EUPHRASIA'S FRIEND
"MISS MACKENZIE," announced the man, who had taken the place of the
maid on the front door level.
Euphrasia cast a hungry glance round the drawing-room as she entered,
and she found there no Letitia. Not even when, advancing farther,
she obtained a view of the smaller back part, at first hidden. The
disappointment was so keen as actually to bring a threatening of
something like tears. Reserved Euphrasia was by no means always so
reserved as she liked to count herself. She had to clench her gloved
hands, and to set her teeth.
A young man, seated at a side writing-table, stood up, and the lady
beyond made a half motion, as of intent to do the same, but did not
actually raise herself. Perhaps the object seemed hardly worth the
exertion. She held out a hand of welcome, however, smiling in a lavish
style.
"How do you do, Miss Mackenzie? Quite well, I hope? And not very tired
with your long journey! Travelling really is most fatiguing, is it not?
We are delighted to have you at last in our midst."
Mrs. Johnston's eyes ran all over Euphrasia, taking careful stock of
her exterior, and farther than the exterior those eyes had no power to
penetrate. ("Dear me! What a very ordinary girl!" decided the lady.
"What 'could' have made Letitia ever take a fancy to her? Such a
jacket! And no manner at all!")
"It's really most unfortunate that Letitia should have been prevented
from meeting you at the station. Bristol is such a bustling place that
she fully meant to be there, but she found it impossible, I suppose,
to get back in time. Letitia has so many engagements, and Clifton is
such a busy place, always something going on. I never can count upon
her now for anything. One lives in a perpetual rush. (Has the girl
nothing to say? Does she mean to stand and stare for an hour?) Pray sit
down, Miss Mackenzie. Yes, that chair please, Howard. My son,—no doubt
Letitia has mentioned her brothers to you. Girls always talk over their
home-people together, don't they? And you and she are great friends, I
know—'immense' friends. Letitia has so often spoken of the pleasure of
having you here."
"Letitia is rather more given to speech than action," remarked Howard.
"Oh, that is too bad—poor dear Letitia! When she isn't present to
defend herself! But Miss Mackenzie and I know better. Of course Letitia
has her little faults—what girl has not?—and sometimes she may even
forget to look at her watch when she has an important engagement on
hand, but she would never be willingly neglectful of anybody. I'm
really afraid she must have forgotten the hour this afternoon, but she
will be back directly. We shall see her in a minute or two; and I know
how distressed she will feel at her own carelessness. (I declare, the
girl has not uttered one single syllable, good, bad or indifferent!
Is she a dummy? I'll try a direct question!) Have you had a pleasant
journey?"
"Yes, thanks." Euphrasia gazed with combative eyes at the speaker; eyes
which had to be combative, if they would escape being tearful.
"Chilly, I should imagine."
"I don't mind cold." Euphrasia spoke curtly.
"Ah! So different from me! Now, cold quite shrivels me up, positively
kills me! But you are young and vigorous. Have you ever seen Clifton
before?"
"No, never." ("And I shall not stay long to see it now," thought
Euphrasia. "If only I had not come!")
"A very pretty place, you know. Delightful walks and drives. Letitia
must take you across the downs, and into the Leigh Woods."
Euphrasia was silent.
"Ah, here is the child at last!" Mrs. Johnston spoke in a tone of
relief, feeling that her share of responsibility was ended. "My dear,
you have been most thoughtless! Your friend has arrived in your
absence, and you know that you were to have gone down to the station.
I had looked upon that as a settled matter. Miss Mackenzie must have
thought you quite unkind, really 'most' unkind, letting her come among
us as a perfect stranger. But of course you could not help it!"
Letitia entered slowly—a pretty girl, prettily dressed—with a
thundercloud of annoyance on her brow. No confirmation came from her
of the last assertion—no disclaimer from Euphrasia of the preceding.
A mechanical kiss was exchanged between the friends, and Letitia
stood gazing into the fireplace, wrapped up in her own thoughts. Mrs.
Johnston glanced from the one downcast face to the other, uncomfortably
aware of something out of joint.
"Where have you been, my dear?"
"To the Fearings!"—shortly.
"Lady Fearing?"
"Yes, of course! You knew! I told you I was going there!" The tone
spoke of ill-temper, and was, to say the least, disrespectful.
That her friend "had a temper," as the saying goes, Euphrasia was
aware, but she had not before seen precisely this form of it. At school
Letitia had been in wholesome subjection, and such a tone to the
principal, or to any of the teachers, would not have been tolerated
for a moment. At home the spoilt manner of a spoilt child was at once
reassumed, but it came upon Euphrasia with a shock. She was not herself
peculiarly sympathetic in manner to her own mother, but at least she
never showed disrespect.
"Well, you may have told me, Letitia, but I am sure I don't remember.
So many things are always coming up."
"Lady Fearing asked me to call, and I told you I had to go and couldn't
get back early. You 'might' have remembered," Letitia continued curtly.
"And it's most provoking. Lady Fearing wants me to go to Bath with her
and Cecy next week for three or four nights—to one of the hotels. We
should go everywhere and see everything. It would be so delightful. Of
course, I said I could not, but—"
"No, of course not," assented Mrs. Johnston, with a warning glance,
which had more effect on Euphrasia than on Letitia.
Letitia sighed, and dangled one of her gloves to and fro with a dismal
air.
"Of all things I should have loved it," she murmured.
"Why should you not go?" asked Euphrasia.
"Oh, why—of course—" uttered Letitia, half-ashamed.
"It would not be convenient. Entirely out of the question." Mrs.
Johnston launched another reproachful glance. She might be as much
disappointed as Letitia at the impossibility, and she was not delighted
at first sight with her daughter's friend, nevertheless, she knew what
politeness required of them both.
"Then it is not because of my being here for a few days? That need make
no difference. I shall be going home early next week."
"Oh, nonsense—why, you promised us a month at least." Letitia was
beginning to get a glimpse of herself from outside, and to realise the
rudeness into which temper had betrayed her.
"I don't think I promised anything. I have only come for a 'very' few
days. My father isn't well, and I almost put off coming altogether."
"Oh, well—of course that makes a difference. I mean, I am very sorry he
isn't well. What is the matter with him? But you wouldn't like to be
long away, if he is poorly. And then, of course—"
"My dear, I think you had better show Miss Mackenzie to her room. Tea
will be up in a few minutes, and Miss Mackenzie may be glad to remove
her hat."
Euphrasia made no objection. She was upheld by a consciousness of
having acted her part well. She certainly 'would' go home—if not before
Sunday, then immediately after. At home she was wanted, here she was
not wanted. A glow of affection for the dear little home crept over
her as she walked silently in Letitia's rear; and she wondered how she
could ever have been so eager to leave it.
[Illustration]