answered.
"The chairs are of the usual height. Chairs are not nowadays
manufactured for pigmies," Miss Foster said severely.
"Did they use to be?" Lallie demanded with interest.
"No one has ever complained of the chairs in this house before," Miss
Foster continued, ignoring Lallie's question.
"I never complained of them, Miss Foster. They're very nice chairs as
chairs go: a bit straight and stiff, perhaps, but quite endurable if one
has a footstool. Tony has comfortable chairs in his room. I wonder how
men always manage to get such comfortable chairs? It's the same at
home; Dad has always the best of the chairs in his den, though I must
say we have a good many that are pretty decent."
"The hearth does look so naked without that stool," Miss Foster
lamented.
"I'll try to remember to put it back when I've done with it," Lallie
said, with undiminished sweetness; "but I'm not very good at putting
things back."
"That I have already observed, Miss Clonmell, and it is a pity. No
untidy person has ever achieved real greatness."
"Are you sure, Miss Foster? That's rather a sweeping assertion."
"I believe it to be a fact," Miss Foster replied coldly, "although it is
quite possible you may be able to bring forward one or two examples to
the contrary."
"I'm trying to think of all the lives of great men that ever I've read,
and I can't remember if it said they were tidy or not. I've an idea
some of them were not. Goldsmith now----"
"Goldsmith was Irish," Miss Foster interrupted.
"So was Wellington; so's Lord Roberts."
Miss Foster, without being at all sure of her facts, longed to point out
that orderliness was a striking characteristic of both these heroes, but
the fact of their nationality deterred her.
"I fear," Lallie went on, "that Shakespeare must have had a niggly sort
of mind in some ways in spite of his genius, because he left his wife
the second-best bed. If he'd been an ordinary, careless, good-natured
kind of man he'd never have remembered to specify which bed. Perhaps,
though"--and here Lallie spoke more cheerfully, as though she suddenly
perceived a rift in this cloud resting upon Shakespeare's memory--"it
was his wife who was so tiresome and finnicky, always pestering him
about not using the best things, so he left her the second-best bed as a
punishment."
Miss Foster made no reply, but opened the _Spectator_ with a flourish
and held it up in front of her as a screen.
"Don't you think that is possible, Miss Foster?" Lallie persisted.
"I must refuse to discuss any such absurd contingency. I have already
told you that I believe disorderly personal habits to be incompatible
with true greatness of character."
Lallie sighed deeply.
"It sounds like a police court case," she said sadly. "'Lallie
Clonmell, having no visible means of subsistence, and giving no address,
was yesterday arrested as being of "disorderly personal habits."' Well,
Tony would come and bail me out if the worst came to the worst. And yet
I'm considered very tidy and managing at home; quite a sort of Mrs.
Shakespeare, in fact. Everything depends on environment."
Miss Foster made no answer. Literally and figuratively she had wrapped
herself up in the _Spectator_.
But the harp, the piano, the bits of cotton dropped on the floor were
mere venial offences compared to the sin of making dirty footmarks upon
the stair carpet.
The front staircase at B. House is imposing, wide, and Y-shaped. The
first broad flight of steps starts from the centre of the large square
hall. Half way up it branches into two, terminating at opposite ends of
the landing upon which open the chief bedrooms, and the
assistant-master's sitting-room. It is a handsome staircase of polished
oak--no other house in Hamchester College has one half so fine--and it
was at that time carpeted with a particularly soft and thick,
self-coloured, art-blue carpet that matched the walls.
When the master of the house found how conspicuous were muddy or dirty
footmarks on this same carpet, and how such defacement distressed Miss
Foster who had chosen it, he always used the boys' staircase whenever he
went to his room to change. So did Mr. Johns. Till Lallie came no one
save Miss Foster ever used the front staircase at all, and she was most
careful never to ascend by it if her boots were either muddy or dusty.
She therefore saw no reason why Lallie should not show equal
forethought, especially as there was no chance of her guest meeting any
of the boys on the back staircase, as they were never allowed to go up
to the dormitories during the day.
Alas! Lallie showed no disposition to consider the welfare of the
carpet, but ran lightly up to her room by the front stairs no matter how
dirty her boots, and she often left the clear impression of a small sole
on every step.
The third time this occurred Miss Foster met her just outside her
bedroom door, and remarked with some acerbity:
"Haven't you discovered the other staircase yet, Miss Clonmell? It
really is the shortest way to your room."
"I like these stairs best, thank you. I'm not used to wooden stairs; my
feet make such a patter it disturbs me."
"But look at the marks your feet have made on the carpet," Miss Foster
expostulated indignantly.
Lallie went to the top of the stairs and looked down.
"They're very little marks," she said consolingly. "My worst enemy
couldn't say I've big feet."
"Quite large enough to make ugly and distressing stains when the feet
happen to be muddy. Don't you see how _every_ mark shows on that plain
carpet?"
"Yes, it must be tiresome," Lallie said coolly, as though she and the
footmarks had nothing whatever to do with one another. "It's a pity Tony
went and chose a colour like that where people have always to be going
up and down, but it's just like a man not to think of these things."
Miss Foster was really angry.
"There is no necessity for any one to go up and down with dirty feet,
Miss Clonmell."
Lallie's cheeks flushed pink, and the eyes that met Miss Foster's were
bright with defiance as she said softly and distinctly:
"When Mr. Bevan asks me to use the back staircase I'll do it; so far, he
has not so much as suggested it," and with her head in the air Lallie
marched across the landing to her room and shut the door very quietly,
with ostentatious care that it should latch effectively.
It was a declaration of war, and, as such, Miss Foster received it.
That evening Miss Foster unbosomed herself in a letter to her favourite
niece--the niece whose wedding she had attended when Lallie, as she
described it, "sneaked in" during her absence.
"That girl's presence becomes more and more irksome every day, and I
really do feel that her prolonged stay is likely to be a serious menace
to the peace of B. House. You know how undesirable and unwholesome it
is for manly boys to have anything whatever to do with girls of that
sort, the sort that is always polite and pleasant, making them think far
too much of themselves. It isn't exactly _what she says_ that one can
object to, though any conversation I have overheard is always extremely
foolish, but she has a way of looking up under her eyelashes--I do
dislike very thick black eyelashes in a grown-up person, they give such
a made-up look to the face--that is most objectionable. She is not a
pretty girl, quite pale and insignificant, and so small; but as I say
she flatters men, and young and old they all seem perfectly silly about
her, and therefore she is a most dangerous and disturbing influence. It
is particularly trying for me, for the tone of B. House has always been
so high ever since I came here; and I cannot but feel that this girl has
imported an atmosphere of noisy frivolity and insubordination that must
lead to moral deterioration. So far I have not discovered anything with
regard to the boys that one can exactly complain of, but I have no doubt
whatever that she is sly and underhand. The Irish are proverbially
untrustworthy, and she seems to me to embody all the worst
characteristics of that stormy and unreliable race.
"People here make a great fuss about her singing and playing, but I
never was an admirer of loud voices, and particularly dislike her
theatrical and affected way of singing. 'Dramatic' they call it, but to
my thinking it is simply unladylike! I have no patience with people who
can work themselves up into a state about nothing at all. I can
appreciate a good concert now and then as much as anybody; but to have
constant shouting and thrumming going on in my drawing-room is a very
real trial. It's not only herself, but other people come to sing duets
and practise their songs. Young masters who never entered the house
before come now and bawl for hours, because they say she is such a
beautiful accompanist. They come to _flirt_ with her, that's what they
come for; and dear, innocent Mr. Bevan never seems to see it. It is
extraordinary how blind men are to the wiles of a designing girl.
"As you may imagine a girl of any sort is rather a white elephant in a
house like this, but had she been a nice, sensible, ordinary girl, with
no nonsense about her, I would have managed. As it is, I don't know
what may happen. Goodness knows how many other instruments she can
play. I always enter the drawing-room in fear and trembling lest a drum
and a trombone be added to the existing collection.
"Mrs. Wentworth has chosen to make a great fuss of her, and she, in her
turn, makes a great fuss of the children. As you know I am not one of
those who go about raving over Mrs. Wentworth. I could not truckle like
some of them to that commonplace little woman. I am surprised that Dr.
Wentworth has not himself suggested the desirability of Miss Clonmell's
departure before this. But men are curious. They will let an abuse
continue till it becomes absolutely intolerable rather than interfere
with one another. It has struck me again and again since I came here
how procrastinating men are, how extremely unwilling to speak the word
in season. Well, I intend to do my part, cost what it may; my vigilance
shall be untiring; and when I find, as I have no doubt I shall find,
that that girl has overstepped the limits of propriety I shall go
straight to Mr. Bevan with the facts. _Then_ he cannot refuse to act
firmly in the interest of the House. So far we have been free from any
infectious disease. If only the other houses were as carefully
disinfected and watched as this one, such illnesses might be stamped out
altogether. Yet whenever I suggest my methods to those in charge of
other houses I receive but scant sympathy or even thanks."
*CHAPTER X*
Meanwhile, Tony was daily getting more and more used to Lallie's
presence. The pleasant, almost exciting sense of novelty had worn off,
giving place to a still pleasanter feeling of familiar security.
She would be there when he got back, this girl with the soft full voice
and delightful welcoming manner, and he found himself watching the clock
like the laziest boy in his form during the last hour of afternoon
school.
For years past, although he lived in a crowd and possessed troops of
friends, he had been rather a lonely man, and his loneliness was
accentuated rather than lessened when he came into possession of B.
House.
"Truly you may call it a 'house,'" he said to a congratulating college
friend. "It's far less of a home than my old diggings. I don't feel as
though a single stick of the furniture really belongs to me except my
old arm-chair and my desk."
Now, however, he thought more fondly of B. House; particularly of his
study, where he knew that he would find a bright fire, the little
tea-table drawn up beside his chair, and the brass kettle singing
merrily over the spirit lamp. Not that these things were new. There
had always been tea laid for him in his study when he came in at
half-past five; but now it was Lallie who made the tea, not Ford, and
Lallie made excellent tea. Moreover, she always had a great deal to ask
and to tell. She took the deepest interest in all College matters, and
absolutely declined to regard anything from a tutorial standpoint; and
this in itself was restful and refreshing to Tony.
To her, Tony Bevan was above all the old friend tried by time; "the best
of good sorts," "the decentest old thing." That he happened also to be
a schoolmaster was perhaps unfortunate, but she generously declined to
let this regrettable fact influence her attitude towards him.
She knew well that he wanted her above all things to be happy, and with
him she always was happy. Furthermore she had loyally kept her
resolution not to worry Tony with any knowledge of the friction that
existed between herself and Miss Foster. He was not much at B. House,
and being of a good-natured and tolerant disposition himself, he always
gave other people credit for being similarly well disposed until he had
ample proof to the contrary. Besides, in his presence Lallie and Miss
Foster almost unconsciously adopted a manner towards one another that
was at least free from signs of open hostility.
When Lallie had been a week at B. House she took her host's personal
appearance firmly in hand. In the morning she flew after him to brush
his coat before he went up to College. She exclaimed indignantly at the
"bagsomeness" of his trouser knees. Finding that he did not possess any
form of trouser-press she insisted on his going with her into the town
to buy one. And when it was sent home, she folded the offending
garments and placed them in it herself. She objected to ties that
looked "like a worn-out garter," and said so. She even suggested that
certain old and well-loved coats might be sent to the Mission, but here
Tony was firm in his opposition. He would buy a new suit to please her,
but part with his old coats he would not; and Lallie was far too
diplomatic to press the matter.
She tried always to be at home to make tea for him when he came in at
half-past five, and cut short many a tea-party to keep this tryst. She
was in great demand at other houses, especially the houses where the
heads were musical.
She was waiting for Tony on the evening of the footprint encounter with
Miss Foster, and when she had fed and warmed and cosseted him generally
she sat down in the big chair opposite his and faced him squarely,
announcing:
"Hunting begins this week, Tony."
"Does it really? How the year is getting on."
"Tony, dear, don't you think I might hunt if I took out one of the men
from the riding school as groom--just one day a week?"
Tony shook his head.
"If your father had wanted you to hunt I am sure he would have suggested
it, and he would probably have made arrangements for you to have a
couple of the horses over; but he has never so much as mentioned it, and
I can't let you do it on my own responsibility. I don't believe he'd
like it for you here either. It isn't as if I could go with you."
"Much good you'd be if you could go with me. You know, Tony, you are
not at your best across a horse. As for Dad not having made
arrangements--this Indian trip was got up and settled in such a
tremendous hurry, he had no time to think about me at all. Listen to me
now! How would you feel if when they began to mow the grass in May, and
the good smell was in the air, and you saw all the others in their
flannels, and heard all round you the nice deep ring of the cricket
balls--and you mightn't play a stroke, and your arm as strong and your
eye as true as ever it was. How would you like it?"
"I shouldn't like it at all; but----"
"Well, then, think of me. The smell of the wet dead leaves and the
south wind blowing the soft rain against my face is just as full of
association for me. And I never go out but I see long strings of horses
in their nice new clothing, the dear darlings! And me, ME, that has
gone hunting on the opening day ever since I could sit a fat little
Shetland pony, ME to stay pokily at home! Tony, I simply can't! You
must let me."
"Lallie, the two cases are not analogous. You can go out riding whenever
you like, provided you take a man; but hunting, no. Not without your
father's permission. Especially here, you are too young--too----"
"Too what? You can't say I'm timid. You can't say I couldn't ride any
mount they choose to give me at that old school. Look here, Tony,
suppose they said, 'You may play cricket--oh, yes, at the nets with a
wee little junior boy to bowl to you; but no matches, no playing with
people who play as well as you do'--would you say 'Thank you'? And
that's precisely what you offer me. Let me tell you I ride just as well
as you play cricket--blue and all; and to please you I've even gone
pounding round that ridiculous racecourse with half a dozen other girls
who sit a horse like a sack of potatoes, who'd be off at every bounce
but for the pommel. D'you think I call that riding? Oh, Tony, dear, if
I could just have one good gallop across country after the hounds, I'd
be a better girl--much nicer and easier to get on with."
"I don't find you particularly hard to get on with as it is."
"Other people do, though"--Lallie's conscience pricked her as to Miss
Foster--"and I dare say I'm often a great nuisance; but once let me work
the steam off on the back of a good horse and I'd be an angel. Just you
let me go out with the hounds on Thursday and you'll see."
"Lallie, my child, don't. I would if I could, but I simply dare not.
Your father would never forgive me. It was quite different last winter
when he was there himself to look after you."
"My dear, good man, a hunting field isn't like the 'croc' of a girls'
school. No one can 'look after' anybody else. You either ride straight
or you potter, or you rush your fences and get in people's way. But
whatever you do you're on your own. If you come a bad smash there's
always a hurdle to lay you on, and a doctor and a farmhouse somewhere
about. If you think Dad kept me in his pocket three days a week
throughout the hunting season all these years, you've a more fertile
imagination than I gave you credit for, and Dad would be the first to
disillusion you. We went to the meets together, and after that we saw
precious little of one another."
"What about riding home?"
"Hardly ever did we come home together. Sometimes he got home first,
sometimes I did; and whichever of us was first in got the bath, and the
other was pretty sure to come pounding at the door before the early bird
was out of it. You _can't_ chaperon people out hunting. Why, by the
time I'd been out three times here, I'd know the whole field, and you'd
be perfectly happy knowing I was among friends."
Lallie sat forward in her chair gazing eagerly at Tony, who said nothing
at all; but from the expression of his face it might have been gathered
that this prediction of her speedy intimacy with all the field gave him
no satisfaction whatever.
"Well, Tony?" she demanded impatiently.
"I'm sorry, but it's impossible. You can write to Fitz if you like and
ask him to cable his opinion."
"No, indeed. I'll write and tell him that unless he cables forbidding
me, I'm going to hunt. Dad will always do the easiest thing, and I know
will never bother to cable forbidding me to do a thing I've done for
years."
Lallie's voice was almost defiant, and poor Tony looked very pained, but
he said nothing; and after a minute's silence she continued in a more
conciliatory tone:
"Then in a fortnight's time from next mail if I don't hear, I may hunt?"
"You must give him three weeks, for he may be up country, and his mail
takes days to reach him after the agent gets it."
"And by that time there'll be a frost; I didn't think it of you, Tony, I
really didn't. In this matter you out-Emileen Aunt Emileen herself."
Tony rose.
"You have my leave to depart," he said, opening the door for her; "I've
a lot of letters to write, and those chaps are coming to bridge after
dinner, so I must do them now."
"Well, I think you're horrid, and if a slate falls on my head and kills
me when I'm out walking, just you reflect how nice and safe I'd have
been if I'd had my own way and been out in the open country."
"I'll risk the slate," Tony remarked unfeelingly; but still he would not
look at Lallie, who stood in the doorway gazing reproachfully at him.
"And you're going to play bridge and have a nice time while I sit
solemnly in the drawing-room making a waistcoat for you, ungrateful man.
You've never asked me to take a hand, and I play quite well."
"You see, this is a club; we meet at each other's houses--there are no
ladies----"
"Of all the monastical establishments I've ever come across this is the
strictest, and you call Ireland a priest-ridden country."
"Lallie, I must write my letters."
At that moment Mr. Johns came into the hall, bearing a large and heavy
book.
"Well, you deny me everything that keeps me out of mischief--on your own
head be it," said Lallie rapidly, in low tones of ominous menace. Then,
turning to the newcomer, she smiled a radiant welcome, exclaiming
joyously: "You've brought your snapshots to show me! How kind of you!
I'm badly in need of something to cheer me up. Come into the
drawing-room, for Mr. Bevan is busy and Miss Foster's out, so we'll have
it all to ourselves."
With quite unnecessary violence Mr. Bevan rang the bell for Ford to take
away tea. Yet, when Ford, looking rather aggrieved, had responded to
his noisy summons and removed the tea-things with her customary quiet
deftness, he did not sit down at once to deal with his correspondence.
Instead, he went and stood in front of the fire staring at the Greuze
girl who was so like Lallie.
He ran his fingers through his smooth thick hair--a sure sign of mental
perturbation with Tony--and he made the discovery that he was furiously
angry; not with Lallie, the wilful and inconsequent, but with the
unoffending Mr. Johns.
"Confound the fellow and his snapshots!" thought Tony; "if there's one
kind of hobby more detestable than another it's that of the ardent
amateur photographer. A man given up to it is almost as bad as the chap
who wears cotton-wool in his ears, and is always taking medicine. There
were these two" (with the second-sight vouchsafed to most of us upon
occasion, Tony was perfectly correct in his surmise) "sitting side by
side on the sofa with their heads close together, and that great heavy
book spread out on their joint knees. Heavens! he would be proposing to
snapshot Lallie next" (which is precisely what Mr. Johns was doing at
that moment). "He, Tony, would not have it. He would interfere, he
would--" Suddenly, exclaiming aloud, "What an ass I am!" he sat down at
his desk with the firm determination to attend to his letters. He drew
a neatly docketed bundle towards him, and selected the top one. It was
that of Uridge Major's father, who wrote pointing out what a steadying
effect it would have upon the boy were he made a prefect that term.
Tony dealt diplomatically with this, but instead of going methodically
through the bundle as he had fully intended to do he drew from his
pocket a letter he had received from Fitzroy Clonmell last mail. It
consisted of two closely written sheets; the first mainly descriptive of
the sport they were enjoying, and duly concluded with the pious hope
that his daughter was behaving herself. This was manifestly intended to
be shown to Lallie. It was the second sheet that Tony read and re-read
when he ought to have been allaying the misgivings of anxious-minded
parents.