With a smile still lingering on her lips, Katie hears the door close
after Walter Reeves; then she goes up-stairs to join the rest of her
household. A calm family scene meets her view as she throws open the
drawing-room door. The room is not a large one; but what it wants in
size is amply atoned for by the exquisite taste with which everything
is arranged and grouped. A few strokes of the pen might describe the
well-chosen accessories of curtains, sofas, and carpet; but it would
take artistic skill to portray the many touches of prettiness and
beauty to be found there.
The few paintings that hang on the walls are marvels of delicate
colouring and completeness of design; the ornaments of various kinds
about the room are most of them due to feminine cleverness; screens,
cushions, chair-covers, all shew that busy graceful fingers have been
at work; but they were not Katie's fingers--not the outcome of Katie's
industry. _She_ has a perfect abhorrence of fancy-work; rarely is she
to be found sitting down like other girls to puzzle her head with
intricacies of knitting, lace-making, or embroidering. Her plea is:
'I haven't patience for that sort of thing, nor have I taste or time
for it. Here Nellie, my dear, you puzzle out this pattern; and while
you are doing it, I'll play any amount of pieces you like--Beethovens,
Mozarts, Mendelssohns, or Schuberts, which you choose.'
So patient Nellie of the artistic mind and home-loving tastes would
pick up her sister's discarded work, and skilfully mould it into
wondrous results of aptitude and dexterity.
Nellie is sitting at the table on this evening, bending over a volume
of travels. She who rarely leaves the house herself, yet likes to read
of scenes of wild adventure and foreign travel, with all their detail
of fervid luxuriance and gorgeous scenery. Her delight is in tales of
peril and bravery. A piece of bright-coloured embroidery lies beside
her. She is evidently reading and working by turns.
At first glance of Katie's youngest sister, one is struck by her
sweet countenance and delicately moulded face, the calm blue eyes and
thoughtful look. But at the next glance, one sees that her figure is
hopelessly deformed. Some blight has fallen on her in early childhood,
and closed to her for ever the active pursuits and enjoyments of life.
But Nellie is happy and contented in her placid way; she has resources
and pleasures of which Katie has never even time to think. The school
of weakness and suffering has taught her many a salutary, many a holy
lesson. At the further end of the room sits Mr Grey, the master of the
household, a thin, wiry, irritable, high-principled man, with white
hair and close-cropped white head--a man who thinks himself a very
martinet in his strict ideas of discipline on board ship; but who is a
tame enough, easily ruled ruler in his own house on shore. He flatters
himself he is very firm with Katie, yet she manages to have her way in
most things. Mr Grey, with a small table before him, is engaged with
navy statistics, making calculations that will open the eyes of the
Admiralty some of these days, he thinks.
His wife is the only other member of the family party, and she is a
soft, pillowy, amiable, motherly woman, with no very demonstrative
ideas of her own, but rather ever proving herself a mild reflector of
the thoughts and wishes of the various stronger minds of her family.
It is on this placid scene that Katie dashes like a brilliant meteor.
Somehow, she never can do anything quietly. She is never the one to
steal into a corner and settle herself down there, lest she should
disturb any other person; rather she makes the constant sense of her
presence felt; there is always something in her movements that draws
attention to her and centres it there. Thus, when she opens the door,
they all gaze up at her. Mrs Grey, who has been dozing off now and
then into calm forgetfulness, picks up her knitting and looks at her
daughter with a sigh. The sigh is one of sympathy, for she knows the
depth of the mortification under which her daughter has been labouring,
and does not know the panacea has come. She does not know Katie has
armed herself for combat, and is quite prepared for a tilt with Mrs
Best when the opportunity arrives. No red-skinned Indian with war-paint
and tomahawk is more ready for action with a rival chief, than Katie
is to assert her power over the Admiral's daughter. True, her weapons
are only woman's witchery; true, the disputed prize is only a warrior's
heart; yet the strife promises to be difficult, perhaps prolonged. In
other words, Miss Grey has said to herself: 'If Sir Herbert makes me an
offer, I will marry him; and then Laura Best will discover that even
_her_ influence does not equal _mine_.'
'Where have you been all this time, Katie?' asks Mrs Grey in a
plaintive tone.
'Down in the dining-room.'
'What! in that cold room, alone? You should not mope so, my dear. You
should come up here with us, and be cheerful.'
Katie gives one of her ringing laughs as she replies: 'Oh, I have not
been moping, mother; neither have I been alone. Walter Reeves called
in; and do you know you have half offended him, for you asked him to go
with us to Government House.'
'So I did, sure enough. I said we should have a carriage from Robyn's
livery-stables as usual, and that there would be plenty of room for
him. I little thought _then_, we should not even have an invitation.
Was Walter very angry?'
'I daresay he has got over it by this time, and is sunning himself in
Mrs Best's smiles. Do you know, mother, I have found out it was Laura
who would not invite us to the party? It was not the Admiral's fault
after all.'
'I can't see that makes any difference, Katie: the fact remains the
same.'
'But it _does_ make a difference--a very great one to me; and I'm so
glad I've found out the truth at last.'
Katie sees her sister looking up over her book at her with grave
reproach in her blue eyes. If Mrs Grey is too obtuse to understand,
Nellie is not so blind, and she has a sudden revelation of what it all
means. She knows the sublime selfishness of her sister, her ambition,
her love of retaliation; and the unspoken reproof makes Katie turn
suddenly away and seat herself at the piano. A feeling of defiance
actuates the girl at the moment; and she begins at once to sing one
of Sir Herbert's favourite songs, one he has often asked for, a
stirring vigorous melody, that goes straight to the heart, and wakens
up whatever is brave and martial in one's nature. Mr Grey closes his
books at once; he knows he cannot reckon up decimal fractions while
the room is flooded with music and melody, for Katie's rich voice and
brilliant accompaniments arrest attention at once. Mrs Grey listens
also, and dozes between whiles, thoroughly enjoying her evening at
home. Though she would have shaken off her drowsiness, and dressed
herself in one of her rich brocaded silks or lustrous moires, and would
have accompanied Katie to the scene of action, had she been an invited
guest at the Admiral's to-night. Willingly would she have gone through
any amount of inconvenience, rather than this handsome daughter of hers
should fail of proper escort, or infringe any of the 'thousand-and-one'
rules of etiquette.