An Important Decision
"Gordon," said Mrs. Lindsay to her husband on the following evening,
when he was enjoying his after-dinner cup of coffee in the
drawing-room, and she judged him to be in a suitable mood to discuss
knotty problems, "I am not at all happy about Sylvia."
Mr. Lindsay paused to take an extra lump of sugar, and to help himself
deliberately to some more cream.
"Why, what's wrong with the child?" he asked. "I thought she was
looking much as usual to-day."
"She looks quite well," replied Mrs. Lindsay; "but I don't feel
satisfied, all the same."
"Try a fresh tonic," suggested her husband, stretching himself lazily
in his chair as he spoke.
"A tonic would be of absolutely no use."
"Then you had better send for Dr. Fergusson to-morrow, and let him see
her; it's as well to take things in time."
"It's not a case for Dr. Fergusson, yet it has been distressing me for
some months. Louisa was here yesterday, and she noticed it also, and
spoke to me most seriously about it."
"Really, Blanche, you alarm me! What's the matter with Sylvia? If Dr.
Fergusson can do no good we must take her to a specialist."
"It's not her body, Gordon, it's her mind. She's a dear child, but
she's growing so old-fashioned and sedate, she's more like a little
old woman than a girl of scarcely eleven. Louisa says it's most
unhealthy."
"I wish Louisa would mind her own business," said Mr. Lindsay,
frowning; "I can't see anything amiss with Sylvia. I think her
old-fashioned ways are particularly charming."
"Yet they are not natural at her age. She's living in a world of
dreams and make-believe. Books are all very well, but it's not good
for her to be entirely buried in them."
"She has a strong imagination," replied Mr. Lindsay, "a thing Louisa
can never appreciate. She inherits it from me, and I fully sympathize
with her funny little pretendings."
"Yes, when pretendings don't take the place of real life. Sylvia has
been such a solitary child, so accustomed to play by herself and make
her own amusements, that she has almost lost the desire for young
companions."
"I thought she had plenty of friends. Didn't I meet some of them going
away yesterday as I returned home?"
"Yes, but she doesn't enjoy having them here. I should be sorry,
Gordon, to believe our darling was selfish."
"That she most certainly is not!" declared Mr. Lindsay emphatically.
"Not with us, but I'm afraid she doesn't like her small plans
disturbed by other children. She's not very ready to give up her own
way; indeed I was obliged to scold her yesterday for reading a book
instead of entertaining her visitors."
"She gets absorbed in her books."
"Too much so. She needs to be made to run about more. She's such a
gentle little mouse, she always prefers quiet games to a romp. It's
not healthy for a child to live continually with only grown-up people.
We've thought so earnestly about her education, and she has been
taught so carefully and well, that I really believe we've given her a
kind of mental indigestion!"
Mr. Lindsay laughed.
"She's very bright for her age," he said. "She can talk about botany
and antiquities as well or better than many an older person. I'd
rather have Sylvia for a companion than half the people I know."
"But she mustn't turn out a prig, and I fear she's in sad danger of
doing so if we don't take matters in hand at once. Intellectual
interests are delightful, and we want her to have them, but they
hardly supply the place of tennis and rounders at eleven years of age.
She's far too thin and pale and fragile looking. Louisa says we have
been developing her mind at the expense of her body."
Mr. Lindsay groaned and wrinkled up his forehead into lines and
puckers.
"What does Louisa propose that we should do then?" he enquired. "I've
no doubt she has some plan to suggest."
"She thinks Sylvia ought to be sent away to school."
"Then there is plenty of time to talk it over before Christmas."
"Not at Christmas. At once. The September term has only just begun,
and it's not at all too late."
"Whew! But what about Miss Holt? We couldn't pack her off at a
moment's notice."
"Her brother's wife died during the summer holidays, and she would be
only too delighted to go to keep house for him in Derbyshire and look
after his motherless children. I believe she didn't wish to return
here, only she didn't like to break faith with me. We needn't take her
into consideration."
"Then you actually propose to send Sylvia away immediately?"
"I am sure it would be for the best."
"But where?"
"Louisa knows the very school; Miss Kaye's at Aberglyn, where Bertha
Harding was educated. It seems satisfactory in every way, and the
Welsh mountain air would suit Sylvia; she looked so well after that
fortnight we spent at Llandudno."
"I should like to know a little more about it first. Sylvia is such an
unusual child, and would be miserable if she were popped down amongst
an unsympathetic number of girls and a set of teachers who didn't
understand her."
"Miss Kaye is a clever woman. I think her system seems excellent."
"I don't wish Sylvia to grow up a kind of walking dictionary, with her
mind so crammed full of Greek, Latin, and Euclid that there's no room
for an original idea."
"She won't there. The girls lead a very rational, healthy life, with
plenty of time for games and outdoor exercise."
"Neither do I want her conversation to consist of nothing but golf and
hockey, like some of the young ladies of my acquaintance, whom I'm
afraid I scarcely admire."
"Gordon, how perverse you are! Louisa shall talk to you herself, and
tell you everything about the school that you can possibly wish to
know. She's coming to-morrow, when we can discuss the question
thoroughly, and in the meantime we must take care that Sylvia doesn't
get the least idea of what is in the wind."
If our little heroine could only have known the consultations which
were taking place about her future she would no doubt have acted very
differently on the following day; but as she was quite unaware that
any change was proposed, she naturally went on in her accustomed way,
with the result that her father, who was regarding her from a new
standpoint, noticed a good many things to which he had previously been
absolutely blind. In the first place she was dainty at breakfast;
refused her egg because it did not happen to be a brown one, left her
toast when she found that the crust was burnt, and helped herself to
an enormous serving of marmalade, which she did not finish. She argued
hotly with Miss Holt about some trifling point, and even took upon
herself to correct her mother. She never passed anything at table
without being asked, jumped up and began to read a book before the
others had finished, pretended not to hear when she was requested to
ring the bell, and had to be told twice that it was nine o'clock
before she would go upstairs to the schoolroom.
"It's certainly high time we sent her away," thought Mr. Lindsay. "I'm
afraid, with the best of intentions, we've completely spoilt her.
Louisa's right. She needs to be among other girls, to have her corners
rubbed off. At school there's no allowance made for fads and fancies,
and she would be obliged to fall in with the general rules. It will do
her good to be of a little less importance than she is at home.
Strange that I never noticed all this before!"
When Aunt Louisa arrived, therefore, in the evening, prepared to
encounter a great many objections to her suggestion, she was surprised
to find that her brother agreed with her so easily, and, after
listening to her detailed accounts of Miss Kaye's excellent
arrangements, consented quite readily that Sylvia should be sent there
as soon as the necessary preliminaries had been settled and her
clothing should be considered in due order.
"A week will be ample time for that," said Aunt Louisa. "Miss Saunders
will soon run her up a school frock, and you could send anything else
she requires afterwards, Blanche. It would be a pity for her to lose
more of the term than we can help. She won't like to find herself
behind-hand in the classes, and now you have made up your minds it
will be better not to let her have too long to think it over."
"I don't know what Sylvia will say!" sighed Mrs. Lindsay, who half
repented of parting with her darling. "I'm afraid she will never
forgive us."
"I shouldn't ask her," replied Aunt Louisa firmly. "She will like it
very much when once she gets there, and the improvement which it will
make in her is well worth a few tears at the start. I beg, Blanche,
that you will not be foolish now, and stand in the way of the child's
real good."
"I'll try not," said poor Mrs. Lindsay, wiping her eyes; "but when
you've only the one, and she's never been away from you before, it
seems so hard to let her go."
"Oh, you'll get over that! I felt just the same when Cuthbert first
went to school, and I'm quite accustomed to it now. We can't expect to
keep our children always tied to our apron strings."
"I suppose not, but boys are different from girls, and Sylvia has been
such a pet. If she's not happy at Heathercliffe House she'll simply
make herself ill with fretting, and the cure will be worse than the
disease."
"I'm sure she will not do so. She will be so interested in her work
and her new companions that, after the first few days of homesickness
are over, she will settle down and like her fresh life immensely."
"You really think so?" said Mrs. Lindsay. "Well, the decision is made
and I suppose we must keep to it now; but I'm dreading the moment when
I shall have to break the news to her."
To Sylvia the announcement came as a great shock. She was totally
unprepared for it, and the idea of such a sudden change was anything
but a welcome one. When she fully understood that in one short week
she was to be banished to a strange place, among people whom she had
never seen, she clung to her mother in such a passion of tears that
if it had not been for the thought of what Aunt Louisa would say, Mrs.
Lindsay would have yielded and have begged her husband to keep the
child at home after all. As it was, she did her best to soothe her,
and to paint the future in as bright colours as her fancy could
depict.
"I'll never be happy again, never!" sobbed Sylvia. "I shall be as
miserable as Evelyn in _The Little Heiress_ or Rosalie in _The Orphan
Cousin_. They both broke their hearts until the last chapter, and so
shall I."
"Nonsense, darling, you must try to be brave! Heathercliffe House is a
most charming school, and I'm sure you will be happy. You'll find ever
so many nice little girls of about your own age who will be ready to
make friends with you, and there will be plenty of fun going on as
well as lessons. I want you to make some more friends."
"I have Effie and May."
"They're too young for you. You would get on better with girls rather
older than yourself, I believe. It will be quite a new thing for you
to be one of a class. I'm sure you will like Miss Kaye."
"If she's like the mistress in _Sara Crewe_ I shall hate her,"
declared Sylvia.
"But she's not. She's very kind and not at all prim. She takes the
girls the most delightful country walks, and sometimes they go down to
the beach. You're so fond of the seaside, aren't you?"
"Yes," said Sylvia doubtfully, "when it's holidays, and you and
Father are there. I shall have to pretend I'm an outlaw or a hostage,
like Richard in _The Little Duke_, and that my subjects are busy
fighting to keep my kingdom while I'm away."
"Imagine anything you wish, dear; but I don't suppose you will need to
amuse yourself with pretendings at Aberglyn. You will find some fresh
books there, at any rate; there is a large school library."
"I'd like that. But oh, Mother, I shall have my birthday at school!"
"I'm sorry for that; but we can send you your presents, and you shall
have your party when you come home. Now, won't you be my brave girl,
and cheer up? I want to begin to decide what things you're to take
with you, and what must be left behind."
So much had to happen during Sylvia's last brief week at home that
from morning till night the days seemed completely full. Her usual
lessons with her governess were given up, and the schoolroom turned
for a time into a kind of outfitting establishment. Miss Saunders, the
dressmaker, was installed at the table with her sewing machine,
working at a school frock and a new autumn coat, while her mother and
Miss Holt between them hastily finished winter underclothes.
"We don't know how soon the weather may turn cold," said Mrs. Lindsay,
"and it's as well to send everything at once if we can, though I
expect the thick nightdresses will have to follow."
Sylvia found it really rather exciting, and if it had not been for the
thought of parting from her father and mother she would have quite
enjoyed being a person of such great importance. It was decidedly
gratifying to have Aunt Louisa coming in every day to consult about
her clothes and assist in choosing her new hat; she had never taken so
much notice of her little niece before, except occasionally to express
disapproval, and Sylvia felt that at last her aunt was giving her the
consideration which was only her due. Then the shopping expeditions
were great fun; it seemed nice to buy yards of hair ribbon at a time,
and several pairs of boots and gloves, as well as a dozen pocket
handkerchiefs, a mackintosh, and a pair of goloshes. Miss Holt was
kept busy marking her new possessions, stitching tapes on stockings,
and lengthening her winter petticoats.
She had quite a number of presents given her to take to school. Aunt
Louisa surprised her one day with a lovely green Russia-leather
writing case, fitted inside with notepaper, envelopes, postcards, and
everything she would be likely to need for her letters home, including
a pen with an ivory handle, and six gilt nibs. There was a key that
would lock and unlock it, and her initials were stamped in gold
letters on the top flap. To say that she was pleased would hardly
express her satisfaction. Uncle George sent her a paintbox--not the
ordinary children's kind which she had always had before, but one with
china pans of good colours and proper sable brushes that had the most
delicate points and would go neatly into corners that her old
camel-hair ones would have certainly smudged. Her mother gave her a
beautiful new Bible, bound in dark-purple morocco, with many
illustrations of Eastern scenes, and maps and a concordance at the
end.
"You must read a little piece every day, darling, as you do at home,
though I shall not be there to explain it to you. Miss Holt has made
you this pretty marker to keep your place, and I have put a sprig of
lavender at our favourite chapter."
Father had bought her a Prayer Book and hymnbook in a case to take
to church on Sundays, and added a tiny purse in which to keep her
collection money. Cousin Cuthbert sent a cedarwood pencil box
containing a blue-handled penknife, several new lead pencils, an
indiarubber, and an ink eraser; the cook made her a box of toffee, and
the housemaid crocheted a toilet tidy to hang on her dressing table. A
large new trunk had arrived, and stood in the spare bedroom all ready
to be packed, and so many parcels were being delivered from various
shops that it was quite an excitement to carry each fresh one upstairs
to the schoolroom and open it.
"I hope Miss Kaye will find you as well on as other girls of your
age," said Miss Holt anxiously, as she sorted out a few lesson books
and some pieces of music for Sylvia to take with her. "Do remember
that _aller_ is an irregular verb! I should be so ashamed if you began
'_j'alle_, _tu alles_, _il alle_,' as you did last week! I wish you
would look up the dates of the kings and queens of England before you
go, and your weights and measures. I'm afraid you are not very certain
of some of them, especially square and cubic. I think you are pretty
good at spelling, but I'm sure they will consider you write badly for
nearly eleven years old; you don't hold your pen properly, and you
make so many blots. I hope they won't ask you for the geography of
Europe, for you've only learnt England and physical outlines; and when
you play Clementi's second sonatina, don't forget that you always
count the time wrong in the fourth bar. I have told you about it so
often."
"All right, Miss Holt!" replied Sylvia, "I'll do my best, but I wish
we could lose old Clementi; I do so hate the sonatinas. I hope my new
teacher will give me some fresh pieces, and won't bother with the
metronome. I think it's that which makes me count wrong. I'll tell her
it's not your fault, anyway. Are you going to teach your nephews and
nieces in Derbyshire?"
"No, they all attend a day school except the baby, who is too young
for lessons. I shall have plenty to do in looking after them and the
house. I hope you will be happy, Sylvia, in your new life. I have
tried to ground you thoroughly, and any future teachers ought to find
you fairly well-informed upon most subjects."
There was very little time left even for the final instructions which
Miss Holt considered necessary; the days seemed literally to fly, and
the last one came only too soon for all concerned. Effie and May
called to say good-bye, much distressed at parting with their
playfellow, and immensely impressed by the preparations, which Sylvia
was secretly extremely proud of being able to show to them.
"You'll be too big to play with us when you come back," said Effie
wistfully.
"No, I shan't," replied Sylvia, kissing them in a rather superior and
patronizing manner. "I shall like to have you just as much at my
Christmas party; but perhaps I shan't care to romp about quite in the
same way, because, you see, when I come back I shall be eleven years
old, and one of Miss Kaye's girls at Heathercliffe House."