Elsbeth, sitting at the window, had seen them come down the street, and
was at the door to welcome them. Alwynne was kissed, rather gravely, but
Elsbeth and Roger greeted each other like the oldest of trusted friends.
Alwynne's eyebrows lifted, but Elsbeth ignored her. She scolded Roger
for being late, showed him his roses, revived and fragrant in their blue
bowls; and when Alwynne turned to go and dress, declared that he looked
starved, that supper was long overdue, and must be eaten at once. Roger
seconded her, and to supper they went.
Alwynne raged silently. What was the matter with Elsbeth? She had barely
greeted her.... And now to be so inconsiderate.... To insist on sitting
down to supper then and there, without giving her time to make herself
decent! Couldn't she see how tired Alwynne was, how badly in need of
soap and water and a brush and comb, let alone a prettier frock? It
wasn't fair! Elsbeth might know she would want to look nice--with Roger
there.... She did not choose to look a frump, however Elsbeth dressed
herself....
It dawned on her, however, as Elsbeth, resigning the joint to Roger,
began to mix a salad under his eye, after some particular recipe of his
imparting, that Elsbeth, on this occasion, was looking anything but a
frump. She wore her best dress of soft, dark purple stuff, and the scarf
of fine old lace, that, as Alwynne very well knew, saw the light on high
and holy days only; and a bunch of Roger's roses were tucked in her
belt. Her hair was piled high in a fashion new to Alwynne: a tiny black
velvet bow set off its silvery grey; it was waved, too, and clustered
becomingly at the temples. Alwynne, gasping, realised that Elsbeth must
have paid a visit to the local coiffeur. She realised also, for the
first time, how pretty, in delicate, pink-may fashion, her aunt must
once have been.
At any other time Alwynne would have been delighted at the improvement,
for she was proud of Elsbeth, in daughterly fashion, and had wrestled
untiringly with her indifference to dress. She knew she should have
hailed the change, but, to her own annoyance, she found it irritating.
It displeased her that she herself should be dishevelled and day-worn,
while Elsbeth faced her, cool and dainty and dignified. Roger was
obviously impressed.... Roger, to whom Elsbeth had been so carefully,
deprecatingly explained.... It made Alwynne look such a fool.... How was
she to know that Elsbeth would have this whim? She had never guessed
that Elsbeth could make herself look so charming.... And she to be in
her street clothes ... with her hair like a mouse's nest! It was too
bad! However, it didn't seem to matter.... Roger, it was clear enough,
had no eyes for her....
Her resentment grew. She attempted to join in the conversation, but
though Roger listened gravely, and answered politely--she never caught
the twinkle in his eye--he invariably flung back the ball to Elsbeth as
quickly as might be. She mentioned Dene; made intimate allusions to
their walks and adventures; and he turned to explain them, to include
Elsbeth, with a pointedness that made Alwynne pink with vexation. She
began to long to get him to herself ... to quarrel or make peace, as he
pleased ... but anyhow to get him to herself.... Couldn't one have a
moment's conversation without dragging Elsbeth into it? So absurd of
Roger....
Slowly she realised that neither Roger nor Elsbeth were finding her
indispensable, and her surprise was only rivalled by her indignation.
Elsbeth particularly--it was simply beastly of Elsbeth--was being, in
her impalpable way, unapproachable.... She was angry about
something.... Alwynne knew the signs.... She, Alwynne, supposed that
she ought to have written.... But she did write a postcard.... One
couldn't be everlastingly writing letters.... Any one but Elsbeth would
have waived the matter, with a visitor present, but Elsbeth was so
vindictive.... Here Alwynne's rebellious conscience allied itself with
her sense of humour, to protest against the picture of a vindictive
Elsbeth. They bubbled with tender laughter at the idea. Alwynne must
needs laugh with them, a trifle remorsefully, and admit that the idea
was fantastic; that Elsbeth, in all the years she had known her, had
been the most meek and forgiving of guardians; and that she, Alwynne,
had been undeniably negligent. Nevertheless, why must Elsbeth show Roger
the kitchen? What was he saying to her out there? And why were they both
laughing like that?
"Cackle, cackle, cackle," muttered Alwynne viciously; "awfully funny,
isn't it?"
She continued her reflections.
Fussing over clearing the supper still! One of Elsbeth's absurd ideas,
just because it was the maid's evening out.... Let her do it when she
came back! Such a fuss and excitement always! What would Roger think of
them? What a long time they were! She might take the opportunity of
going to change her frock.... She hesitated. What was that? What was
Roger saying? She caught the murmur of his deep voice and her aunt's
staccato in answer, but the words were blurred.
After all--why should she bother to change? Elsbeth would be sure to
make unnecessary remarks.... And Roger wouldn't care--he was too
occupied with Elsbeth.... Nobody cared--nobody wanted her.... She would
go back to Clare to-morrow.... But if Clare were in to-day's humour
still?
What a wretched week it had been.... Even if Clare had not been so
moody, Alwynne would have felt ill at ease ... she had known perfectly
well that she owed the first weeks of her return to her aunt ... but at
a hint from Clare she had stifled her conscience and stayed.... And now
Elsbeth, she could tell, was deeply hurt.... Once away from Clare,
Alwynne could reflect and be sorry.... She wouldn't have believed that
she could be so careless of Elsbeth's feelings.... She was suddenly and
generously furious with herself. How selfish, how abominably selfish she
had been.... No wonder Roger had been shocked! Of course neither he nor
Elsbeth could ever understand how difficult it was to withstand
Clare.... It had been possible once.... Her thought strayed to that
early Christmas when she had resisted all Clare's arguments.... But now
she had no choice.... However determined one might be beforehand--and
she had intended to return that first day--one's will was beaten aside,
blown about like a straw in a strong wind.... If only Roger would
understand that.... She hated him to think her so selfish.... Elsbeth
needn't have told him, she thought resentfully ... it was not like
Elsbeth to give her away.... She supposed she had hurt Elsbeth's
feelings pretty badly.... Why, oh why, hadn't she been firmer with
Clare? She had only to say, quite quietly, that she must do what she
felt to be right.... Clare couldn't have eaten her....
She began to rehearse the conversation; it soothed her to compose the
telling phrases she might have uttered. They sounded all right ... but,
of course, face to face with Clare she could never have said them....
Clare, in indifference, displeasure or appeal, would have conquered
without battle given ... in her heart she knew that.
She moved uneasily about the room, deep in thought. For the first time
her attitude to Clare struck her as contemptible.... What had Roger
said? "Like a dog after a thrashing." Intolerable! She flung up her
head, her pride writhing under the phrase. So that was how it struck
outsiders! Outsiders? She didn't care a dead leaf for outsiders.... Let
them think what they chose! But Roger? And Elsbeth? Did they really
think her weak and enslaved? It stung her that Roger should think so
meanly of her. She told herself that the loss of his opinion in no way
affected her--and instantly began to revolve within herself phrases,
explanations, actions, wherewith to regain it. And there was Elsbeth....
He had thought her unkind to Elsbeth.... He was right there! She saw,
remorsefully, with her usual thoroughness, that she had been, for many a
long year, as the plagues of Egypt to her Elsbeth.
She flung herself on the prim little sofa, and stared at the closed door
uncertainly. She was too proud to do what she wanted to do--invade the
kitchen, and regardless of Roger's eyes and presence, confess to
Elsbeth, and receive absolution. A word, she knew, would be enough....
If Elsbeth felt as miserable as she did--a word would be more than
enough....
Elsbeth and Roger, returning to the sitting-room, ended her indecision.
Their manner had changed--Roger was quieter--less talkative--but Elsbeth
was so radiant that Alwynne decided that contrition could wait. More
than ever she realised that two were company....
Her anger grew again as she watched and listened.
Elsbeth had produced cards, and suggested three-handed bridge. Alwynne
excused herself, and Roger, who had been her partner on occasion at
Dene, was obviously relieved. His Alwynne was the One Woman--but she
could not play bridge!
He settled down to double-dummy with Elsbeth. The conversation became a
rapt and technical duet, punctuated with interminable pauses.
Alwynne fumed.
So this was Elsbeth's idea of a really pleasant evening! Cards! Beastly,
idiotic cards! Roger, her Roger, had come up all the way from Dene to
play cards with Elsbeth! Had he just? All right then! He should have all
the cards he wanted--and more! As for Elsbeth--catch Alwynne telling her
she was sorry now!
The striking of the clock gave her her opportunity. She rose, yawning
elaborately.
"I'm going to bed," she remarked to the card-table.
"Are you, dear?" said Elsbeth.
"Oh! Oh, good-night," said Roger casually rising, and sitting down
again. "Your shout, Elsbeth."
Elsbeth went "no trumps."
Alwynne lingered.
"Of course the kitchen fire's out?" she said, with sour suggestiveness.
"Do you want a bath? Yes, of course. Do you know, my dear, you're
looking rather grubby?" Elsbeth paid her sweetly. "I expect the water
will still be hot, if you're quick. Don't forget to turn the light off,
will you, when you've finished?"
Alwynne made no answer, but she still lingered. Elsbeth, finishing her
hand, spoke over her shoulder--
"Alwynne, dear, either go out, or come in and sit down. There's such a
draught."
There was a swish of skirts, and all the innumerable ornaments rattled
on their shelves. Alwynne had permitted herself the luxury of banging
the door.
Roger laughed like a schoolboy.
"'All is not well!'" he quoted.
Elsbeth laughed too, yet half against her will.
"My poor Alwynne! She hates me to be annoyed with her. It infuriates
her. She'll be awfully penitent to-morrow. It's really rather comical,
you know. She'll take criticism from any one else--but I must approve
implicitly! And you being here didn't improve matters. She was longing
to be nice, and I didn't help her. She was quite aware that she was
showing you her worst side, and quite unable to get out of the mood. I
knew, bless her heart!"
She looked at him with a quick little gesture of appeal.
"Roger--you do understand? That--tantrum--meant nothing. She's such an
impulsive child."
He smiled.
"I know. Don't you worry. Besides, it was my fault. I was teasing her
all the evening. It was not what she expected. Oh, I'm growing subtle
enough to please even you, Elsbeth. You know, she's had rather a full
day. Evidently a scorching afternoon with that delightful friend of
hers, to start with----"
"Ah?" said Elsbeth, her eyes brightening.
"Oh, yes; she was distinctly chastened. I improved the occasion, and
you've about finished her off, the poor old girl! I was expecting that
little exhibition."
"I believe--I believe you enjoy upsetting her," began Elsbeth, rather
indignantly.
"Of course I do. It's as good as a play!"
Elsbeth sighed.
"Well--I suppose it's all right. You'll have to manage her for the
future, not I."
"Oh, she'll do all the managing," said Roger ruefully. "I foresee that
this is my last stand. She's just a trifle in awe of me, at present, you
know, though she doesn't know it. But it won't last. And then--heaven
help me! But, you know, Cousin Elsbeth--to be henpecked by
Alwynne--don't you think it will be quite pleasant?"
"It is. She's bullied me since she was three. Oh, Roger, I shall miss
her." She blinked rapidly.
Roger stared away from her in awkward sympathy.
"You shan't, not very much," he said. "We'll fix things. You'll have to
come and settle with us."
Elsbeth fidgeted.
"You know, you took my breath away in the kitchen just now," she said.
"Are you quite sure it's all right? Does Alwynne _know_ she's engaged to
you?"
He perpended.
"Well, frankly--I don't think she did quite take it in."
"Roger!"
"But I'm buying the engagement ring to-morrow," he added hastily.
"That'll clear things up."
Elsbeth looked at him helplessly.
"Roger, either you're a genius or a lunatic. I'm not sure which--but, I
think, a lunatic."
"Oh, well! We shall know to-morrow," he observed consolingly. "I shall
turn up about eleven. Keep Alwynne for me, won't you?"
Elsbeth struck her hands together.
"It's Clare Hartill's birthday! I'd almost forgotten her! Alwynne will
be engrossed. Oh, Roger! You've been telling me fairy tales. We've
forgotten Clare Hartill!"
Roger picked up the scattered cards. With immense caution he poised a
couple, tent fashion, and builded about them, till a house was complete.
He added storey after storey, frowning and absorbed. At the sixth, the
structure collapsed. He looked up and met Elsbeth's eyes.
"People in card-houses shouldn't raise Cain. It's an expensive habit,"
he remarked sententiously. "Elsbeth, don't worry! But keep Alwynne till
I come to-morrow, won't you?"
"I'll try."
"Of course, if she's still in a temper----Hulloa!"
The door had been softly opened. Alwynne, in her gay dressing-gown stood
on the threshold. Her hair was knotted on the top of her head, and small
damp curls strayed about her forehead. The folds of her wrapper, humped
across her arm, with elaborate care, hinted at the towels and sponges
concealed beneath. She looked, in spite of her bigness, like an
extremely small child masquerading as a grown-up person.
Her eyes sought her aunt's appealingly. Roger, she ignored.
"Elsbeth," she said meekly, "please won't you come and tuck me up?"
She disappeared again.
Elsbeth laughed as she rose.
"I knew she wouldn't be content. Isn't she a dear, Roger, for all her
little ways?"
"She's all right," said Roger, with immense conviction.