steadiness to the place; Martha was
thoroughly reliable; and Pat had the virtue of doing as he was told.
There would be herself and Pip in authority, with Nellie as
aide-de-camp; Bunty was a changed character; and as to Poppet, Peter,
and Essie, any one with a little tact could manage them.
So it was decided at last, and Meg picked up the reins of government
with a pleasurable feeling of responsibility and no misgivings whatever.
Pip felt he had done his duty for the time when he spoke a word in
season to Peter and threatened "hidings" innumerable if he waxed
obstreperous.
But the aide-de-camp was tried and proved wanting,--all the trouble that
followed came through her.
Meg, who desired everything to go on smoothly and pleasantly, made a
point of consulting Nellie in many things, and treating her as an equal
in age. As it happened, it was the worst policy she could adopt just
then, for it strengthened the younger girl's growing ideas of
independence.
A little firmness--a mother's firmness--and the enforcement of
unquestioned authority at this juncture would have saved her from many a
subsequent heartache. But alas! there was no mother, and Meg's rule was
certainly not despotic, though it was firm in its way, and answered
excellently with the young ones.
"Where are you going, Nell?" she said one afternoon, going up into the
bedroom, and finding her young sister in the midst of as elaborate a
toilet as her simple clothes would allow.
"Up to Trafalgar House for tennis, that's all!" Nell replied, in a tone
whose studied nonchalance was somewhat overdone.
Meg fairly gasped. Was she going to have open rebellion among her
subjects as soon as this?
"You are going to do nothing of the kind, I hope," she said, with
considerable warmth in her tone. "What are you thinking of? Of course
you can't accept hospitality from people we refuse to visit!"
"Oh, that's all nonsense!" Nellie replied, fluffing a strand of hair
backward with the comb and pinning it up into a roll. "I consider
Esther and you were very rude and unneighbourly not to call on them, and
it's no reason I should be impolite as well!"
"But you can't do such an impossible thing!" Meg cried. "Don't be such
a child, Nellie. Go to the Parsonage, or the Courtneys, or anywhere if
you want a game; but, for goodness' sake, keep away from that horrid
place!"
[Illustration: "'NELLIE, I FORBID YOU TO GO!' MEG CRIED."]
Nellie proceeded quietly with her dressing, the resolute light in her
eyes not a whit diminished. She buttoned her blue tennis blouse, brushed
some specks of dust off her skirt, and put a piece of clean belting in
her silver waist-clasp.
"I can't believe you're in earnest," Meg began again; "why, you _must_
remember father expressly said we were not to go!"
"He did not tell me; he only said Esther needn't call,--that's not
forbidding _me_!" Nell said calmly.
She put on her sailor hat, stuck the pins through with great care, and
made a few little deft dabs at her fluffy side hair. Then she put on
her very best gloves and picked up her racquet.
"Nellie, I _forbid_ you to go!" Meg cried, finding neither reasoning nor
asking would answer. "Remember, I have been left here in charge of you
all, and I absolutely _forbid_ you to go near those Brownes!"
"Pooh!" said Nellie, "I'm nearly as old as you--I'm too big to be
forbidden. Give your orders to Peter and Poppet--I'm _going_!"
And she went.
*CHAPTER XVI.*
*MORE MUTINY.*
"Gently scan your brother man.
Still gentlier sister woman,
An' if they gang a trifle wrang
To step aside is human."
That was the first battle; another followed quickly on its heels; and
then there came a long and sorrowful peace.
Meg had been exceedingly angry about it--and with justice. She
marvelled, not only at Nellie's rebellion, but that she should care to
mix with such "impossible" people, as she called them.
"It isn't as if they were merely homely and uneducated," she said; "but
their vulgarity and pretentiousness are enough to make any one sick!"
However, as Nellie was very quiet--docile even--after the one outbreak,
and as it was not possible to keep up an unfriendly spirit for ever, she
thought she had better overlook it as a first and last offence; more
especially as she remembered her own mad infatuation for Aldith
MacCarthy, when she had been even older than Nell was now.
But she warned her with much resolution in her tone.
"You only leave me one course, Nellie," she said. "I have been left in
charge, and if you won't obey orders--I'm sure I try to give as few as
possible--I shall be compelled to write to Mr. Hassal and ask him either
to send you to school till father comes back or else to let some one
come here whose authority you will respect."
Then she softened, and put her arms round her sister.
"Don't make it so hard for me, Nell," she said, almost with tears in her
eyes; "there's nothing in moderation I'd try to stop you, but you really
must see I can't let you grow intimate with these people."
But Nellie had not responded with her usual sisterly hug and kiss. She
wriggled away from the encircling arms and gave a little impatient toss
of her head.
"What a fuss you make about things, Meg!" she said pettishly. "I do
wish you'd leave me alone! I'm not a child, and I'm not going to be
ordered about like one."
Then came the next war.
Cards for a dinner-party arrived from the "unsnubbable" Brownes--Bunty's
adjective.
"Put them in the fire," Pip said. "No answer is the best for such
people."
If there had been some pretty faces among the feminine portion of the
Browne household Pip would not have been so scornful of the overtures,
but the girls were each and all undeniably plain. For the days that
intervened between the arrival of the cards and the date of the
dinner-party Meg was exceedingly busy.
She had a dressmaker in the house making winter frocks for Poppet and
Essie; that took up much of her time. Besides this, two great cases of
quinces and apples had been sent to them from Yarrahappini, and, with
Martha's help, she was converting them into jam and jelly.
Bunty also had been unwell, and from school a day or two, and Peter had
one of his perverse fits upon him. She had not had time to give the
Fitzroy-Brownes as much as a passing thought; and as the new daily
governess made no complaint about Nellie's morning studies she concluded
all was going on well.
Judge therefore her immeasurable amaze when, going up to the bedroom on
the date of the dinner-party, and just after nursery tea was over, she
discovered Nellie again in the act of making a "toilette." She had the
white crepon dress on; it nearly touched the ground in front, and
trailed a little behind. There was soft lace in the neck and sleeves of
it, and on her bosom a cluster of the exquisite pink roses that climbed
all over the tool-shed. She had white suede gloves and black pretty
shoes, both new, as the gap in her small allowance testified.
Excitement had lent a brilliant colour to her cheeks; her eyes, with
their thick, curled lashes, were like stars. For one second Meg paused,
struck with the wondrous, exceeding beauty of her young sister; the next
she realised what she was dressed for.
"Where are you going?" she said, merely as a matter of form--of course
she knew.
"I'm going to the Fitzroy-Brownes at Trafalgar House for a small
dinner-party,--seven to ten, carriages at half-past," Nellie said, with
elaborate attention to detail. "Is there anything else you would like
to know?"
Meg went a little white.
"You don't move from this house, Nellie!" she said, and her lips set
themselves firmly. "You can take off that dress as soon as you like!"
Nellie twisted a long lace scarf round her beautiful shining head.
"It's no use making a bother," she said; "I've made up my mind to go,
and I'm going!"
"I refused the invitation," Meg said, catching at a straw.
"But I accepted," was Nellie's answer. "I met Isabel yesterday and
promised."
For ten long minutes did Meg argue, reason, coax, and appeal to Nellie's
better judgment: the fear of Isabel's sneers, together with the thought
of the cost of her shoes and gloves, were of more avail. The girl was
quietly obdurate; Meg found she was not even listening to her.
"They are sending a brougham down to pick me up at the Bentleys," she
said, when Meg was almost exhausted; "I shall miss them if I wait any
longer." She moved to the door.
But a flame of righteous anger sprang up in Meg's eyes. She hastened
down the corridor to Pip's room, and laid the case in a few words before
him.
Offended as he was with his sister, he could not refuse to uphold her in
a matter like this--especially as he had such a vast contempt for the
"mushrooms."
He caught Nellie on the staircase.
"Don't be such a little idiot!" he said. "Go and take that frippery off
at once!"
"Go and mind your own business, Philip Woolcot!" retorted Nellie.
"Well, of all little donkeys!" he said. "Do you actually mean to say,
Meg, she was going off on her own hook, without you or me or any one?"
"I certainly do think she's losing her senses!" Meg said in
exasperation.
Philip surveyed her in silence for a minute--her exquisite, childish,
unformed beauty even appealed to his coldly fraternal eyes. He smiled
almost benignly.
"Be a good little chicken," he said; "wait three or four years, and you
shall revel in this sort of thing till you find it's all vanity."
Three or four years! Nellie's eyes flashed defiance at them both.
"I'm _going_," she said, in a low, very determined voice. She brushed
past Meg and went down five stairs.
But "Are you, my lady?" quoth Pip. He jumped the steps, caught her, and
held her fast.
She struggled violently--anger and excitement lent her unnatural
strength--and she freed herself at length, and fled in wild, mad haste
down the stairs and to the front door. Once in the brougham, which was
only a little way off, and she knew she could bid defiance to all the
Megs and Pips in the world!
But Pip's blood was up. He had no intention of letting a little chit
like Nellie get the upper hand of him, even if there were no real object
at stake. As it was, the thought of his pretty, innocent little sister
in the company of the "off crowd" of men he had seen young
Fitzroy-Browne take home, and the loud women with whom he felt
instinctively the girls consorted, made him shudder.
"Are you going to stay at home quietly?" he said, fire in his dark eyes
as he caught her by the arms just as she was pulling the door handle
back.
"No, I'm not!" she said stormily.
For answer he picked her right up in his arms as if she had been Poppet.
"Where shall I put her, Meg? I'm going to lock her up," he called
breathlessly; she was not fragilely light.
Meg was a little startled at such a summary proceeding; then she decided
rapidly it was the only thing to be done at the juncture.
"Here!" she cried, "in her own bedroom." She flung open the door, and
he strode down the passage with his struggling burden in its dainty
dress and sweet, crushed roses.
They left her the light. There was a shelf of books to occupy her if so
she liked, also her work-basket, with a fleecy cloud she was crocheting;
she would be able to fill the time. But they locked the door very
carefully, and took the key downstairs with them.
"You must have been exceedingly careless, Meg, to let her get to know
them," Pip said, with masculine inclination to locate blame.
Meg told of the introduction and subsequent meetings--how it seemed
impossible to get the people to accept the frequent if
delicately-conveyed hints that their acquaintance was not desired. She
kept the tennis episode to herself, for she feared it would only make
him more harsh and overbearing to Nellie, and do no good.
When they were separating some time later she looked wistfully up at
him.
"Dear Pip, aren't you ever going to forgive me?" she said; "can't you
see I only did it for your good? Do let us kiss and be friends again."
He looked at her very coldly and sternly; the old bitter curve showed at
his mouth.
"No," he said, "I shall never forgive you while I live, Meg." Then he
turned and went out of the room.
Meg went upstairs, tired, dispirited. Tears smarted in her eyes from
her rebuff. Nellie, she knew, was thinking hard thoughts of her; Alan
had not written to-day, for some reason or other; and all the world
seemed wrong. She went into her room and sat down, with a sob and some
splashing tears, in the dark by the window.
[Illustration: "HER DESCENT FROM HER OWN BEDROOM WAS ALMOST EASY."]
Such a great calm sky of pale, sweet stars; such a hushed, faint breath
in the tall gum trees; such a low, soothing lapping of little river
waves!