MISS PASKE DEFIES HER AUNT.
Mrs. Langrishe gave an exceedingly languid acquiescence to the constant
remark, “What a charming girl Miss Gordon is! and what a favourite
she has become! Her aunt and uncle are quite devoted to her.” She was
thinking sadly on these occasions of her own niece, Lalla, who danced
like a fairy, or moonbeams on the sea, who was always surrounded at
balls, whose banjo playing and smart sayings made her indispensable; no
entertainment was considered complete without Miss Paske.
These social triumphs were delightful; but, alas! the fair Lalla
was _Joie de rue, douleur de maison_, and her aunt, who smiled so
complacently in public when congratulated on her young relative’s
social successes, knew in her heart that that same relative had proved
a delusion and a cruel fraud. Fanny had been _much_ cleverer than she
supposed in passing on a veritable infliction--a very base little
counterfeit coin. It was true that Fanny had not actually lied in her
description. Lalla was good-looking, _piquante_, accomplished, and
even-tempered; but an uneven temper would have been far easier to cope
with. When remonstrated with, or spoken to sharply, the young lady
merely smiled. When desired not to do such and such a thing, she did
it--and smiled. When her aunt, on rare occasions, lost her temper with
her, she positively beamed. She never attempted to argue, but simply
went her own way, as steadily obdurate as a whole train of commissariat
mules.
She was distinctly forbidden to go to Sunday picnics, but went to them
nevertheless. She was requested not to sit in “kala juggas” (dark
corners) at balls. Mrs. Langrishe might have saved her breath, for at
balls, if she happened by chance to glance into one, she was almost
certain to see some young man in company with her incorrigible niece,
who would nod at her with a radiant expression, and laughingly refuse
to go home.
Poor Mrs. Langrishe! she could not make a scene. Lalla, crafty Lalla,
was well aware that her aunt would patiently submit to any private
indignity sooner than the world should suspect that her niece was
wholly out of hand, and that she could not manage her. Miss Paske
traded comfortably on this knowledge, until she nearly drove her
stately chaperon crazy.
The young lady was determined to be amused, and to make the best of
life, and possibly to marry well. She treated herself in her aunt’s
house as an honoured and distinguished guest--ordered the servants
about, upset existing arrangements, and asked men constantly to lunch
or tea, or--oh, climax!--dinner. If remonstrated with, she merely
remarked, with her serene, bewitching smile--
“Oh, but, darling”--she always called Mrs. Langrishe “darling,” even at
the most critical moments--“I always did it at Aunt Fanny’s! she never
objected; _she_ was so hospitable.”
She gave no assistance in the house, and usually sat in her own room
curling her fringe, studying her parts, or writing letters. Her chief
intimate was Mrs. Dashwood, who had been on the stage, and the men of
the theatrical set; and she blandly informed her horrified chaperon
that she had been considered the fastest girl in India, and gloried in
the distinction.
“In Calcutta they called me ‘the sky-scraper,’” she added, with a
complacent laugh.
What was to be done? This was a question Mrs. Langrishe put to Granby,
and then to herself. Never, never had she spent such a miserable time
as during this last two months. To be flouted, mocked, and ordered
about under her own roof; to be defied, caressed, and called endearing
names by a penniless, detestable minx, who was dependent on her even
for money for postage stamps and offertory! Should she pay her passage
and pack her off home? No, she would not confess herself beaten--she,
the clever woman of the family! She would marry the little wretch
well--in a manner that would redound to her own credit--and then wash
her hands of her _for ever_.
* * * * *
The first series of theatricals were an immense success. Miss Paske was
the principal lady in the piece, and looked charming from across the
footlights. Captain Waring, who was fond of the stage, had gone behind
the scenes, and painted Lalla’s pert little face at her own request,
which same civility occasioned considerable heartburning and jealousy
among the other ladies, especially as the result was a complete
artistic triumph.
Every one was carried away by the Prima Donna’s vivacious acting and
sprightly dancing, which was both dashing and graceful--in short,
the very poetry of motion. Her dress, too--what there was of it--was
perfect in every detail. Skirt-dancing was as yet in its infancy--a
lady _figurante_ was a rare spectacle on an Indian stage, and the novel
and astonishing character of the performance swept the spectators off
their feet, and Lalla and Toby Joy shared the honours of the night
between them.
Mrs. Langrishe was secretly horrified. She had only seen Lalla’s
costume in the piece; Lalla and the Dirzee (whom she entirely
monopolized) had composed it together--she had planned, he had carried
out her sketch. There had been mysterious conferences and tryings on,
from which her aunt had been rigidly excluded, and Mrs. Langrishe was
much too proud to affect an interest or curiosity in the matter; but
in her wildest moments she had never dreamt of the character of the
dress--or its limits!
As she sat in the front row, gazing at the waving arms and supple limbs
of her odious niece, little did her neighbours guess that a social
martyr was among them,--a martyr whose sufferings were still further
aggravated by the self-satisfied smirk and airy kiss the fair dancer
had deigned to fling her!
Afterwards, when Lalla, closely cloaked and hooded, was modestly
receiving the congratulations of her friends, she remarked to them
bashfully--
“Oh, you have _no_ idea how nervous I was at first! My poor little
knees were actually shaking under me.”
“Were they? I did not notice _them_,” rejoined Mrs. Brande in her
severest manner; and listeners allowed that on this occasion “old
mother Brande had scored!”
Mrs. Langrishe the next morning, having first fortified herself with
a glass of wine, entered her niece’s bower, in order to administer
a really sound scolding, the gist of which was (as repeated by the
listening Ayah to other deeply interested domestics, as she took a pull
at the cook’s huka)--
“As long as you are in _my_ house, and under my care, you must behave
yourself properly. If this is impossible, as I fear it is, I shall send
you straight home. The Ayah will take you to Bombay, and see you off
second-class, though the class that best suits your manners is really
the steerage. Your acting, and, to a certain extent, your dancing, was
all very well; but I do not wonder that Mrs. Brande was shocked at your
dress, or rather the want of it--scarcely below your knees!”
“Mrs. Brande is a narrow-minded old toad!” cried Lalla contemptuously.
“I don’t believe she was ever in an English theatre in her life. She
should see some of the dresses at home!”
“This is not the way to get yourself settled, and you know it,” pursued
her aunt. “It was most fortunate that Sir Gloster was not present--he
is a man with very correct ideas.”
“That stupid, sluggish bumpkin! what are his ideas to me?” scoffed
Lalla, with a maddening smile.
“I wish he had an idea _of_ you,” retorted her aunt. “I’m sure I should
be most thankful. However, you are aware that we go down in four
months, and remember, that this is your last chance!”
Hereupon, according to the Ayah, Miss Sahib “plenty laugh.”
But Miss Sahib evidently laid the advice to heart. For a few days she
was extremely piano and demure, accepting her recently-won honours and
the appellation of “Miss Taglioni” with an air of meek protest that was
simply delightful.
The play was soon succeeded by a concert at the club; and here Miss
Gordon, with her violin, put Miss Paske completely in the shade for
once. What a contrast they presented. The little smirking, bowing,
grimacing figure in pink, with clouds of fluffy hair, and banjo,
streaming with gay ribbons, who made up for lack of voice, by
expression, chic, and impudence, and threw Tommy Atkins, in the four
anna seats, into a delirium of enthusiasm.
Then came the tall young lady in white, with statuesque arms, who
gradually cast a spell of enchantment over her listeners, and held the
emotions of her audience in the hollow of the small hand that guided
her bow.
For once Mrs. Brande felt conscious that Honor had quite, as she
mentally expressed it, “snuffed out that brazen little monkey,” and
though personally she preferred the banjo and nigger melodies, the
audience in the two rupee places apparently did _not_, for they
applauded enthusiastically, and stamped and shouted, “Encore! encore!”
and seemed ready to tear the house down. And even young Jervis, usually
so retiring and undemonstrative, had clapped until he had split his
gloves.
Mrs. Langrishe was not behindhand with her plaudits. She would not
leave it in any one’s power to declare that she was jealous of Miss
Gordon’s overwhelming success, but to herself she said--
“Oh, if Honor Gordon was but _her_ niece! How thankfully would she
exchange relations with Mrs. Brande. Here was a simple, well-bred girl,
who could shine anywhere, and was quite thrown away in her present
hands. It was true that Sir Gloster seemed much struck; everyone saw
_that_, except the girl herself, and her old bat of an aunt. He had
never taken his eyes off her, as she stood before the footlights, and
she had made an undeniably charming picture, slim and graceful, with an
old-fashioned air of maidenly dignity, and _how_ she played!”
She glanced at her own special young lady, now coming forward to sing
yet another ditty, amidst the uproarious encouragement of the back
benches.
Lalla was pretty, her fair soft hair was wisped up anyhow (a studied
art), her eyes were bright, her style _piquante_, but her expression
was everything, and oh, what a little demon she was!
And then she sang--certainly she was the most successful cantatrice who
ever sang without a voice.
“What a charming inmate your niece must be, Mrs. Langrishe,” observed a
lady next her. “So amusing and bright, quite a _sunbeam_ in the house.”
To which the poor martyr rejoined with a somewhat rigid smile, “Oh yes,
indeed, quite delightful.”
She envied Mrs. Brande her treasure still more, when, as they were
leaving the club, she noticed Honor affectionately wrapping up her
aunt--for it had turned out a wet night--and making some playful joke
as she tied a hood under her ample chin. _Her_ niece had helped herself
to the only mackintosh, and had rolled away in her rickshaw, among the
first flight, with a young man riding beside her.
“She went off with Toby Joy! I really am astonished that Mrs.
Langrishe allows her to be so independent,” said a voice (a woman’s) in
the dark, close beside that ill-used lady, and happily unaware of her
vicinity.
Miserable Mrs. Langrishe, if they only knew _all_, the most
stony-hearted would surely commiserate her.
She returned home alone, firmly resolved to give Lalla a talking to,
but when she arrived--her anger had ebbed. She discovered the culprit
reclining in an easy-chair, smoking a friendly cigarette with Granby,
and entertaining him with inimitable mimicry of some of her fellow
performers.
“Oh, so you have appeared at last!” cried Lalla, with languid surprise.
“Fie, fie, how late you are, darling! _I’ve_ been home ages. I took
the waterproof to cover up my beloved banjo--I ‘wrapped it up in its
tarpaulin jacket,’ you know the song. I was sure, as I did not see
you, that some horrible bore had got hold of you, and I knew you would
_hate_ to keep me waiting in the rain, so I dashed off home at once.”