ISABEL'S QUESTIONING
"DOLLY, you have not practised once for a whole week."
"O, no more I have!"
"And there are four pairs of your stockings that want darning."
"Now, Issy,—you dear creature—"
"Yes, you can always coax when you want something done. But mother
particularly wishes you to get into the way of mending your own
clothes."
"I don't mind patches. It's that horrible darning that I hate."
"Only, if mother wishes—"
"Yes, of course—" rather fretfully. "But I've got such a lot to do this
week. Won't you, won't you,—just for once, Issy?"
Isabel stood looking down with puzzled eyes on the small "kitten-like"
creature, lounging in the bow-window. As Mervyn had told Dorothea
Tracy, Dolly Erskine was "sure to be admired." She was so slight, and
her skin was so fair, her big eyes were so blue and her little hands
were so graceful, while the masses of golden hair which fell down
her back and over her shoulders were so abundant, that despite the
possession of a "real undeniable snub nose," Dolly could not but be
counted "pretty." At this moment, however, the fair brow was puckered,
and the rosy lips had a distinct pout.
"So much to do! Dolly!"
"Well, I have. Tennis every single afternoon this week; and—"
"But tennis is only an amusement."
"It takes a lot of time. Dear me, I can't live by rote and rule, Issy.
I can't do it. I'm not you or Emmeline,—don't want to be either," Dolly
added voicelessly. "And we're almost in October now, and this is our
very last spell of anything like summer weather. Most likely I shan't
get any tennis after this week."
"Where do you play to-day? I forget."
"At the Park." A quick blush dyed Dolly's cheek, and she turned her
head away, playing with the window-curtain. "I've promised to be there
at half-past three, and it's past two now."
"Time enough for a little darning first. You are not going to waste a
whole hour in doing nothing?"
"Reading isn't doing nothing. Not that I was reading really," added
Dolly, who was truthful, at all events. "Issy, how you do plague!" Then
she jumped up, and flung her arms round the elder sister. "Dear good
Issy, do be kind this once. I can't darn just now,—I really really
can't. I'm too excited. Please do be kind."
"What are you so excited about?" asked Isabel, smoothing down a stray
wisp of the fair hair.
"O,—why,—going to the Park—" And again there was a tell-tale blush.
"I didn't know you were so devoted to Emmeline."
"Dear old Em! Of course I like her—immensely. She's a personification
of all the virtues."
"And Mervyn and Edred are both there to-day, are they not? That makes
it more exciting."
"Of course it does!" Dolly gave her head a little toss. "Tennis always
wants a man or two, and we don't abound in men down here."
"But Edred doesn't play tennis."
"O yes, he does,—when he's out on a holiday. He never has time in
London, so of course it's awfully bad play. Mervyn's is first-rate."
"But you don't care for Mervyn more than Edred?" said Isabel, deluding
herself with the belief that she was putting these questions to "the
child" in so careless a manner as to make no impression.
"Care for Mervyn more than Edred!" repeated "the child," with wide-open
blue eyes. "Why, of course I like them both,—immensely. They are
Emmeline's brothers."
"And you only like them—just for her sake?" inquired innocent Isabel.
Dolly shook her head. "Well, no,—I like Mervyn for the way he serves
at tennis. It is so deliciously baffling. But the best fun of all is
to see Edred's face when he misses a ball,—and he always does miss,
nine times in ten. He can't laugh, you know, and he always takes
everything solemnly. You'd think from the corners of his mouth that the
Westminster Tower had tumbled down."
"Ah, it is all right," thought Isabel. "She could not laugh at them if
she really cared for either. That is a relief, for certainly they mean
nothing." Dolly's blue eyes, watching, read Isabel's conclusion, at
least in part; and the rosy lips twitched mischievously.
"Well, just to-day,—just this once," Isabel said aloud, "I'll see to
your mending. But not next week."
"No, not next week. Thank you awfully, you dear old thing!"
"It is no kindness to spoil you, Dolly."
"O no,—but I don't mean to be spoilt. Isn't Margot going out to-day?"
"I don't think she can. Her back is bad. That is why I don't like to go
with you to the Park."
"There's no need. I don't want any chaperon there, happily."
Dolly danced away, and Isabel went slowly to the breakfast-room, where
Margot was lying on the couch.
"I have just been having a little talk with Dolly," she said.
"Yes?" Margot's peculiar whiteness of complexion and hands gave her a
very delicate look; but the features were small and regular, and the
expression was so sweet, that many counted her beautiful.
"She was in such a state of excitement about going to the Park. Of
course,—Mervyn and Edred being there—"
"Yes?"
"I am always so afraid of any one-sided attachment. Poor little Dolly,
it would be dreadfully sad. I am afraid she is susceptible. But I had
an opportunity to put a question or two—quite simply—and I assure you,
she declared she did not know which she liked best."
"Ah!" Margot said.
"Indeed, she laughed at them both in the most amusing way. On the
whole, she seemed to think she preferred Mervyn, because of his good
playing. But that means nothing."
"No,—of course. Issy, I would not ask Dolly any more questions."
"I don't think I need. My mind is at rest now."
"Anyhow, it will be wiser not. You see, you might make a slip, and
suggest to Dolly just what you don't want her to think about."
"Yes; but I have not done so this time. I was most careful. It all came
most naturally and easily," said Isabel, her narrow forehead puckering
a little. "I assure you it is all right."
"Only as you have found out what you wanted, I would let things alone
now."
"Yes,—to be sure. There is no need to say any more. Are you quite
comfortable, Margot? I ought to go to mother."
"And you don't mean to be at the Park?"
"I don't care to go, and really I am too busy. As Dolly says, she needs
no chaperon there."
"Not generally, of course. I should have thought—just to-day—"
But Isabel was gone. Margot lay considering the matter, and the result
of her cogitations was, that she presently rose, and went upstairs.
Soon after three o'clock, a little white figure, with golden hair and
bright cheeks, came into the breakfast-room, to find Margot no longer
on the sofa, but dressed in pale grey silk, with hat to match.
"Margot!—you don't mean to say you are going too! Margot, you do look
lovely! But I thought—your back—"
"Yes, it is aching rather; still, I think I can manage this. Don't
protest before mother. The pony-carriage will take us there, and if I
like to leave before you, I can. I don't want you to go alone."
The tone was not particularly expressive, but Dolly's cheeks made a
quick response.
"It's much nicer having you too," the younger girl said demurely.
"Yes,—I thought silver-grey would be suitable for your chaperon."
"Chaperon! Nonsense! A girl of twenty-seven!"
"Ten years out,—and you barely 'out' yet. I'm very nearly on the shelf,
Dolly."
"Nonsense!" cried Dolly. "There isn't a girl for twenty miles round
half as pretty as you."
"Of course you expect me to return the compliment," laughed Margot.
"Now, Margot!"
"But it wouldn't be good for you, even if I could. People's heads are
easily turned at your age. Isn't that the chaise?"
"Well I shan't look to you for compliments," retorted Dolly, "or to
Mrs. Claughton. She is perfectly sure to give me another lecture on
having my hair put up. I hope I shall not be cross. It isn't really her
business. My father likes this way best,—and—" after a pause, "other
people too."
"What other people?" Margot asked the question involuntarily.
"Mervyn and Edred." Dolly's colour went up, and her lips parted into a
smile. "Good old Issy has just been trying to find out which of them I
like best."
"Yes?" Margot said calmly.
"As if one couldn't like them both in different ways! Come along,
Margot."
[Illustration]