Charlotte went home that Monday looking fagged and unlike herself. Her
mother met her as she was going into the school-room, her arms loaded
with books.
"My dear, is that you?" said Mrs Waldron. "I did not hear you come in.
What a dull, dreary day it is! You have not got wet, I hope?"
"It was not actually raining. My frock got no harm," Charlotte replied.
But her voice was dull and dreary like the day, and though, as she had
just said of the weather, "not actually raining," the mother's ears
perceived that tears were not very far off.
"Don't go to lessons again immediately you come in," she said. "`All
work and no play' makes dull girls as well as dull boys. Come into the
drawing-room. Jerry came in looking so shivery that I am going to give
him a cup of my afternoon tea. Come too, dear, and let us three have a
few minutes cosily together. The other boys won't be home yet."
Charlotte hesitated.
"Mamma," she said, "I must work hard--harder than ever; and then--I
changed my blue frock immediately. You know I promised you I would, and
if any one should come in I would not look very nice," and she glanced
at the old brown dress.
"Nonsense, dear. It is most unlikely that any one will come on such a
day. And take my word for it, you will work far better if you give
yourself a little interval--a pleasant little interval."
Mrs Waldron opened the drawing-room door as she spoke, and Charlotte
followed her. It did look pleasant and inviting, for well-worn as was
much of the furniture, simple--in these days of plush and lace and
gorgeous Eastern draperies--as were the few additions that had been made
to it from time to time, Charlotte's mother possessed the touch that
seems born with some people, of making a room attractive. Her extreme,
exquisite neatness had to do with it--the real underlying spirit of
order, which has nothing in common with cold primness or the vulgar
hiding away from observation of the occupations of daily life; and
joined to this a keen perception of colour, a quick eye and hand for all
combinations which give pleasure.
"I can always tell when mamma has been in a room," Charlotte would say,
rather dolefully. "I wonder if I shall ever learn to give things the
look she does."
The tea-table was drawn up near the fire, and Jerry was seated on a low
chair beside it.
"Oh, mamma," he exclaimed, "I thought you were never coming. I have
made the tea to perfection. Oh, and here's Charlotte too. How jolly!
It isn't often that we three get a cosy tea together like this."
"Are you warmer now, my boy?" his mother asked. "You are very
bluey-white-looking still."
For Jerry, unable to run or even to walk fast, was apt to catch bad
colds in chilly weather.
"I'm all right, thank you, mother. I'm quite hungry. Look, Charlotte,"
and he raised the cover of a neat little china dish on the table, "isn't
that nice? I bought it for a present to mother. I got it from the old
muffin-man--he was just passing. That's why mamma invited me to tea, I
expect."
Charlotte's face relaxed. It was impossible to look and feel gloomy
with such a welcome.
"It isn't fair for me to come too," she said in her own pleasant voice;
"one muffin isn't too much for two."
"Nor for one, when it's a proper tea," said Jerry.
"But this isn't, you know. This is only a slight refection. We're
going to have our proper school-room tea as usual of course."
"And how have you got on to-day, Charlotte?" asked her mother, when the
muffin and the tea had been discussed. She was a little anxious to
hear, though careful not to let it be seen that she was so.
Charlotte's face clouded over.
"Mamma," she said, "I think you had better not ask me. You know I would
tell you and Jerry more than anybody--but--I want to be good, and I
can't, and--perhaps there are some bad feelings that it's best not to
speak about."
Jerry looked up with fullest sympathy in his thin white face.
"I don't know," said Mrs Waldron. "I can't judge unless you tell me a
little. Is it about that young girl, Charlotte? Has she come?"
"Yes; she was there all day."
"Well, is she disagreeable? Does she interfere with you in any way?"
"In every way, mamma. At least I feel sure it is going to be in every
way. She's--she's to be in my class for everything. She's--it's no
good hiding the truth--she's awfully clever and far on, and ahead of us
all."
Mrs Waldron's face looked grave. She felt such sympathy with Charlotte
that she was almost shocked at herself. She was only human! She had
hoped that her child might be spared the special rivalry which she knew
would touch her the most acutely.
"Are you not fanciful, dear? How can you possibly be sure in one day
that Miss--what is her name?"
"Meredon, mamma. Claudia Meredon--isn't it a lovely name?" said
Charlotte with a rather curious smile. "Even her name is uncommon and
beautiful." Mrs Waldron could not help laughing.
"You are going too far, my dear child. I am sure your own name is quite
nice enough. You have no reason to be ashamed of it."
"Ashamed of it! no, mamma," said Charlotte with heightened colour. "It
isn't that."
"But you are fanciful, dear, about Miss Meredon. How can you be sure in
one day that she is going to distance you in all your lessons?"
"She will do so in German, any way," said Charlotte gloomily, "and that
is almost the worst of all. Oh, mamma, if you had heard Herr
Marklestatter to-day! Just out of contradiction I got an extra
difficult piece to translate, and I stumbled over it rather, I know. At
another time I wouldn't have minded, and he wouldn't have minded. But
to-day--"
"He wanted you to show off before the new girl of course, and very
likely you did too, and that made you worse," said Jerry bluntly.
"Perhaps," Charlotte agreed. "But oh, mamma, you would have been sorry
for me," and her voice broke.
"I am sorry for you, my dear. It is a battle you have to fight. But
you must be brave--about your lessons; you know _we_ know you always do
your best. That should keep you happy."
Charlotte gave a deep sigh. But before she left the room she stooped
and kissed her mother.
"Thank you, mamma," she said.
Jerry followed her to the school-room.
"Jerry," she said, as she sat down and spread out her books, "I must
have had a sort of feeling that this girl was to do me harm. It is not
true that things are even--she has _everything_, you see. The worst of
it is, that I almost believe she is good."
"Charlotte!" exclaimed Jerry.
"Yes, it sounds awful, but you know what I mean. It makes it horrider
of me to hate her, and I'm afraid I do. At least if she gets the German
prize--the one he gives for composition at the end of the term--I
shall."
"Shall what?"
"Hate her," said Charlotte, grimly.
Jerry said no more.