“Come into my dressing-room before you go to bed,” Lady Augusta
whispered in her daughter’s ear. The sisters were in the habit of
holding their own private assemblies at that confidential moment, and
the three elder ones were just preparing for a consultation in Ada’s
room when Gussy received this summons. Of course she obeyed it
dutifully, with her pretty hair hanging about her shoulders, in a pretty
white dressing-gown, all gay with ribbons and embroidery. “I know mamma
is going to ask me ever so many questions, and I have nothing to tell
her,” she said, pouting, as she left Ada and Helena. But Lady Augusta
was very gentle in her questioning. “I think your hair is thicker than
it used to be, my darling,” she said, taking the golden locks in her
hand with fond admiration. “Don’t _crêper_ more than you can help, for I
always think it spoils the hair. Yours is more like what mine used to be
than any of the others, Gussy. Helena’s is like your papa’s; but my
hair used to be just your colour. Alas! it has fallen off sadly now.”
“Your hair is a great deal prettier than mine,” said Gussy, putting her
caressing arm round her mother’s neck. “I like that silver shade upon
it. Hair gets so sweet when it gets grey--one loves it so. If you had
not thought so much about us all, mamma dear, and had so many worries,
you would not have had a white thread. I know it is all for us.”
“Hush! my dear,” said Lady Augusta; “you are all very good children. I
have not had half so many worries as most people. It is in the family.
The Hightons all grow grey early. You were looking very nice to-night.
That blue becomes you; I always like you best in blue. Did you dance
with Edgar Arden more than once, Gussy? I could not quite make out----”
“Only once, mamma.”
“How was that? He was waiting for us to come in. I suppose you were
engaged to half-a-dozen people before you got there. I don’t like you to
do that. If they don’t come for you at the proper moment you are kept
from dancing altogether, and look as if you were neglected; and if they
do come, probably somebody else has made his appearance whom you would
like better. I don’t approve of engaging yourself so long in advance.”
“But one goes to dance,” said Gussy, with humility; “and to tell the
truth, mamma, Mr. Arden likes looking after you quite as much as dancing
with me. He likes to see that you are comfortable, and have some one
pleasant to talk to, and don’t want for anything. And I like him for
it!” the girl cried, fervently. “He is of more use to you than Harry is.
I like him because he is so fond of you.”
“Nonsense, dear!” said Lady Augusta, with a pleased smile. “He is good
to me on your account. And you must not say anything against Harry.
Harry is always a dear boy; but he has a number of friends, and he knows
I don’t expect him to give up his own pleasure. Yes; Edgar Arden is very
nice; I don’t deny I am getting quite fond of him. Did he--had you any
particular conversation with him, my darling, to-night?”
“No, mamma,” said Gussy, with her eyes cast down, and a rising colour on
her cheeks.
“Or perhaps he is coming to-morrow? Did he say anything about coming
to-morrow?” said Lady Augusta, with a little anxiety in her tone.
“He asked me if he might, but I said no. I thought we would be in such
confusion--everything packing up, and all our shopping to do, and so
much bother--and then probably when he came nobody at home. And you
know, mamma, we shall meet again so soon--next week,” said Gussy,
apologetically. As she spoke she began to feel that perhaps that little
bit of maidenly reluctance had been a mistake; and Lady Augusta shook
her head.
“My dear, I don’t think putting off is ever good,” she said. “When you
have lived as long as I have you will know upon what nothings the
greatest changes may turn. If he had come to-morrow, one needed no ghost
to tell us what would have happened--but next week is a different thing,
and the country is a different thing from town. There are seven miles
between Arden and Thorne--there is Clare at the other end to hold him
back--there are a thousand things; whereas, the present moment, you
know--there is nothing like the present moment in all such affairs.”
“If he cared so little for me,” cried Gussy, indignant, “as to be kept
back by seven miles--or even by Clare----”
“My dear, that is not the question,” said her mother. “He has been with
us here every day, but he can’t ride over to Thorne every day. He will
find business waiting for him, and his visitors will begin to come, and
Clare--without meaning any harm--I am sure Clare would never put
herself in opposition to you; she is a great deal too proud for
that--but without meaning it she will make engagements for him, she will
expect him to attend to her a little--and it is quite natural she
should. I am very sorry you did not let him come. For my own part I
should have liked to see him again. I am growing quite fond of him,
Gussy. He is the sort of young man whom one can put such confidence in.
I should have liked to ask his advice about Phil at Harrow. I should
have liked--but of course it cannot be helped now. I think I will ask
them both to come and spend a week with us at Thorne.”
“Mamma!” cried Gussy, with a violent blush. “Oh, don’t please; fancy
inviting a man--any man--for the express purpose---- Oh, please, for my
sake, don’t do such a thing as that!”
“Such a thing as what?” asked Lady Augusta, gravely. “Because you happen
to have a little feeling on the subject, that is not to prevent me, I
hope, from doing my duty to my nearest neighbours. Clare Arden has not
paid us a visit since she went into mourning. And she really ought not
to be encouraged to go on wearing black and shutting herself up in this
absurd way. I will write and invite them to-morrow. Don’t you see,
autumn is approaching, and of course he has asked quantities of
people--young men always do the first season, when they feel they have a
house all to themselves. No, my dear, don’t say anything. I know more of
the world than you do, and I know there is nothing so perilous as
letting such a thing drag on. He had better either ask you at once, or
make it quite plain that he is not going to ask you; and much as I like
him, Gussy, if this is not decided directly I shall certainly not invite
him any more.”
“Mamma, you make me so ashamed of myself,” said Gussy. “If you ask him
to Thorne for such a purpose I know I shall not be able to look at him.
I will not be civil to him--I could not--so it will do more harm than
good.”
“I am not afraid that you will be uncivil,” said Lady Augusta, with a
smile; “but it was very foolish of you to say he was not to come. I
can’t think how you could do it. Sometimes, it is true, it is better for
a man not to think he is too distinctly understood. Sometimes---- But
never mind, my dear, I see it is I who must manage matters now. Go and
put up your hair, and go to bed----”
“But, oh, mamma, dear!” cried Gussy, with her arms round her mother’s
neck. “Don’t! How could I ever speak to him when I knew---- How could I
ever look him in the face?”
“I hope you know how to conduct yourself towards all your papa’s
guests,” said Lady Augusta, with dignity. “If you don’t, I should feel
that I must have brought you up very badly. I hear your papa’s step
coming along the corridor. Good night, my darling! Go to bed, and don’t
think any more of it; and be sure you don’t let Angelique _crêper_ your
hair.”
Thus dismissed, Gussy sped along the passage, and rushed in, breathless
and indignant, yet not so indignant as she looked, into Ada’s room,
where her sisters were waiting for her. “Only fancy!” she cried,
throwing herself into the nearest chair. “Only think what mamma is going
to do! Because I would not let him come here to-morrow, when we will all
be in such confusion, she is going to write and ask the Ardens to
Thorne! I shall never be able to look him in the face. I shall feel he
knows exactly what is meant---- Oh! to think a man should be able to
suppose one expects---- He will think it is my doing--he will imagine I
want him. Oh, Ada! what shall I do----”
“Hush, dear, hush!” said Ada, who was the consoler of the house; while
Helena, in her _rôle_ of indignant womanhood, took up Gussy’s strain.
“He will think women are all exactly the same--that is what he will
think--ready to compass sea and land for the sake of a settlement,”
cried Helena. If you loved him it would not be so bad--or if he thought
you loved him; but it is for the settlement--it is because your trade is
to get married. Don’t you see, now, the justice of all I have been
saying? If you could learn a profession like a man, men would never dare
to think so. But the worst is, it is true. All that mamma thinks of is
to get you settled at Arden--all she thinks of is to get you provided
for--all she cares----”
“Helena!” cried Gussy, with a burst of tears. “I won’t hear you say a
single word against mamma.”
“Hush--hush, both of you children!” said gentle Ada. “Nell, you must not
storm; and, Gussy dear, I can’t bear you to cry. What mamma does always
comes out right. It may not be just what one could desire, nor what one
would do one’s self. But it always turns out better than one expects. Of
course, she wants to see you provided for--isn’t it her duty? She wants
you to be happy and well off, and have the good of your life as she has.
Nobody can say mamma has not done her duty. Sometimes it seems a little
hard to others, but we all know----”
“Oh, you dear Ada!” cried both her sisters, taking the comforter between
them, and weeping over her. But she, who was the martyr of the family,
did not weep. She gave them a kiss, first one and then the other, and
smiled at their girlish ready tears.
“I have never said very much about it,” she said; “but I think I know
Edgar Arden. He will not think anything disagreeable about mamma’s
invitation, if she sends it. He is not that kind of man; he is not
always finding people out, like some of Harry’s friends. He would not do
anything that is nasty himself; and he would never suspect anybody else.
It would not come into his head. And then he is fond of mamma and all of
us. I am quite sure, as sure as if I had put it to the proof, that he
would do anything for _me_ if I were to ask him--not to speak of Gussy.
And if that is really what he means----”
“I don’t think you think it is,” said Gussy, with a little flush of
pride. “I am sure you don’t think it is! Don’t be afraid to speak quite
plainly. You don’t suppose I care----”
“But I do suppose you care,” said Ada, giving her sister another
sympathetic kiss. “We all care. I am fond of him, too. I should like to
be quite sure he was to be my brother, Gussy---- and I should like, for
his sake, to make sure that you too----”
“Oh, it does not matter what a girl feels,” said Gussy, pettishly,
waving her pretty hair about her face, and concealing her looks behind
it. “We have to marry somebody--and then there are so many of us. Mamma
says I am not to _crêper_ my hair; but if I don’t, how can I ever make a
show as everybody does? She would not like to see me different from
other girls. Oh, me! I wish I was not a girl, obliged to take such
trouble about how I look and what people will think; and obliged to
wonder and bother and worry everybody about what some man is going to
say next time I meet him. Oh, I cannot tell you how I hate men!”
“I don’t hate them,” said Helena. “Why should we? Treat them simply as
your fellow-creatures. They have got to live in the world, and so have
we. The only thing is that we need not try to make each other miserable.
There is room enough for both of us. If they will only let me use my
faculties, I will take care not to interfere with them. I am not afraid,
for my part, to meet them upon equal terms----”
“Oh, I am so tired!” said Gussy. “I don’t want to meet any one on equal
terms. I never want to see one of the wretched creatures again. I wish
somebody would shut them all up, and let us have a little peace. I wish
somebody would come and do my hair. Nell, you have got nothing to vex
you: if you do not mind a little trouble, please ring for Angelique----”
And then Gussy sat still with tolerable composure, and had her hair
plaited up tight, and chattered about the Lowestofts’ dance. Her mind,
after all, was not seriously disturbed either by Edgar’s silence or her
mother’s threatened invitation. Perhaps, indeed, on the whole, it would
be rather pleasant than otherwise to have him at Thorne. He was so nice
in a house; he was kind to everybody, always ready to make himself
useful--a great deal more serviceable than Harry. And to be sure he had
understood perfectly, and so had she, what would have been said if,
amidst all the bother of packing, they had met to-morrow. It had not
been spoken in words, but in everything else it was decided and settled.
Gussy fell into silence after a while, and let the idea of him glide
pleasantly, tenderly through her mind. He was not a man who would be
like papa, absorbed in his estate, and his sessions, and his game. He
would not be selfish, as Harry sometimes was. He could not help being
thoughtful of other people, tender of everybody belonging to him. There
had been moments when Gussy had entertained a certain harmless envy of
Clare’s supremacy. But she envied her no longer--though Queen Gussy
would be a different kind of ruler from Princess Clare.