LOTTIE.
"Oh, my mother, if thou could only see me now!" was Annette's inward
ejaculation when the door closed upon her cousin; and as though this
tender reflection had opened the flood-gates of suppressed emotion, the
tears flowed rapidly, and for a little while they could not be checked.
Poor, tired Annette was struggling against a tide of conflicting
feelings; now a pang crossed her faithful heart at the thought of that
humble grave in the cemetery at Dinan, so far away, and then she chid
herself for the fancy. "It is not the grave, it is the life that we
should remember," she said to herself; "life that is forever. Who can
deprive me of those prayers that my mother prayed on her death-bed?
While memory lasts who can rob me of her example, her precepts, of
the remembrance of her gentle patience? There is no death to love.
Truly, monsieur is right--my darling mother is as near me as ever;" and
Annette dried her eyes.
After this she moved timidly about her beautiful room, looking at one
treasure after another with a sort of admiring awe and reverence.
Annette's innate sense of the beautiful had never before been
gratified. She had grown up to womanhood among the meager surroundings
of poverty; her inherited instincts and a natural love of refinement
had found no vent in that dark, unlovely house in the Rue St.
Joseph, with its dim, smoke-begrimed walls and long, narrow windows,
overshadowed by neighboring gables, when only a few sous expended on
flowers was possible to the young lace-mender, and whose chaplet of
white-roses for her mother's coffin was only procured at the expense of
a meal.
But Annette was less gratified at the thought of becoming the possessor
of all these fine things than touched at the womanly thoughtfulness
that had provided them. "What a fine heart my cousin Averil must have,"
she reflected, "to have expended her money on an unknown stranger! How
sweet to think that while I was imagining myself lonely and forsaken,
this room was being prepared for me! It is the heavenly kindness that
warms me so," she said to herself as she examined one thing after
another.
It was true; Averil had forgotten nothing; her generosity had
anticipated all her cousin's little wants. "All her life the poor child
has been poor," she thought. "I should like her to find everything
ready for use. It will be a sort of sisterly welcome. Lottie will help
me to think of things."
And so it was that silk-lined basket with its dainty work implements
had found its place, and the well-stocked paper-case. There was even a
case of brushes on the toilet-table, and a new Bible and prayer-book on
the little round table, while a few choice photographs in simple frames
adorned the walls.
Annette was so absorbed in her researches, so loath to put down one
treasure and take up another, that she hardly had time to brush her
thick hair and smooth her rumpled collar before Averil reappeared. She
looked at the closed trunk in some surprise. "You have not unpacked!
Shall I help you?" she asked, kindly. "I was afraid I had left you too
long. But perhaps you are not ready to come down?"
"Does it matter about the unpacking?" returned the girl, a little
wearily. "It is not as though I had fine gowns and laces. My one poor
dress will not hurt. Ah," looking at Averil's dress, which, in spite of
its plainness, had all sorts of pretty finishes, "I fear I shall shame
you, my cousin, with my poverty."
"Poverty never shamed any one," replied Averil, quickly. "Do not
trouble about anything to-night, Annette," looking at her a little
anxiously, as she noticed the traces of recent tears. "To-morrow you
shall tell me what you want, and we will get it together. I dare say
you will find shopping very amusing. I know Lottie loves it."
"And you, my cousin?"
"Well, perhaps I do not care for it myself, but it is all in the day's
work," replied Averil, cheerfully. "I could spend half the day in a
book-seller's, or looking over pictures and engravings, but for dresses
and fine things, they are, of course, indifferent to me, unless I buy
them for others;" and Averil shrugged her shoulders with a little
gesture of contempt.
They were passing through the hall as they spoke when a door opened
quickly, and a young lady in gray came out. She was a pretty, dark-eyed
girl. Averil at once accosted her.
"My dear Lottie, where have you been? It is nearly seven o'clock!"
"Yes, I know. Please don't keep me, Averil. Maud wants me to arrange
her flowers. I have been to Whiteley's and the Stores, but I can not
match those things that Georgina wants. It is no use her being vexed
about it, for I have done my best;" and she was hurrying away when
Averil called her back.
"But you have not spoken to my cousin, Lottie. You will surely shake
hands with her?"
Lottie extended her hand at once. "I did not mean to be rude, Averil,"
she said in a flurried, apologetic manner. "How do you do, Miss Ramsay?
I have no time to speak to you now, but when they are all gone I will
come to you;" and she nodded to Averil and ran up-stairs.
"Poor Lottie! How tired she looks! You must excuse her abruptness,
Annette. Lottie is not her own mistress. She will come down to
us by and by, when Mrs. Willmot and the girls have gone to their
dinner-party. I want you and Lottie to be good friends."
"I think she has a nice face, only she looked what you call harassed,
just as I used to feel when there was too much work to be done and
Clotilde wanted me to walk. This young lady is like myself, is she
not?--she has no parents. Oh, yes, monsieur told me something of her
history. She was a poor orphan, and her uncle adopted her, and then
he died, and his wife, who is your step-mother, my cousin, had the
magnificent generosity to keep her still."
A faint smile flitted over Averil's face, but she made no direct
response to this last clause. "Lottie was quite a little girl when Mr.
Seymour adopted her. Her parents died young. Her life has been hard,
like yours, Annette. I hope you and Lottie will take to each other.
I have a large family, and nothing pleases me more than to see the
members of my family happy together."
"But--yes--why not?" returned Annette, regarding her cousin with widely
opened eyes. "In this house that is so large there is surely room for
every one--there will be no need to quarrel."
"Oh, I was not speaking of Redfern House," replied Averil; but she
offered no further explanation. She drew Annette down on the couch
beside her and talked to her in a low voice, so that Roberts, who was
putting the finishing touches to the supper-table, could not have
overheard those quiet tones. When everything was ready Roberts quietly
withdrew, and the two girls seated themselves at the table. Annette
noticed that a place was laid for Lottie, but they were half through
their meal before she joined them. Annette, whose tongue was now
unloosed, was giving Averil a graphic description of her Dinan life
when Lottie came quickly into the room. She looked pale and worried.
"Oh, Averil, I am so sorry to be late," she said, looking half inclined
to cry; "but it was really not my fault. They have only just driven
from the door, and there were a hundred things Georgina wanted me to
do. Something had gone wrong with her dress, and of course she was very
much put out, and--"
"Never mind all that, Lottie, dear," observed Averil, in her quick,
decided way. "'Brush away the worries,' as dear father used to say.
Here is a nice cup of coffee, and I will cut you some of the breast of
that chicken. Nonsense!" as Lottie protested that her head ached, and
that she was too tired to eat: "starving never rested any one. Annette,
will you give Lottie some of that salad you praise so much and then,
while she is a good girl and eats her supper, you shall go on with your
picturesque description. Lottie, you have no idea how well Annette
talks--she makes one see things so plainly. That is what we love--a
storybook of talk, don't we, Lottchen?"
Annette was quite willing to go on talking. Averil's gentle look of
sympathy and her evident interest were sufficient inducement: it was
enough that she pleased her auditors. She even grew a little excited as
Lottie's pale listlessness faded, and the weary contraction of her brow
relaxed. She seemed roused, interested, taken out of herself.
"She has had a hard life too, Averil," Annette heard her whisper; "and
then she has not had you;" and Lottie's eyes grew soft and pathetic
over this little speech.
Roberts came to clear away and to bring the lamps, and then Averil bade
her two young companions join her at the open window. Lottie placed
herself on a stool at her feet and laid her head on Averil's lap. In
the pauses of her talk Annette could see Averil's thin light hand with
its single diamond ring flashing in the lamp-light as it smoothed
Lottie's dark hair tenderly. Presently she said in a half whisper: "Go
on, Annette; do not stop talking. Lottie has fallen asleep, and the
rest will do her good. Perhaps, after all, she will not have one of her
bad headaches."
"But why does she tire herself so much?" asked the girl, in some
surprise. "It is not good to make one's self sick with fatigue. Oh,
I know what it is when one's back aches with stooping, and the light
goes, and there is still work to be done; but to walk and not to stop
when one is tired, it is that that passes my comprehension."
"Lottie is a busy little woman in her way," replied Averil, quietly.
"She works beautifully, and her aunt and cousins give her plenty to do."
"Oh, she is not rich, and that is how she repays her aunt's kindness.
Doubtless she is very happy to do them service. My cousin, I have yet
to learn in what way I shall be able to repay your goodness. But I
shall find out some day, and answer that question for myself."
Averil was not a demonstrative little person or she could have found
a ready response to Annette's question, so touching in its graceful
naïveté: "Love me for myself," she would have answered. "Love me and
you will repay me a hundred-fold;" for hers was a nature that was
never satisfied with loving that spent itself, and yet was forever
giving--full measure, yet without hope of return. Yes, young as she was
in years, Averil had already learned the sorrowful lesson that Life
teaches to her elder scholars--that it is useless to expect too much
of human nature, and that though, thank God, love often begets love,
it is better and wiser to give it freely, as God gives His blessed
sunshine, pouring it alike on the thankful and ungrateful, for "with
what measure ye mete," said the Divine Master, "it shall be measured to
you again." Alas! how niggardly are our human measures, how carefully
we weigh out our small grains of good-will, for which we expect to be
repaid so richly!
Averil was bent on being a listener to-night. She said little; only an
intelligent question, a sympathetic monosyllable or two, drew out fresh
details.
"If I want to know Annette thoroughly," she thought, "I must let
her tell me all about herself. I think our great mistake in making
acquaintance with people is that we never put ourselves sufficiently in
the background, so we contrive to stamp a portion of our individuality
on every fresh person. Annette is very original--she is also frank and
unreserved. It is a relief for her to talk, and it is always easy for
me to listen."
It was growing quite late, when Lottie suddenly started up with a
rather guilty air.
"Have I been asleep, Miss Ramsay? How rude you must have thought me! But
when I am tired, and Averil strokes my hair, she always sends me to
sleep. Why, it is nearly ten o'clock!"--jumping up in a hurry. "Oh,
Averil, you ought to have woke me! The girls' room is in such a state,
and Georgina made me promise to put it tidy."
"Suppose I ask Unwin to do it as a favor--you are half asleep, Lottie.
She looks like a little owl, does she not, Annette?"
"Oh, no; we must not trouble Unwin. And there is aunt's room, too.
It is all my fault for going to sleep and forgetting my duties;" and
Lottie's pretty face wore its harassed look again.
"What is there to do? At least I can help you," observed Annette,
eagerly. "Is it to make things tidy? Surely that is not difficult. My
cousin, I should love to help Miss Jones, if she will have me."
"Very well; we will all go," returned Averil, gratified by Annette's
ready good-nature; and Lottie at once brightened up.
Annette looked a little astonished as they entered the large, handsome
room; the bed, chairs, even the floor, seemed strewn with a profusion
of garments, the toilet table heaped with laces, gloves, and trinkets.
"What gorgeousness! what splendor!" thought Annette; but she did not
utter her wonder aloud; she only shook out the folds of a black lace
dress that was trailing across a couple of chairs, and began folding
it with quick, deft fingers.
Averil was called away at this moment; when she returned all traces
of chaos had been removed. Annette was standing by the toilet table
rolling up some ribbons, and Lottie was locking up the trinkets in the
dressing-case.
"Oh, Averil!" she exclaimed, "Miss Ramsay has been helping me so
nicely. She has folded up all the dresses, and she does it as well
as Unwin. And now she has promised to mend that lace flounce for me
to-morrow, so I shall be able to practice before Herr Ludwig comes.
Maud was so bent on my doing it, though I told her that my piece was
not nearly perfect."
"But to me it is a trifle," replied Annette, quickly. "I can work a
new sprig where the old one has been rent. Miss Jones will not know it
has been mended at all, and to me it will be play. And now, if there
is nothing else that I can do, will you permit me to retire? for, like
Miss Jones, my eyes are heavy, and the hour is later than that to which
I have always accustomed myself."
"My dear child, how thoughtless I have been! Tired! Of course you are
tired after your journey. Lottie, I will take Annette to her room, and
then come back to you."
Averil was not long away, but Lottie had finished her task, and was
awaiting her with some impatience.
"Well, Averil?"
"Well, my dear," in rather a quizzical voice, "have you altered your
opinion at all since the morning? Are you still as sure that the
arrival of my little Frenchified cousin must spoil everything? Have you
found her quite as disagreeable as you expected?"
Lottie pouted.
"Don't be tiresome, Averil. A person must make a mistake sometimes.
Miss Ramsay is not disagreeable at all. On the contrary, I think she is
rather nice."
"Nice!" still in the same teasing voice. "I should have said my cousin
was charming."
"Oh, of course; you are never for half measures, Averil. I should not
wonder if in time you liked her far better than you do me--no, I should
not wonder at all."
Averil broke into her little silvery laugh as Lottie finished her
speech in rather an injured manner.
"Indeed, Lottie, I am not at all sure that I shall not become
excessively fond of Annette. She is amiable, and yet she has plenty of
character. And then she has such winning ways!"
"Yes; and my manners are so abrupt. You are always telling me so,
Averil."
"For your own good, dear. Why, what nonsense!" as Lottie's eyes filled
with tears. "Do you think Annette will make any difference between us?
For shame, Lottie! I can not believe for one moment that you could
seriously entertain such an unworthy thought. What! Can you who know
me so well--can you begrudge me another object of interest, another
friendly being on whom I may bestow a little affection? No; this sort
of petty jealousy does not belong to my Lottie."
"No, not really, Averil"--throwing her arms round her neck and giving
her a penitent kiss. "I am only cross because I am so tired. No one can
take my place, not even this fascinating Miss Ramsay. Do you think I
would begrudge you anything--when I want the whole world to love you as
much as I do?"
"Hush! Good-night! There, there, you foolish child!" as Lottie mutely
pleaded for another kiss, and Averil left her smiling. But the smile
faded as she entered her own room, and a look of utter weariness took
its place.
"Oh, Unwin," she said, as a gray-haired, pleasant-looking woman came
from an inner room, "I did not think it possible that one could ache
so!"
"You are just worn out, Miss Averil," returned the old servant,
tenderly. "You are none of the strongest, and you are young yet, though
folks seem to forget that, and put too much upon you. It goes to my
heart to see you so white and spent of a night, and no one to spare you
anything. You are always looking after other people, and forgetting
yourself."
"You dear old story-teller! Why, I am grumbling about my own aches and
pains at this very minute."
"Yes, my dear, and I hope you will always grumble to me, as you call
it," returned Unwin, as she gently unplaited Averil's hair and brushed
out the dark, shining masses that nearly reached to the ground. Unwin
did not leave her young mistress that night until her weary little head
was laid on her pillow, and more than once she entered the room softly,
to assure herself that Averil had fallen asleep.
"Her mind is too big for her body," she thought, as she crept away,
and nearly stumbled over the poodle. "No one knows the strain there
is on that young creature, and no one ever sees her give way but me;"
and Unwin sighed, for she had known and loved her young mistress from
childhood, and it grieved her to see her darling young lady so weary
and exhausted.