They heard voices in the direction of the morning-room, so thither they
turned their steps. The morning-room opened at one side into the large
dining-room, on the other into the library. The doors of communication
between all these were now open, and bright fires were burning in each.
To Imogen, at the first glance, it seemed as if the rooms were filled
with people, for the moving about and laughing and talking that were
going on had a confusing effect upon her; she had scarcely time to do
more than glance round her bewilderedly when the luncheon gong sounded,
and universal making for the door ensued.
"Stay behind with me, and then we can sit together," said some one
beside her, and turning round, Imogen saw Beatrix at her elbow. But at
the same moment, another voice reached her.
"Excuse me, Trixie," it said; "you are forgetting that Miss Wentworth
has not yet made acquaintance with your sisters. It is hardly my
business to introduce you and your guest," he added, with a smile to the
girl beside him.
"But still--under the circumstances--"
"Yes," said Imogen, smiling herself, "under the circumstance of its
being very doubtful if we should have got here at all without you, I
think certainly you may be--"
"Master of the ceremonies," said Florence, half interrupting her as she
hesitated. Imogen looked at her. She was as tall as Beatrix, scarcely
as handsome perhaps, but with an expression in her eyes which would have
attracted Imogen much more than Trixie's bold defiance, had it not been
for the prejudice already skilfully sown against her elder sister by
that astute young woman.
"She _is_ discontented and rather cross-looking," thought Imogen. "I am
sure it is true, as Trixie said, that she has a disagreeable temper;"
and the gentleness of Florence's voice and manner--gentleness which, to
please her cousin, she endeavoured to make specially kindly--the little
stranger dubbed as "patronising," while the real sadness underlying it
she attributed to the chronic unamiability Beatrix had done more than
hint at. Still, it was not in Imogen's nature to be altogether
unresponsive. She replied becomingly to Florence's few words of
welcome, and went on into the dining-room beside her. But there was a
complete absence of the girlish _camaraderie_ which lighted up her face
as she threw back a laughing word or two to Trixie following with Rex
behind them.
Major Winchester almost ground his teeth.
"Already!" he muttered. "So you have made friends with Miss Wentworth,
I see," he said aloud, dryly.
A sharp and defiant reply was on Trixie's lips, but she prudently
recalled Miss Forsyth's advice. Nor did she "overdo" her part either.
"I don't know what you call `making friends'," she said quietly, and not
without a certain dignity. "You know me too well to suppose that a
child like that and I could have much in common; but after my father's
exceedingly severe warnings this morning, I was bound to be civil and
attentive, if I did not want to drive things too far." There was a
touch, possibly sincere for the moment, of something like genuine regret
and reproach, as she added, rather bitterly: "I don't, of course, dream
of asking _you_ to believe I mean to turn over a new leaf. It would be
quite against you very good people's principles to credit one with such
intentions."
Rex started. The words came home to his sensitive conscience. Was it
not true that he had almost come to have no belief in Beatrix?
"Trixie!" he exclaimed impulsively, "if you--" But she had already
turned away.
She did not wish him to be kind to her; she resented his interference
too deeply and maliciously; she did not wish to be in the slightest
degree softened to him. But he did not see the expression on her face,
or the mocking, spiteful smile on her lips, so he retained a certain
feeling of pity and self-reproach, as he thought to himself, with a
sigh: "If only Eva had been well and strong, her influence might have
done something, even with Trixie."
And this touch of self-accusation with regard to Beatrix was, though
unsuspected by the two conspirators, about the most fortunate thing that
could have happened to further Miss Forsyth's silence. For it caused
Rex, by a mistaken sort of loyalty to the girl who, he fancied, had
appealed to his kindlier judgment, to measure his words about her, to be
chary of repeating the warnings he had already hinted to Imogen. Not,
perhaps, that she would now have believed them; they might, however, not
improbably have made a barrier between herself and her first friend,
Major Winchester, and thus prevented the success of Mabella's plot.
In spite of Trixie's manoeuvres, Imogen found herself at luncheon beside
Florence. Beatrix, however, was just opposite, so that any sort of
_rapprochement_ between the young girl and her neighbour was impossible.
Florence herself was not brave enough to dare the mocking glances of
her younger sister's eyes, and her well-meant attempts at conversation
fell flat, while her somewhat constrained manner only added to Imogen's
prejudice.
"She speaks to me as if I were about two years old," thought the girl.
"Of course she _is_ much, much older than I; but still, even Major
Winchester, who is nearly as old as mamsey, I daresay, speaks to me as
if I had some sense."
And happening at the moment to glance down the long table, she caught
his eye. He was looking towards her, in search of her, with a certain
concern and anxiety which Imogen was at once conscious of. She felt
herself blush a little, even as she responded to his inaudible inquiry
with the tiniest nod and smile of reassurance.
"I'm all right, thank you," they seemed to say. And, "How kind he is!
How nice it is to feel that there is one person among all these
strangers who cares a little for me already!" she thought with a little
thrill, as she caught the smile on Rex's face in return.
Some one else saw the smile and the blush, and it needed but a glance in
the direction in which they had been bestowed for Trixie to interpret
them. Florence, unfortunately, by this time despairing of making any
way with the girl beside her, had allowed her thoughts to wander far
from the present, and was paying but little attention to what passed,
till rousing herself suddenly she began an animated conversation with
the man on her other side, thus throwing Imogen altogether on the mercy
of her left-hand neighbour, Oliver Helmont. He had not yet been
introduced to her, but a word to Trixie on the opposite side had the
desired effect, and in a minute or two Imogen began to feel considerably
more at home than she could have believed possible.
There was no harm in Oliver, as the saying goes. He was a good-natured
rattle, more or less selfish, but honest and well-meaning, and not
without some faint capacity somewhere about him for a species of
hero-worship. And though there were few to whom he would have owned it,
the hero down at the bottom of his heart was his cousin Reginald. So
when, encouraged by his pleasant genial face and manner, Imogen confided
to him the history of the morning's misadventures, they soon found
themselves on common ground.
"Major Winchester was so kind," said the girl, after relating Rex's good
offices. "We should have been there still, but for him."
Oliver's face beamed.
"Just like him," he said. "He is awfully kind. Fact is," here he
lowered his voice to a confidential whisper, "I don't think there's
another fellow like him, search the world over. It isn't every one he
takes to though, so a good many people call him a prig and a saint, and
all that style of thing. My sisters now, though they've known him all
their lives--naturally so, as he's our cousin--they don't get on with
him, except Florence; she's rather made an alliance with him lately, or
he with her, since she's been so down in the mouth, you know."
Imogen did not "know," but she scarcely felt as if she could ask for an
explanation.
"That's his way--any one in trouble, or helpless, or that he can be any
good to, you see."
"Yes," said the girl, smiling, "I do see, for we were very helpless, and
he was of great good to us."
"No wonder," said Oliver, feeling as if he were putting things rather
awkwardly. "In _this_ case his benevolence was certainly a pleasure."
"Thank you," said Imogen, laughing.
"But you see," he went on, "in a general way, Rex isn't at all a ladies'
man; he's rather standoff and severe, and he's got very, very particular
ideas. I never dare stand up for him to my sisters. Not that he needs
it, but they'd only make fun of me, you see. Trixie pretty nearly hates
Rex, I do believe," he added, almost in a whisper, "and Alicia can't
stand him. He's down upon them both in their different ways, you see."
"I have not spoken to Miss Helmont yet," said Imogen, "but Trixie has
been so kind to us. I can't help thinking Major Winchester
misunderstands her a little."
Oliver drew his lips together _almost_ as if he were going to whistle.
Then he thought better of it, and turned the conversation from his
youngest sister.
"I suppose it's true what the parsons say," he remarked. "People have
much kinder feelings to others if they've had troubles themselves. Rex
has had lots; his mother died when he was quite a young fellow, and he
adored her; and then--"
"Has he no brothers and sisters--no one belonging to him?" asked the
girl, eagerly.
"He's got a brother, much younger--a very good fellow--and a sister.
But it's very sad about her, and the saddest of all is--" But here a
general move announced that luncheon was over, and Oliver's
communications only left Imogen with a vague notion that Major
Winchester was one of a thousand, and that there were some especially
sorrowful circumstances connected with his only sister.
This latent sympathy gave an additional gentleness and almost deference
to her manner, a still greater softness to her pretty eyes, when she
came upon Rex in the hall, where with Florence and Captain Helmont, the
eldest son of the house, and one or two others, he was discussing the
plans for the afternoon.
"It is clearing, there's no doubt," Major Winchester was saying. "I've
had driving enough for my part, for to-day; suppose we go off for a
walk?"
"Dear me!" said a mocking voice beside him. "What condescension! You
don't mean to say that _you_, Major Winchester, are offering to go for a
walk with any of _us_!"
The speaker was Mabella Forsyth.
"Yes, really, it is wonderful," said Alicia as she sauntered up to join
the group, which was gradually augmented by most of those present.
"What's coming over you, Rex? Not that _I_ want to go for a walk; it's
far too sloppy and plashy, and I'm tired already. Besides, some one
must stay with mother to receive the Girards and the Custances."
"I will come, Rex," said Florence, promptly though quietly. "There is
nothing to do in the house: we can't begin settling our parts or
anything till Mr Girard is here, and Gerty for the dresses is
indispensable.--Perhaps Miss Wentworth would like to come too?" she
added kindly. "We can lend you strong boots and a mackintosh if your
things haven't come. And we must start at once--November afternoons in
these northern latitudes are not much to boast of. Who else will come?
You, Noll?"
"Very much at your service," replied Oliver, who had found his pretty
neighbour to his taste.
Florence's eyes wandered round the group.
"No, thank you," said Miss Forsyth, pretending to think that they had
rested on her, "Trixie and I prefer to be independent in our strolls."
"I was not thinking of either of you," replied Florence, icily.
Mabella's swarthy face darkened; she was not quite proof against
Florence's contempt. "Will you come, Mrs Wyngate?" Florence
proceeded, "and your husband; and you, Fred?" turning to her eldest
brother.
"Wyngate and I are reserving ourselves for our great shoot to-morrow,"
said Captain Helmont. "I think billiards will be more in our line, and
this horrid damp makes us old Indians rheumatic."
"But I will come," cried Mrs Wyngate, "though I am an older Indian than
either of you;" which was true, as she was some years her husband's
senior--a fact which she never affected to deny, and had married him as
a widow out in Madras. She was good-natured and lively without being
fast, and Florence had selected her with a view to Rex's approval of her
society for Imogen, the guileless.
So they all dispersed, and before long the walking party found
themselves in front of the house scanning the sky and consulting as to
their destination; Miss Wentworth, anxious to believe herself perfectly
happy, though, as a matter of fact, Florence's stout boots were too big
for her, and her own waterproof, worn above her thick cloth jacket--for
it was _very_ cold--far from an ideal garment as to comfort, or, as she
sadly feared, as to appearance either. Truth to tell, Imogen was not an
enthusiast about long walks. She was quickly tired, and entirely
unaccustomed to real country life. Then she was a little afraid of
Florence, and Mrs Wyngate was a complete stranger.
"If I could have gone alone with Major Winchester and, I suppose,
Oliver, I should have liked it much better," she said to herself.
"No," decided Rex, "it will not rain again for three or four hours
certainly. Don't you agree with me, Noll?"
Oliver, who was nothing if not a weather prophet on his native heath,
did agree.
"So," continued Major Winchester in his decided, slightly autocratic
tones, "we shall run no risk in skirting the Great Fell, by the Torwood
road. We can show Miss Wentworth the two caves, and if we are very
lucky we may catch a gleam of red sunset over the moor."
"Not much red sunset in this evening's programme, I take it," said
Oliver, as he attached himself to Imogen. The path was narrow,
accommodating but two abreast in its moments of generosity, and
narrowing, every now and then, to scanty for one, considering the
fringes of drenched bracken and other rough verdure at each side. Mrs
Wyngate naturally took the lead, as Imogen had hung back at the start--
Florence closely behind her. Then came Rex, and a conversation _a
trois_ began, leaving the girl to Noll's good offices.
He was not brilliant, and the only subject on which he ever approached
eloquence being but a yard or two in front of him, could scarcely, under
the circumstances, be discussed. Before long the young stranger began
to feel considerably bored.
"I wish Trixie had come with us," she said to Oliver.
Oliver stared.
"Do you, really?" he said. "Well, no, I can't agree with you. I'd
rather have Florence--no, she's talking, she can't hear, and no matter
if she does--ten times over. If Trixie's in a good-humour she's sure to
be up to mischief, and when she's sulky she's worse."
"I think you're all very hard on her," said Imogen, rather sharply.
Oliver looked still further taken aback. His admiration for his new
friend slightly diminished. Could she have a bad temper? Oliver had no
liking for bad-tempered girls.
"Well," he said, "to tell you the truth, I think it's rather the other
way. Every one's been so uncommonly easy with her, that she's got to
think she can do as she pleases."
"That's very unfair," said Imogen, still sharply. "People spoil their
children, and then when they find the poor things _are_ spoilt, they
turn round upon them and abuse them."
"There's something in that, perhaps," said Oliver, good-naturedly. His
good-nature disarmed Miss Wentworth a little.
"I shouldn't have spoken that way," she said, after a pause. "It wasn't
my place to say it."
"It's all right," Oliver replied. "You needn't mind what you say to
me."
But a little constraint had come between the two. One or two subjects
were started which fell flat, and Imogen plodded on, hating the wet
stony path, wishing devoutly she had not come out, and tantalised by
overhearing the snatches of bright, interested conversation ahead of
her, feeling as if her companions had completely forgotten her
existence. It was not so, however. Then came a break in the path,
which widened to emerge on a stretch of moorland; and Major Winchester,
who had noticed the silence of the two youngest members of the party,
turned to look for Imogen.
"One can't be very sociable in our recent circumstances," he said
laughingly. "It is better now. Don't you admire this great bare spread
of country, Miss Wentworth? I hope the air isn't too keen for you?"
Imogen shivered slightly, but still she brightened up.
"It _is_ rather cold," she replied; "but I like it. If only it wasn't
so wet under foot."
"But you have strong boots on," said he encouragingly, "and out here in
the open it's never really wet for long. We shall not have any more
walking as bad as the bit we've had. We cross a corner of the moor to
those fells you see over there--the Tor Rocks they are called, where
there are some very respectable caves."
"In summer they are charming places for picnics," said Florence. She
meant to be genial to the young stranger, and with Rex at hand it was
more easy to be so.
"Especially the smugglers' cave," said Oliver.
"Is there a real smugglers' cave?" said Mrs Wyngate, eagerly. "How
nice! Can we explore it like that place--Poole's Cavern, don't they
call it--in Derbyshire?"
"It's a very small thing in caves compared to that," said Oliver. But
Mrs Wyngate went on to ask questions, and her cheery interest attracted
him. Gradually the little party separated again into two sets, Rex and
Imogen in front, Oliver and Mrs Wyngate behind, followed by Florence,
who, seeing with a sigh of satisfaction that her cousin was himself
taking charge of his _protegee_, thought she might feel herself off duty
in the meantime.
How different everything became to Imogen!
The still cloudy sky seemed only pleasantly grey, the bare moorland
broke out into patches of contrasting colour; her boots grew into a
merry joke as she confided to Major Winchester that her feet felt as if
they could walk about inside them, and, when at his suggestion the
unnecessary waterproof was discarded and relegated to his arm, she felt
herself like a chrysalis emerging into a butterfly.
And her brightness reacted on her companion. His grave, quiet face
lightened up with pleasure at the success of his endeavours, and
encouraged him to redouble them. They cost him something, for he had to
the full as absorbing matter for his own reflections as Florence;
indeed, in some sense, more so, and he would have hailed with relief the
prospect of a solitary stroll this afternoon, or if that were
impossible, the companionship and distraction of intelligent and matured
minds. Even Mrs Wyngate, who was well read and cultivated, and
Florence herself, who was not without thoughtfulness and originality,
would have been more congenial by far than this little schoolgirl, sweet
and ingenuous though she was. But Major Winchester was never one to
shirk a task savouring of duty or kindliness on account of its cost. He
racked his brains to amuse his young companion, recalling reminiscences
of his eventful and adventurous life, going back to his school-boy days
even, till Imogen's ringing laughter sounded back to the three in the
rear.
"Rex is excelling himself," said Florence, with a touch of sarcasm in
her tone.
"How very kind-hearted he is!" said Mrs Wyngate, simply and warmly.
"For a girl of that age is scarcely an interesting companion to a man of
his standing, at least, not to a man like _him_, entirely above flirting
or nonsense of that kind."
"Yes," Oliver agreed, "you're about right. It's all his good-nature.
For though she's pretty, she's rather heavy--a bit spoilt too, I fancy."
"By her adoring mamma," added Florence.
"However, she's our guest, and we must look after her, heavy or not.
Don't you think Rex must be beginning to have had about enough of it by
this time? We had better overtake them; we are close to the caves too."
Rex _was_ beginning to feel his self-imposed task a little wearisome by
this time, and he was not sorry when a shout from Oliver called to him
to stop.
"Oh, what a bother!" said Imogen. "I did so want to hear the rest of
that story, Major Winchester. Need we walk with them?"
"It would scarcely be civil to walk on," he said smiling. "I will tell
you the rest another time, Miss Wentworth."
She looked almost brilliantly pretty, but a trifle resentful when the
others came up. Florence, not unnaturally, felt slightly indignant, and
even Mrs Wyngate decided that the girl must be silly as well as spoilt.
For Imogen took no trouble to conceal her annoyance.
"Can she really be so foolish as to imagine Major Winchester finds her
society interesting?" thought the matron of the party, while Florence
mentally decided that Imogen's innocence and timidity were not of a kind
to "last."
"She will soon develop into a self-conceited little flirt," reflected
the elder girl; "all the more danger if she falls into bad hands. I
foresee no sinecure if I am to look after her." But she exerted herself
to be amusing and agreeable, and to keep the party together. "Poor
Rex!" she thought, "I daresay it's almost as hard upon him to look
cheerful as it is upon me. I mustn't be selfish, either."
The caves were not bad caves in their way, and child as she really was,
Imogen soon forgot her vexation in the fun of exploring their dark
recesses. She ran on laughingly, declaring that she must go to "the
very end," and Rex, who knew every nook and cranny, contented himself
with a "Don't let her do anything foolish," to Oliver, who was doing the
honours to Mrs Wyngate, and then returned to the entrance, where it was
rather a refreshment to him to find Florence, and to walk up and down
with her, with the liberty of talking or not as they felt inclined.