DESDICHADO
Home--that is to say, Westhaven--was in some commotion when Herbert came
back and grimly growled out his intelligence as to his own personal
affairs. Mrs. Morton had been already apprized, in one of Lord
Northmoor's well-considered letters, of his intentions of removing his
nephew to a tutor more calculated to prepare for the army, and she had
accepted this as promotion such as was his due. However, when the pride
of her heart, the tall gentlemanly son, made his appearance in a savage
mood, her feelings were all on the other side, and those of Ida
exaggerated hers.
'So I'm to go to some disgusting hole where they grind the fellows no
end,' was Herbert's account of the matter.
'But surely with your connection there's no need for grinding?' said his
mother.
Herbert laughed, 'Much you know about it! Nobody cares a rap for
connections nowadays, even if old Frank were a connection to do a man any
good.'
'But you'll not go and study hard and hurt yourself, my dear,' said his
mother, though Herbert's looks by no means suggested any such danger,
while Ida added, 'It is not as if he had nothing else to look to, you
know. He can't keep you out of the peerage.'
'Can't he then? Why, he can and will too, for thirty or forty years more
at least.'
'I thought his health was failing,' said Ida, putting into words a hope
her mother had a little too much sense of propriety to utter.
'Bosh, it's only neuralgia, just because he is such a stick he can't take
things easy, and lark about and do every one's work--he hasn't the least
notion what a gentleman ought to do.'
'It is bred in the bone,' said his mother; 'he always was a shabby poor
creature! I always said he would not know how to spend his money.'
'He is a regular screw!' responded Herbert. 'What do you think now! He
was in no end of a rage with me just because I went with some of the
other fellows to the Colbeam races; and one can't help a bet or two, you
know. So I lost twelve pound or so, and what must he do but stop it out
of my allowance two pound at a time!'
There was a regular outcry at this, and Mrs. Morton declared her poor
dear boy should not suffer, but she would make it up to him, and Herbert
added that 'it had been unlucky, half of it was that they were riled with
him, first because he had shot a ridiculous rook with white wings that my
lady made no end of a fuss about.'
'Ah, then it is her spite,' said Ida. 'She's a sly cat, with all her
meek ways.'
Herbert was not displeased with this evening's sympathy, as he lay
outspread on the sofa, with the admiring and pitying eyes of his mother
and sister upon him; but he soon began to feel--when he had had his
grumble out, and could take his swing at home--that there could be too
much of it.
It was all very well to ease his own mind by complaining, but when he
heard of Ida announcing that he had been shamefully treated, all out of
spite for killing a white rook, his sense of justice made him declare
that the notion was nothing but girl's folly, such as no person with a
grain of sense could believe.
The more his mother and her friends persisted in treating him as an
ill-used individual, the victim of his uncle's avarice and his aunt's
spite, the more his better nature revolted and acknowledged inwardly and
sometimes outwardly the kindness and justice he had met with. It was
really provoking that any attempt to defend them, or explain the facts,
were only treated as proofs of his own generous feeling. Ida's
partisanship really did him more good than half a dozen lectures would
have done, and he steadily adhered to his promise not to bet, though on
the regatta day Ida and her friend Sibyl derided him for not choosing to
risk even a pair of gloves; and while one pitied him, the other declared
that he was growing a skinflint like his uncle.
He talked and laughed noisily enough to Ida's friends, but he had seen
enough at Northmoor to feel the difference, and he told his sister that
there was not a lady amongst the whole kit of them, except Rose
Rollstone, who was coming down for her holiday.
'Rose!' cried Ida, tossing her head. 'A servant's daughter and a hand at
a shop! What will you say next, I wonder?'
'Lady is as lady acts,' said Herbert, making a new proverb, whereat his
mother and sister in chorus rebuked him, and demanded to know whether Ida
were not a perfect lady.
At which he laughed with a sound of scoffing, and being tired of the
discussion sauntered out of the house to that inexhaustible occupation of
watching the boats come in, and smoking with old acquaintances, who were
still congenial to him, and declared that he had not become stuck-up,
though he was turned into an awful swell! Perhaps they were less bad for
him than Stanhope, for they inspired no spirit of imitation.
When he came back a later post had arrived, bringing the news of
Constance's successes and of the invitation to her to share the
expedition of her uncle and aunt. There was no question about letting
her go, but the feeling was scarcely of congratulation.
'Well, little Conny knows how to play her cards!'
'Stuff--child wouldn't know what it meant,' said Herbert glumly.
'Well,' said his sister, 'she always was the favourite, and I call it a
shame.'
'What, because you've been such a good girl, and got such honours and
prizes?' demanded Herbert.
'Nonsense, Herbert,' said his mother. 'Ida's education was finished, you
know.'
'Oh, she wasn't a bit older than Conny is now.'
'And I don't hold with all that study, science and logic, and what d'ye
call it; that's no use to any one,' continued his mother. 'It's not as
if your sisters had to be governesses. Give me a girl who can play a
tune on the piano and make herself agreeable. Your uncle may do as he
pleases, but he'll have Constance on his hands. The men don't fancy a
girl that is always after books and lectures.'
'Not of your sort, perhaps,' said Herbert, 'but I don't care what I bet
that Conny gets a better husband than Ida.'
'It stands to reason,' Ida said, almost crying, 'when uncle takes her
about to all these fine places and sets her up to be the favourite--just
the youngest. It's not fair.'
'As if she wasn't by a long chalk the better of the two,' said Herbert.
'Now, Bertie,' interposed his mother, 'I'll not have you teasing and
running down your sister, though I do say it is a shame and a slight to
pick out the youngest, when poor Ida is so delicate, and both of you two
have ever so much better a right to favours.'
'That's a good one!' muttered Herbert, while Ida exclaimed--
'Of course, you know, aunt has always been nasty to me, ever since I said
ma said I was not strong enough to be bothered with that horrid school;
and as to poor Herbert, they have spited him because he shot that--'
'Shut up, Ida,' shouted Herbert. 'I wouldn't go with them if they went
down on their knees to me! What should I do, loafing about among a lot
of disputing frog-eaters, without a word of a Christian language, and old
Frank with his nose in a guide-book wanting me to look at beastly
pictures and rum old cathedrals. You would be a fish out of water, too,
Ida. Now Conny will take to it like a house afire, and what's more, she
deserves it!'
'Well, ma,' put in the provoked Ida, 'I wonder you let Conny go, when it
would do me so much good, and it is so unfair.'
'My dear, you don't understand a mother's feelings. I feel the slight
for you, but your uncle must be allowed to have his way. He is at all
the expense, and to refuse for Conny would do you no good.'
'Except that she will be more set up than ever,' murmured Ida.
'Oh, come now! I wonder which looks more like the set-up one,' said
Herbert, whose wider range had resulted in making him much alive to Ida's
shortcomings, and who looked on at her noisy style of flirtation with the
eye of a grave censor. Whatever he might be himself, he knew what a
young lady ought to be.
He triumphed a little when, during the few days spent in London,
Constance wrote of a delightful evening when, while her uncle and aunt
and Miss Morton had gone to an entertainment for Bertha's match-box
makers, she had been permitted to have Rose Rollstone to spend the time
with her, the carriage, by their kind contrivance, fetching the girl both
in going and coming.
The two young things had been thoroughly happy together. Rose had gone
on improving herself; her companions in the art embroidery line were
girls of a good class, with a few ladies among them, and their tone was
good and refined. It was the fashion among them to attend the classes,
Bible and secular, put in their way, and their employers conscientiously
attended to their welfare, so that Rose was by no means an unfitting
companion for the High School maiden, and they most happily compared
notes over their very different lives, when they were not engaged in
playing with little Cea, as the unwieldy name of Miss Morton's _protegee_
had been softened. She was a very pretty little creature, with big blue
eyes and hair that could be called golden, and very full of life and
drollery, so that she was a treat to both; and when the housemaid, whose
charge she was, insisted on her coming to bed, they begged to superintend
her evening toilet, and would have played antics with her in her crib
half the night if they had not been inexorably chased away.
Then they sat down on low stools in the balcony, among the flowers, in
convenient proximity for the caresses they had not yet outgrown, and had
what they called 'a sweet talk.'
Constance had been much impressed with the beauty of the embroidery, and
thought it must be delightful to do such things.
'Yes, for the forewoman,' said Rose, 'but there's plenty of dull work;
the same over and over again, and one little stitch ever so small gone
amiss throws all wrong. Miss Grey told us to recollect it was just like
our lives!'
'That's nice!' said Constance. 'And it is for the Church and Almighty
God's service?'
'Some of it,' said Rose, 'but there's a good deal only for dresses, and
furniture, and screens.'
'Don't you feel like Sunday when you are doing altar-cloths and stools?'
asked Constance reverently.
'I wish I did,' said Rose; 'but I don't do much of that kind yet, and one
can't keep up the being serious over it always, you know. Indeed, Miss
Grey does not wish us to be dull; she reads to us when there is time, and
explains the symbols that have to be done; but part of the time it is an
amusing book, and she says she does not mind cheerful talk, only she
trusts us not to have gossip she would not like to hear.'
'I wonder,' said Constance, 'whether I should have come with you if all
this had not happened? It must be very nice.'
'But your school is nice?'
'Oh yes. I do love study, and those Saturdays and Sundays at Northmoor,
they are delicious! Uncle Frank reads with me about religion, you know.'
'Like our dear Bible class?'
'Yes; I never understood or felt anything before; he puts it so as it
comes home,' said Constance, striving to express herself. 'Then I have a
dear little class at the Sunday school.'
'I am to have one, by and by.'
'Mine are sweet little things, and I work for them on Saturdays, while
Aunt Mary reads to me. I do like teaching--and, do you know, Rose, I
think I shall be a High School teacher!'
'Oh, Conny, I thought you were all so rich and grand!'
'No, we are not,' said Constance lazily; 'we have nothing but what Uncle
Frank gives us, and I can't bear the way mamma and Ida are always trying
to get more out of him, when I know he can't always do what he likes, and
nasty people think him shabby. I am sure I ought to work for myself.'
'But if Herbert is a lord?'
'I hope he won't be for a long long time,' cried Constance. 'Besides, I
am sure he would want all his money for himself! And as to being a
teacher, Aunt Mary was, and Miss Arden, who is so wise and good, is one.
If I was like them I think it would be doing real work for God and
good--wouldn't it, Rose? Oh dear, oh dear, there's the carriage stopping
for you!'