THE JOHNSTON FAMILY
"WHERE is Letitia? I can't imagine what has become of her. That girl
will be here directly, and it will seem so rude, if Letitia is out.
Somebody ought to have met her in Bristol, but really I have not known
how to arrange it; and Letitia never thinks of anything."
"Except it be a thing that she wants for herself," chimed in Howard
Johnston, a rather handsome and severe-looking young man, busy at
a side writing-table in the large drawing-room. It was an upstairs
drawing-room, after the manner of the big old-fashioned Royal York
Crescent houses in Clifton; and its front windows overlooked the
lengthy crescent-shaped stone terrace which partly hid from sight the
road below.
"Girls always think of themselves first. What can you expect? I'm
sure she is welcome to do what she likes, generally. 'I' don't expect
my children to put themselves out for me," declared Mrs. Johnston
complacently, from the depths of a luxurious chair. "But I do think she
ought to have managed to meet her friend. She knows that I meant to
send her down in a cab with Jerrold—and I didn't see the use of Jerrold
going alone. She would never have managed to stumble on the right
person. Jerrold is all very well as a maid, but she is stupid about
that sort of thing."
"It might have been more polite to make the effort."
"Do you think so? But really I have been so busy, I am afraid it
slipped my memory. Letitia should have seen to things. At all events,
she ought to have managed to come home in time."
"No doubt the young lady knows Letitia too well to be astonished at
anything."
"But I have never seen her, and she knows none of us except Letitia.
It was so provoking that she should accept the invitation just now.
Almost any other time would have been better. So much going on in
Clifton! And, of course, we can't take Miss Mackenzie everywhere.
People haven't always spare space; and I don't even know yet whether
she is presentable; and Letitia can't be perpetually leaving her. It is
provoking. Letitia said we were bound to ask her before winter because
it has always been a promise. I am sure I shouldn't have remembered,
but I suppose I did say something once, and Letitia seems to have made
the most of it. So absurd of her. And I suppose the girl will stay a
month at least. Country people of that sort have no notion of paying a
short visit."
"Make some other arrangement, and tell her the room won't be free after
a certain date."
"My dear boy, how can I? Letitia has asked her for a month. 'It was
always promised,' she says."
"Promised! For whose sake?"
"I'm sure I don't know. Letitia 'used' to wish it."
"Well—if Letitia undertakes her—"
"But that is the very thing! I believe Letitia would be as glad to be
off it as I should be. Of course they were very good friends at school,
but that is another matter. It isn't really that Letitia 'wants' her
now, only she feels bound. I don't suppose Miss Mackenzie is anything
particular—not pretty, or clever, and she doesn't sing or play, and
her father is only the manager of a little country branch bank. For
my part, I can't imagine what made Letitia take to her; only girls do
like to have a fuss made about themselves, and it is plain that Miss
Mackenzie has an immense admiration for Letitia. That's how it has
been. And at school, as I say, it was all very well. Letitia was glad
of anything to pass the time. But here it is different. She has any
amount of friends; and really, between ourselves, I believe she would
have been glad if Miss Mackenzie had put off coming. Only, in a sort of
way, Letitia is conscientious, you know, and she declared we had to ask
the girl."
"Conscientious 'in a sort of way!' I should think her sense of
obligation might extend so far as to include a kind welcome."
"Oh, of course! Letitia means to be as kind as possible. She always
does. I don't say the child isn't a little scrap spoilt, but she really
has very nice manners—generally. Of course she will take Miss Mackenzie
about, and make it a pleasant visit. Only it really is 'rather' a bore
for poor dear Letitia because I don't suppose Euphrasia Mackenzie will
suit Letitia's friends in the least. And a month is a long time. If it
were only a week or ten days, one could manage better. But it can't be
helped. That sort of thing has to be endured. Letitia ought to have
been more cautious with her promises. I do wish she would come in first
of the two."
Letitia failed to do so. At this very moment she was seated in a
friend's house, deeply interested in a certain discussion of plans, and
oblivious of the hour. At this very moment Euphrasia was driving alone
into the road below the Royal York Crescent.
She had not expected to find nobody waiting for her at the big noisy
Bristol station. Euphrasia was not yet much of a traveller.
"You will be met, of course," her mother had said, on seeing her off.
And though capable of managing for herself, she did look out, with
eagerness amounting to certainty, for Letitia's pretty face, as the
train drew up.
But no Letitia was there! Euphrasia wasted some little time gazing
blankly about, before she could make up her mind to the reality.
Then she secured a porter and found her luggage, not a little hurt
at the apparent coldness. Something might unexpectedly have happened
to keep Letitia away—still, Euphrasia felt that it must have been a
very serious something which should have sufficed to keep her away, if
Letitia had been coming to her home.
"And if she could not come herself, she might have sent somebody,"
thought Euphrasia, during the long drive through Bristol, and up a
Bristol hill, into Clifton.
The cabman presently pulled up and leant over for a word. "Will you get
out at the lower door, or at the steps?"
"Lower door!"
"Royal York Crescent is a terrace, Miss. The luggage 'll have to go in
at the lower door, but there's steps up to the terrace, if you'd sooner
go in at the front door."
Euphrasia forlornly decided to cling to her luggage, and the cab drove
on.
Then the "lower door" was reached. And Euphrasia found herself,
inwardly quaking, in a long stone passage—kitchen regions, plainly.
The maid led to a flight of stairs, by means of which they gained the
hall. But this was only the "ground-floor," ordinarily considered,
level with the terrace. Here were dining-room and library, while for
the drawing-room yet another climb was needful. Country-bred Euphrasia,
used to two little sitting-rooms on a level with earth's surface, found
this a somewhat breathless experience. She grew each instant more
heated, bewildered and embarrassed. One glimpse of Letitia would have
set all right, but no Letitia appeared.
Had her coming been forgotten? Was she really not expected?
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