EDNA HAS A GRIEVANCE.
Bessie did not concern herself much about her friend's coldness. She had
tried to atone to Richard for his sister's unkindness, and she had
succeeded in giving one person pleasure.
"I dare say her conscience tells her that she has been naughty, and that
makes her cross with me," thought Bessie, who was too healthy minded to
harbor unnecessary scruples.
Hatty would have made herself wretched under the circumstances; would
have accused herself of boldness, and love of display, and a want of
consideration for Edna; for Hatty, who was a self-tormentor by nature,
could spin a whole web of worries out of a single thread; but Bessie
never troubled herself with morbid after-thoughts. "Edna will be all
right with me to-morrow," she said to herself; and she was right in her
prognostication.
Edna came downstairs the next morning radiant with good humor, and was
even civil to Richard. It was a brilliant day; her friends had all
accepted her invitation, and she was looking forward to a most enjoyable
afternoon.
It was impossible for Bessie to resist the influence of her friend's
gayety and flow of spirits. Edna's example was infectious, and Bessie
was soon laughing heartily at her nonsensical speeches. There was no
quiet for reading that morning. She had to practice tennis with Edna,
and help her arrange the flowers; and finally she was carried off to be
made smart.
"I wish you had a white dress, too," observed Edna regretfully; for in
her heart she thought Bessie's favorite gray gown very dowdy and
Quakerish. "But we must try to enliven you with a few flowers. You are
going to wear a gray hat. Wait a moment." And Edna darted out of the
room, and returned a moment afterward with a dainty cream lace fichu.
"Look, this lace is lovely! Mamma gave it to me, but I never wear it
now, and it will just suit you. Now let me fasten in a few of those
creamy roses. Well, you do look nice after all, Daisy dear."
"Yes; but not half so nice as you," replied Bessie, looking with honest
admiration at the pretty young creature. Edna's soft white dress just
suited her fair hair and delicate complexion, and she looked so slim and
graceful, as she stood before the glass fastening a rosebud at her
throat, that Bessie said, involuntarily, "How nice it must be to be so
pretty!" but there was no trace of envy in her tone.
Edna blushed a little over the compliment.
"Do I look pretty? Thank you, Bessie. Isn't it a pity Neville cannot see
me?" and she laughed mischievously over her vain speech. "Now, come
along, there's a dear, or the people will arrive before we are ready for
them. There, I declare I hear Florence's voice!" And the two girls ran
down and joined Mrs. Sefton in the drawing-room.
Well, it was a very pleasant garden party, and Bessie thoroughly enjoyed
herself, though it was the grandest affair she had ever seen--so many
people driving up in their carriages, and such smart footmen lingering
in the hall, and a bevy of officers who were quartered in the
neighborhood. But Bessie was not left out in the cold. Florence Atherton
took her under her wing, and introduced some nice people to her. She
even took part in one game when there was a vacancy, and her partner, a
young lieutenant, was very good-natured, and only laughed when she
missed the ball.
"We have won, after all, you see," he observed, when the match was over.
"Yes, thanks to you," replied Bessie honestly.
"Not at all. You played very well. Now shall we go and get an ice? I
wonder what's become of Sefton? I don't see him anywhere."
"Oh, he is playing cricket at Melton. He is captain of the village club,
I believe. I don't think he cares for tennis."
"I suppose not," was the dry rejoinder; but the young man slightly
elevated his eyebrows in a meaning manner. Bessie heard other remarks on
Richard's absence before the end of the afternoon. A young lady to whom
she had been recently introduced addressed the same question to her.
"Mr. Sefton is not putting in an appearance this afternoon, Miss
Lambert."
"No, I believe not; he is otherwise engaged."
"It is very odd," replied Miss Green significantly; "but Mr. Sefton
always is engaged when his sister gives one of her parties. I am told he
hates society, and that sort of thing. Isn't it a pity that he should be
so different from Edna? She is a darling, and so charming, but her
brother--" and here Miss Green shrugged her shoulders, and her keen
black eyes seemed to demand Bessie's opinion; but Bessie made no
rejoinder. She was not much prepossessed with Miss Green, and left her
as soon as politeness allowed her, to sit with an old lady who was very
chatty and amusing, and who called her "my dear" at every word.
It was no use trying to speak to Edna; she was always surrounded by a
group of young people. Once or twice the thought crossed Bessie's mind,
how Mr. Sinclair would like to see her laughing and talking so long
with that handsome Captain Grant. She was not exactly flirting--Bessie
would not do her that injustice--but she allowed him to pay her a great
deal of attention. It struck her that Mrs. Sefton was uneasy, for she
called her to her side once.
"My dear Miss Lambert, I cannot attract Edna's attention, and I want to
speak to her particularly; she is somewhere in the shrubberies with that
tall man with the dark mustache--Captain Grant. I spoke to her as she
passed just now, but neither of them heard me."
"Shall I go and fetch her, Mrs. Sefton?"
"I shall be very glad if you will do so, my dear." And Bessie at once
started in pursuit. She overtook them by the summer-house. Edna looked
rather bored as she received her mother's message, though she at once
obeyed it; but Captain Grant kept his place at her side.
Mrs. Sefton received him rather coldly.
"Edna," she said, addressing her daughter, "I want to speak to you about
the Mackenzie's; they are sitting quite alone, and no one is talking to
them; and that tall brother of their's has not played a single game."
"That is his own fault. I offered him Marian Atherton for a partner ages
ago, but he plays badly; as for the girls, they keep aloof from
everybody. I introduced Mr. Sayers and Major Sparkes to them, but they
have evidently frightened them away. Mamma, are we engaged for Thursday?
because Captain Grant wants us to go and see the officers play polo."
"That is the day I am going up to town, Edna."
"But you can put it off," she interposed eagerly. "It will be such fun.
Mrs. Grant is to give us tea, and it will be such a treat for Bessie."
"My mother is counting upon the pleasure of seeing you all, Mrs. Sefton.
She has been unable to call, but she is hoping to make your acquaintance
in this way."
"She is very kind, Captain Grant," returned Mrs. Sefton stiffly; "but
unfortunately, as my daughter knows, I have a very important engagement
for that day."
"I am extremely sorry to hear it; still, if the young ladies care to
drive over, my mother will chaperone them," persisted Captain Grant; "or
perhaps their brother."
"Oh, of course! I forgot Richard," exclaimed Edna, disregarding her
mother's evident objections.
Mrs. Sefton looked annoyed, but she said civilly:
"I will see what Richard thinks; but you must not take anything for
granted, Edna, until I have spoken to him."
"Oh, I will tease him into taking us," returned Edna gayly. "I do love
polo, and I am sure Bessie will be delighted. Now we must start another
game, Captain Grant." And before her mother could interpose Edna had
crossed the lawn with him.
"Shall you be very disappointed if you do not see polo, Miss Lambert?"
asked Mrs. Sefton presently.
"No, indeed. But I am afraid Edna will be; she seems to have set her
heart on going."
"Richard will not take her," returned Mrs. Sefton; "he has a strong
objection to Captain Grant; and I must own I think he is right. He is
very handsome, but he has not a straightforward look. I have no wish to
see him intimate here. He is forward and pushing, and does not take a
rebuff. But Edna does not agree with me," with a quick, impatient sigh.
Captain Grant's unfortunate invitation entirely marred the harmony of
the evening. Directly the guests had left, the family sat down to a cold
collation, instead of a regular dinner. Richard had only just come in
and taken his place, declaring that he was as hungry as a hunter, when
Edna informed him of their plans for Thursday.
"Mamma has to go up to town, so she cannot possibly go with us, and the
carriage will have to fetch her from the station, so you must drive us
over to Staplehurst in your dog-cart, Ritchie. I dare say Bessie will
think that fun."
Richard glanced uneasily at his stepmother before he answered, as
though he wished for her opinion, and she gave him a significant look.
"I am very sorry, Edna, but I am afraid it is impossible. I have to go
over to Fordham on business, and I cannot possibly be back until six."
"On some stupid farming business, I suppose," returned Edna, and it was
evident her temper could ill brook the contradiction. Her color rose,
and there was an ominous sparkle in her eye; but Richard answered
composedly:
"Yes; I have to meet Medway and Stephenson. I am sorry to disappoint you
and Miss Lambert but Thursday is never a free day with me."
"No, indeed, nor any other day of the week when I want you to do
anything," returned Edna, with rising excitement. "Now don't make any
more excuses, Richard. Do you think I am a child to believe in your
Medways and Stephensons? I saw you look at mamma before you answered,
and you think she does not wish me to go."
"My darling, why need you excite yourself so?" exclaimed Mrs. Sefton.
"It is you that excite me, mamma, you and Richard. You have got some
foolish notion in your heads about Captain Grant, just because the poor
man is civil to me. You treat me, both of you, as though I were a
baby--as though I could not be trusted to take care of myself. It is
very unjust," continued Edna, "and I will not bear it from Richard."
"I confess I don't see the gist of your remarks," returned her brother,
who was now growing angry in his turn; "and I don't think all this can
be very amusing to Miss Lambert. If my mother has an objection to your
keeping up an acquaintance with Captain Grant, it is your duty to give
the thing up. In my opinion she is right; he is not the sort of friend
for you, Edna, and his mother is disliked by all the officers' wives. I
should think Sinclair would have a right to object to your frequent
visits to Staplehurst."
But Edna was in no mood to listen to reason.
"Neville knows better than to state his objections to me," she returned
haughtily; "and it is quite unnecessary to drag his name into the
present conversation. I will only trouble you to answer me one question:
Do you absolutely refuse to do me this favor, to drive Miss Lambert and
me over to Staplehurst on Thursday?"
"I must refuse," returned Richard firmly. "It is quite true that my
engagement can be put off, but it is so evident that my mother objects
to the whole thing, that I will not be a party to your disobeying her
wishes."
Edna rose from the table and made him a profound courtesy. "Thank you
for your moral lecture, Richard; but it is quite thrown away. I am not
going to be controlled like a child. If you will not take us, Bessie and
I will go alone. I quite mean it, mamma." And Edna marched angrily out
of the room.
"Oh, dear," observed Mrs. Sefton fretfully; "I have not seen her so put
out for months; it must have been your manner, Richard. You were so hard
on the poor child. Now she will go and make herself ill with crying."
"Did I misunderstand you?" asked Richard, astonished at this. "Did you
wish me to take them, after all?"
"Of course not; what an absurd question! I would not have Edna go for
worlds. Neville only said the other day how much he disliked the Grants,
and how he hoped Edna kept them at a distance. I think he has heard
something to Captain Grant's disadvantage; but you know how wilful she
is; you might have carried your point with a little tact and _finesse_,
but you are always so clumsy with Edna."
"You did not help me much," returned Richard rather bitterly. "You left
me to bear the brunt of Edna's temper, as usual. Why did you not tell
her yourself your reasons for disliking her to go? But, no; I am to be
the scapegoat, as usual, and Edna will not speak to me for a week." And
so saying he pushed his chair away and walked to the window.
Mrs. Sefton did not answer her stepson. Most likely her conscience told
her that his reproach was a just one. She only glanced at Bessie's
grieved face and downcast eyes, and proposed to retire.
The drawing-room was empty when they entered it, and as Bessie noticed
Mrs. Sefton's wistful look round the room, she said timidly:
"May I go and talk to Edna?"
"No, my dear; far better not," was the reply. "Edna has a hot temper;
she takes after her poor father in that. We must give her time to cool.
I will go to her myself presently. She was very wrong to answer Richard
in that way, but he has so little tact."
Bessie did not trust herself to reply. She took her book to the window,
that her hostess might not find it incumbent on her to talk, and in a
short time Mrs. Sefton left the room. Richard entered it a moment later.
"Are you alone?" he asked, in some surprise. "I suppose my mother has
gone up to Edna?"
"Yes; she is uneasy about her. Shall I play to you a little, Mr. Sefton?
It is getting too dark to read." Bessie made this overture as a sort of
amends to Richard, and the friendly little act seemed to soothe him.
"You are very kind. I should like it of all things," he returned
gratefully. So Bessie sat down and played her simple tunes and sung her
little songs until the young man's perturbed spirits were calmed and
quieted by the pure tones of the girlish voice; and presently when she
paused for a minute, he said:
"It is awfully good of you to take all this trouble for me."
"Oh, no, it is not," replied Bessie, smiling. "I like singing; besides,
you are feeling dull this evening; your talk with your sister has upset
you."
"No one ever noticed before if I were dull or not," he replied, with a
sigh; "but I am afraid that sounds ungracious. I think we owe you an
apology, Miss Lambert, for airing our family disagreements in your
presence. I am more sorry than I can say that you should have been
subjected to this unpleasantness."
"Oh, never mind me," returned Bessie cheerfully. "I am only sorry for
all of you. I dare say Edna did not mean half she said; people say all
sorts of things when they are angry. I am afraid she is bitterly
disappointed. I have heard her say before how fond she is of watching
polo; but I dare say she will soon forget all about it."
"I cannot flatter myself with that belief. Edna does not so easily
forget when her whims are crossed. I dare say she will send me to
Coventry all the week; but I can't help that. Nothing would induce me to
drive her over to Staplehurst, and she will hardly carry out her threat
of going without me."
"Of course not," and Bessie fairly laughed.
"No, it was an idle threat; but all the same it is very vexatious." But
Bessie would not let him dwell on the grievance. She began telling him
about Tom, and a funny scrape he had got into last term; and this led to
a conversation about her home, and here Bessie grew eloquent; and she
was in the midst of a description of Cliffe and its environs when Mrs.
Sefton reappeared, looking fagged and weary, and informed them that Edna
had a headache and had retired to bed.