EUPHRASIA'S PLANS
"BUT what is the matter? What is wrong?" exclaimed Mrs. Mackenzie. "Why
have you come home at this hour?"
"Dr. North was there: and he said I should be better for an afternoon's
rest. Where is Euphrasia?"
"How should I know, Colin? Girls are so restless. She is out somewhere
walking with Flo. But I'm so unhappy about you! I know you are going to
be ill. I am quite sure of it."
"My dear, I hope not. Pray do not talk so before the children. I am not
quite up to the mark just now, perhaps." Then a smile dawned, as two
girls came quickly in—the elder eighteen in age, the younger a mere
child of thirteen, and an exceedingly pretty child.
Nobody ever called Euphrasia pretty. She had blunt manners, and
irregular features, and no particular complexion. But, in Mr.
Mackenzie's opinion, all defects were compensated for by the peculiar
stedfast gleam of her gray eyes; a gleam which, in childhood, had made
suitable the pet name of "Little Eyebright." The name clung to her
still, though she was "little" no longer, but of good medium height and
rounded proportions.
Perhaps Mrs. Mackenzie had never become entirely reconciled to the fact
that Euphrasia had failed to take after herself. Kenred, the only boy,
was good-looking enough to satisfy her desires: and Flo she was wont
to describe as "a perfect picture" of her earlier self. Some people
demurred privately, counting the "picture" far more attractive than the
original. But, "poor dear Euphrasia had nothing to boast of in the way
of looks," and this constituted one of Mrs. Mackenzie's many trials in
life.
The elder girl was commonly said to be more her father's than her
mother's child. She had inherited much of his Scotch reserve, of his
Scotch slowness in giving expression to the deeper feelings, but she
had not inherited his placid temper. At times, under pressure, she
could be stirred into vehement speech. When not so stirred, she was apt
to veil her true self under a crustiness of demeanour, which repelled
some people and perplexed others. It certainly stood in marked contrast
with Flo's sweet and winning ways.
Almost everybody liked Flo best, and wondered how it was that the elder
girl should be so different. Perhaps Mr. Mackenzie alone in the house,
and Mrs. Landor alone out of the house, guessed the real worth of
character which lay undeveloped beneath this outer crustiness.
"Is father ill?" exclaimed Flo. She came to his side and put her little
hand on him caressingly. "We met Mr. Everett, and he said he had been
bringing father home."
"A little out of sorts, my dear. Just a headache," interrupted Mr.
Mackenzie.
"Colin, you never told me that! Why, I saw you come in alone!"
"My dear, there was no cause for a fuss. Everett gave me his arm part
of the way."
Mr. Mackenzie did not find it needful to state how large a part of the
way. He was rather annoyed at this unexpected rencontre of the young
clerk with his two girls, and vexed with himself for not having warned
Everett to keep silence. But somehow he had felt so confused as to be
unable to think steadily.
"It was just nothing," he reiterated,—"just a headache. I'll be all
right to-morrow."
"But, daddy, he said—"
"Flo, do hold your tongue. You are bothering father," Euphrasia said
sharply.
And Flo's sweet face flushed up, the blue eyes filling, like veronica
blossoms full of dew.
"Really, Euphrasia!—You do scold that poor darling!" remonstrated Mrs.
Mackenzie.
"Nay, nay; nobody is going to scold anybody," interposed her husband,
always the family peacemaker. "My dear, I don't think we will have a
discussion just now. I am not just up to the mark. I wonder if you
could get me a nice cup of strong coffee. Somehow I think it would do
me good; and nobody makes it like you, Mary."
"Why, nobody's likely to. I learnt it from a Frenchwoman," said Mrs.
Mackenzie, much flattered.
She went off, and Colin Mackenzie used the opportunity for a strict
injunction. Nobody was to say anything that would make the little
mother anxious.
"But, daddy dear, 'was' it true? Mr. Everett did tell us you fell right
down, and couldn't tell where you were at first. And he said you looked
'awfully bad.' Was it true?"
Flo's lips were quivering still with the rebuke she had received.
"James Everett is a silly boy to go and chatter. I was a trifle dizzy,
I'll admit, but nothing to make a fuss about, nothing at all, you
understand. I'll write a line to Everett, and bid him hold his tongue,
and Ken shall take it round presently. And the less you both say to
your mother the better."
"I told you so, Flo! I said father wouldn't like you to repeat it."
"Never mind! It's all right,—no harm done! Nobody is going to say
anything more. I think I'll lie down for an hour, and then I'll be
myself again." Mackenzie kissed Flo and patted Euphrasia's arm as
he rose to move away. The slight fluster of talk had brought again
confused sensations.
"Flo, you'd better tell mother where to take the coffee. Father will be
upstairs." Then, as she vanished, Euphrasia came nearer and asked, "Is
nothing the matter really? Not like what Mr. Everett said?"
Mackenzie stood still, leaning on the back of a tall chair. "I was—not
just the thing, my dear; Everett was not so far wrong. Just a passing
little attack, but I'm not to be counted ill; and Dr. North hopes it
will not recur. I would not have your mother know, on any account. She
would give herself no peace."
"Did anything happen to worry you, father?"
"Things do happen once in a way!" Mackenzie spoke evasively.
And Euphrasia, looking straight up into his face, read there an
unwonted shadow, as of something impending.
"It isn't only that you are poorly," she said decisively. "Not only
just a headache, father. Something or other has gone wrong at the Bank."
"Hush! My dear! I wouldn't have you overheard for anything. That is
not your business. Something of worry comes, of course, now and again;
and very often it means nothing—just nothing at all. Why should it? I
am not quite what I was since the influenza, and a trifle too easily
knocked down, perhaps. But you must not talk to people as if I had any
special weight upon my mind. Be sure you do not! I would not have it
said for anything. And I'll be all right in the morning."
"I will not tell, of course, but of course I can't help seeing,"
Euphrasia answered sturdily. Then an impulse came, and she acted upon
it, without pausing to consider. "Father—would you like—would you
rather—if you like, I'll put off going to the Johnstons! Shall I? If
you are bothered, and would like to have me at home!"
As she made the offer, her heart gave a resisting bound, and then sank
low at his look of instant relief. But quickly as she saw what his wish
would be, so quickly he saw what the giving up would mean to her.
"No, no—nonsense—not the least need. Have your pleasure, Little
Eyebright! I wouldn't for the world stand in the way. Not for a moment!
No, no; you'll be off in two days, and back again in a month. And what
is a month? Why, it's just nothing!"
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