Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
[Illustration: "AM I SO FORMIDABLE?" ASKED LADY ERNESTINE, LAUGHING.]
HER OWN WAY
By
EGLANTON THORNE
Author of "Aunt Patty's Paying Guests," "Beryl's Triumph,"
"My Brother's Friend," etc.
FIFTH IMPRESSION
LONDON
THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY
4 Bouverie Street & 65 St. Paul's Churchyard
[Illustration]
CONTENTS
Chapter
I. A House Divided Against Itself
II. The Ill-Chosen Friend
III. A Peep into Bohemia
IV. Contrition
V. A Disagreeable Prospect
VI. Juliet is Inspected
VII. The Rich Uncle Comes
VIII. Fortune Smiles On Juliet
IX. Gratified Desires
X. A Perilous Path
XI. His Last Message
XII. The Responsibility of Wealth
XIII. More Mistakes Than One
XIV. Temptation
XV. Juliet Leaves Home
XVI. A Fatal Step
XVII. A Dream and an Awakening
XVIII. Alone in Paris
XIX. Salome Finds a Welcome
XX. A Delusion Destroyed
XXI. The Fruit of Self-Will
XXII. A Ray of Hope
XXIII. A Talent Unwrapped
XXIV. The Bazaar
XXV. Autumn and Spring
HER OWN WAY
[Illustration]
CHAPTER I
A HOUSE DIVIDED AGAINST ITSELF
"THE girls are late to-day."
"You mean that Hannah is late, mother; for there is no saying when
Juliet will choose to appear, and they never come together. It is a
strange thing for Hannah to be behind her time."
Mrs. Tracy sighed as she looked anxiously between the flower-pots which
adorned the window-ledge, and rather obscured the view from where she
sat in her low easy-chair.
The window looked into a grassy enclosure, too small to be dignified
by the name of garden, though there was a fine show of primroses and
wallflowers in the narrow bed beside the gravel path, and ferns were
growing tall and strong in the rockery below the windows. On the
farther side of the strip of grass, just within the iron railing that
enclosed it from the road, stood three tall, leafy poplars, screening
the house from the busy suburban thoroughfare in which it stood, and
giving it its name.
As Mrs. Tracy looked forth, she caught glimpses through the trees of
passing omnibuses and tramcars. The din of the traffic made itself
heard, though the window was closed. Some of her acquaintance had tried
to persuade Mrs. Tracy that the trees shut out air from the house,
and it would be wiser to cut them down; but she always felt that it
would be unendurable to live so near the high road without the slight
shelter which their thick trunks and soaring boughs afforded. And the
comparatively low rent asked for that old-fashioned residence, known as
The Poplars, suited her narrow purse, and constrained her to endure its
inconveniences as best she could.
Mrs. Tracy was a frail-looking little woman, with a face which had once
been pretty and was still pleasant to look upon. It wore a somewhat
careworn, anxious expression, but without a trace of fretfulness. As
she rested in her low easy-chair, with her knitting lying in her lap,
she had the air of one to whom exertion of any kind is distasteful. She
was dressed in a manner perfectly becoming her fifty years, but the
lace falling so prettily about her neck, and her dainty little lace
head-dress with its cunning knot of pink ribbon, showed that she was by
no means indifferent to the appearance she presented. Her small, soft,
white hands glittered with handsome rings; the little feet outstretched
on hassock were clothed with neat velvet slippers with bright jet
buckles. At fifty Mrs. Tracy had not outlived her love for pretty
things.
The daughter who stood near, and who was engaged in putting sundry
finishing touches to the table which was prepared for their midday
dinner, did not in the least resemble her mother. Salome Grant was a
tall, well-grown young woman of seven-and-twenty. She had sandy hair,
pale blue eyes with very light lashes, and a rather high complexion.
Her abundant hair was brushed very smooth, and arranged in the neatest
fashion. Her whole appearance, indeed, was severely neat. Her serge
gown fitted her well, but it entirely lacked what dressmakers term
"style," and no touch of colour relieved its sombre hue. One might have
credited Salome with excellent qualities, but assuredly no one at first
sight could have found her interesting, or felt eager to pursue her
acquaintance.
"Here comes Hannah," she said, glancing through the window, as she
heard the gate swing back.
And the next minute, Hannah entered the room. She was barely two years
older than Salome, and resembled her sister far more than she did her
mother. She was better-looking than Salome; her hair was darker, her
complexion less high-coloured, her features stronger, and her eyes
a deeper blue. Her ample square forehead, from which the hair was
rigorously brushed back, seemed to denote considerable intellectual
power, whilst the firm lines of mouth and chin showed a strength of
will which might degenerate into obstinacy. She looked a strong,
capable, energetic woman as she came quickly into the room, her
countenance wearing a slightly harassed expression.
She was one of the staff of mistresses belonging to a large high school
established in the North London suburb in which Mrs. Tracy lived.
She had worked hard, and improved her position considerably since
she entered the school, having won the character of a most efficient
teacher and thorough disciplinarian. She and Salome were the daughters
of Mrs. Tracy's first marriage with a sober, hard-working Glasgow man
of business. They resembled their shrewd, staid, matter-of-fact Scotch
father far more than they did the pretty, loving little Englishwoman,
whom, with a strange lack of his usual prudence, he had taken to wife.
"I am sorry to be late, mother," Hannah said in clear, incisive tones,
"but it is not my fault. I saw Juliet in the playground with that
horrid Chalcombe girl, so I went to ask her if she were ready to come
home. Juliet was in one of her tiresome moods, and was not too polite
to me. At first, she would not say what she would do; but finally I
understood her to say that she would come. However, after I had waited
for ten minutes, I saw her walking away in the opposite direction with
her new friend."
"Oh dear!" said Mrs. Tracy, a flush suffusing her delicate face.
"Did you really tell Juliet, mother, that she was not to make a friend
of that girl?"
"Oh yes, dear, I spoke to her about it; but she seemed to think it hard
that they could not be friendly when they were in the same form, and I
thought that Juliet would soon be leaving school, and after that they
are not likely to see much of each other, you know."
"But, meanwhile, there is time for Juliet to get a great deal of
harm," replied Hannah. "However, if you like her to associate with the
daughter of an actor, I have nothing more to say."
"My dear! I do not like it. You should not say that. Is the girl's
father really an actor?"
"Well, I do not know that he acts," said Hannah deliberately; "I think
someone said that he was the lessee of a theatre at Bow. He has a son
who sings at music halls."
"What people for Juliet to take up with!" exclaimed Salome, in a tone
of disgust. "She will be wanting to become an actress next. There is no
accounting for what Juliet will do. She seems to have no sense at all."
"Don't make her out worse than she is," pleaded her mother. "She knows
nothing of the father and son, and I daresay the girl is not so bad;
Juliet seems very fond of her."
"I only wish you could see her!" said Hannah. "She dresses in the most
extreme style, wears flashy jewellery, and is generally vulgar. Her
complexion is frightfully got up. As for her work, their form-mistress
tells me it could hardly be worse. We all wish she had not come to the
school, for she will do us no credit."
"Juliet should be forbidden to have anything to say to her," remarked
Salome.
"It is easy to say that," replied her mother, "but you know it does not
do to take extreme measures with Juliet. Once drive her into defiance,
and you can do nothing with her. I believe she is persisting in this
intimacy just because she knows you are set against it."
"That is likely enough," said Hannah, in a bitter tone. "Well, I only
hope that you may never regret that you have not taken more extreme
measures with Juliet. You will not wait dinner for her, mother?"
Mrs. Tracy made a sign of dissent, and in a few minutes they were
seated at the dinner-table. The mother was depressed, and ate with
little appetite.
She stood in some awe of her elder daughters, with their exemplary
conduct and correct views. She always felt that they had had some
right to resent her marriage with Captain Tracy, a gay, dashing Irish
officer, some years younger than herself. Hannah and Salome had been
mere children at the time, but they had not failed to show their
resentment. When, shortly after his marriage, the captain's regiment
was ordered to India, a relative of their father offered to take charge
of the two girls during their mother's absence abroad. Mrs. Tracy was
well pleased with this arrangement.
She had been absent for seven years when she came back to England
with her pretty though faded face, framed by a widow's sombre veil,
and bringing with her a wilful, fascinating little girl, with sunny
hair and violet eyes. The gay captain had met with an accident at a
polo-match, from the effects of which he had died shortly afterwards.
His widow mourned him sincerely, though he had been but a sorry
husband, sublimely indifferent to her comfort and welfare, as long as
he could squander her money on his own pleasures. But the indifference
had been delicately veiled, and only on rare occasions had Mrs. Tracy,
with a bitter heart-pang, suspected its existence. Captain Tracy
pursued his extravagances in a gentlemanly manner, and never failed to
treat his wife with lover-like, caressing tenderness, so that she loved
him passionately to the last, and paid his debts of honour, time after
time, with but faint remonstrance.
But the large sums she had realised for this purpose, in spite of every
objection raised by the Scotch solicitor who managed her affairs, were
a serious drain on her resources. She came home to find the property
her first husband had left her considerably diminished, and to learn
that it behoved her for the rest of her life, by rigid economy and
self-denial, to make amends for Captain Tracy's extravagance. The
lesson was a painful one, embittered by her sense that her elder girls
had a right to reproach her with careless neglect of their interests.
By this time, Hannah and Salome were almost women. The high-bred,
irreproachable, somewhat narrow-minded Scotch cousin in whose home they
had been living had left her stamp on them. They hardly seemed like
her own daughters to Mrs. Tracy now. They were far more orderly and
methodic in their habits than she was herself, and held stricter views
with regard to the expenditure of time and money. The mother felt half
afraid of these very wise girls. She was thankful that they were so
good, but she could not help wishing that they had been a little less
strong-minded, and could have made some allowance for the faults of
their pretty, perverse half-sister.
Then, with a sigh, she would remind herself that it was only natural
that they should be hard upon poor little Juliet, and resent her
presence in their home. And the mother's heart clung the more
passionately to the child who seemed so much more her own than these
others. The girls were quick to see that their mother loved Juliet
best, and their minds were not too high-toned to admit of jealousy.
Juliet became a constant thorn in their sides. They looked upon her as
the disturber of the peace of their home. But Juliet was her mother's
darling, though, in truth, a very naughty darling.
For a year or two after her return from India, Mrs. Tracy had a
hard struggle to maintain a little home. But Hannah studied with an
assiduity which astonished her mother, whose own education had been of
the old-fashioned, superficial order; she passed one examination after
another with honours, and finally attained the immediate goal of her
ambition by being appointed assistant-mistress in a high school. Then
it was that Mrs. Tracy felt justified in taking The Poplars as her
residence, which had now been their home for over eight years.
The meal was half over, when a loud and very characteristic knock at
the front door announced Juliet's return. The next minute she entered
the room, a slight, graceful girl, whom no one would have taken to be
more than seventeen, though, in truth, she had passed her nineteenth
birthday.
A greater contrast than her appearance presented to that of her sisters
it would be difficult to imagine. She was delicately fair, with eyes
of that deep, soft hue which is better described as violet than blue.
Masses of soft bright hair, which might justly be termed golden, though
not of the deep reddish tinge which often wins that name, showed
beneath the sailor hat which, either by intention or accident, was
placed on her head at rather an unusual angle. Juliet's wavy, flossy
locks were always more or less dishevelled. Perhaps she meant them to
express a protest against her sisters' smooth, shining polls. Her serge
gown had quite a different effect from Salome's, yet was made of the
same material. It suited her charmingly, though it was shabby, and an
ink-stain soiled the frilled cambric vest.
Mrs. Tracy turned with a smile of welcome on her face as the girl
entered. It was a delight to her to see the sweet, bright face that
smiled at her in response. She thought that no one could fail to feel
the charm of that young face; but her sisters saw in Juliet's demeanour
only the signs of those qualities of mind and character which they
held in special abhorrence, and her prettiness was to them merely an
aggravating circumstance, heightening the enormity of her heedlessness.
She came into the room swinging a strapful of books in one hand, and
she surveyed the party at the table in the coolest manner for a moment,
ere, advancing to her mother's side, she bent to kiss her.
"How is it you are so late, Juliet?" asked her mother, with only the
faintest reproof in her tones. "See, we have almost finished dinner."
"I walked a few steps with Flossie Chalcombe," replied Juliet, her eyes
flashing defiance at her sister Hannah; "she had something to tell me.
I did not think it was so late."
"I told you it was getting late," said Hannah; "I warned you there was
no time to spare."
"That was very good of you," returned the girl, with insolent coolness;
"I fear I lost sight of the fact afterwards. But here I am at last,
and desperately hungry too, mother dear; so don't let us waste time in
words."
"My dear Juliet!" protested Mrs. Tracy; but she began quickly to serve
her.
"You are surely not going to sit down as you are?" said Salome.
"Why not?" retorted Juliet. "It's quite proper to wear your hat at
luncheon."
"But this is our dinner," said Hannah.
"What does it matter?" asked Juliet. "What's in a name? A potato,
please, Salome. Oh, you need not look at my hands; they are quite
clean, I assure you. I washed them in the dressing-room before I left
school. Just fancy I am Mrs. Hayes, and it will be all right."
"Never mind, dears," said Mrs. Tracy hurriedly, as she met the
disapproving glances of her elder daughters; "it is better she should
take her dinner quickly. Ann is so put out when the meals are kept
about."
"You had better speak to Juliet about that," said Salome. "It is not
Hannah and I who keep the meals about."
"Oh, of course it is me," said Juliet, with more emphasis than grammar;
"everything that happens is always my fault."
"Oh, hush, my dear!" said her mother, looking uneasy.
But Juliet was not easily subdued. Hannah and Salome fell into
dignified silence, but Juliet continued to talk in her gayest, most
careless manner, as though determined to show her sisters that she
cared naught for their disapproval. She looked very charming, with a
glow of soft, rich colour in her cheek and a mischievous sparkle in her
eyes.
Her mother might be forgiven for the loving admiration her eyes so
plainly expressed. Despite the daring freedom with which she often
deported herself, there was no grain of coarseness perceptible in
Juliet's bearing. Even in her most careless actions, her least
conscious attitudes, there was always a subtle grace. She was as frank
and bold of speech as a boy, yet had all the charm of fresh young
maidenhood.
She was a grand favourite with both scholars and teachers at the high
school, where she still studied. Even those who shook their heads
over her thoughtlessness, and were most aware of her faults, felt the
witchery of her prettiness and grace and sunny light-heartedness.
Perhaps her sisters were the only exceptions to this rule. But then
Juliet had never tried to ingratiate herself with them. She had always
taken a perverse delight in shocking and vexing them.
When they had finished their dinner Hannah and Salome begged to be
excused from sitting longer at the table, as they wanted to go out.
Juliet heaved a sigh of relief as the door closed on them.
"Thank goodness, they are gone!" she said. "What wet blankets they are!"
"My dear! I don't think that is a nice way to speak of your sisters."
"No?" said Juliet, turning to her mother with a smile which seemed to
take all the impertinence from the query. "But you and I are always
happier when we are left alone together, mother dear. You can't deny
that. There are two parties in this house; you and I on one side, and
Hannah and Salome on the other. We are the Whigs, and they are the
Tories. It is a house divided against itself."
"Oh, not so bad as that, I hope!" exclaimed Mrs. Tracy. "You know what
the Bible says about a house divided against itself?"
"That it cannot stand," replied Juliet gravely. "Sometimes I wonder how
long our house will stand. Hannah will have to learn somehow by the
time I am twenty-one that I mean to take my own way and do as I like."
Mrs. Tracy looked troubled. "I wish you would not set yourself so
against Hannah," she said; "she only desires your good."
"Oh, of course!" Juliet laughed scornfully. "I suppose it was my good
she was seeking when she came after me in the playground, using so
little tact in her efforts to draw me away from Flossie Chalcombe, that
Flossie saw her intention, and was hurt."
"Ah, that was a pity!" said Mrs. Tracy, with feeling. "But, dear, I am
afraid, from what I hear, that Miss Chalcombe is not a nice friend for
you."
"But, mother dear, you can have heard nothing of her except what Hannah
says, who is a most prejudiced person. Flossie is really a very nice
girl. May I bring her here some day to see you?"
"I am afraid that would not do, Juliet. Your sisters would not like it."
"Oh, if you must consider them!" exclaimed Juliet impatiently. "They
fancy Mr. Chalcombe cannot be respectable because he has something to
do with the theatre, though if he were at the top of the profession,
like Irving, they would be eager to make Flossie's acquaintance."
"I don't think that would make any difference to your sisters'
feelings, Juliet."
"Well, perhaps not to theirs," the girl admitted; "but it would be the
case with most of the teachers and girls at school. It is a shame the
way they shun Flossie. I feel for her very much. She says I am the only
friend she has, and I mean to be true to her. I will not give her up,
whatever Hannah may say or do."
Mrs. Tracy received this defiant speech in silence. She could
sympathise with Juliet's generous resolve to stand by the girl to whom
others were disposed to turn the cold shoulder. She herself, as an
officer's wife, had been wont to seek out and befriend those whom, for
some trivial cause or other, the elite of the regiment were disposed
to hold at arms' length. She hesitated to tell the girl that she must
restrain her kindly impulses.
"You would do the same in my place, mother," said Juliet, as she fixed
her large violet eyes on her mother's face, and read her mind.
Mrs. Tracy smiled. "Perhaps I should, Juliet; but still I do not like
you to make undesirable acquaintances. You are so young, and know so
little of the world."
"I may know little of the world," exclaimed Juliet hotly, "but at all
events I know enough to see that people are not so bad as they are made
out. If Flossie is an undesirable companion, I can only say that I like
her infinitely better than any proper, correct, narrow-minded person
like Hannah. I begin to doubt the advantages of the respectability on
which Hannah and Salome pride themselves, when I see how much nicer
people can be without it."
"Oh, child, don't talk like that! You frighten me. Hannah and Salome
are right. They may be a little over-strict,—I do not say they are
not,—but they are right in the main. It never does to defy social
opinion. Bohemianism may look attractive to a young girl like you, who
knows nothing about it, but it is a perilous borderland at the best.
Oh, I do wish I could persuade you—"
"Not to give up being friendly with Flossie Chalcombe, who has no dear
mother as I have, and really wants me," said Juliet, who had approached
her mother, and now slipped one arm about Mrs. Tracy's neck, and deftly
closed the lips, whose utterance she did not wish to hear, with her
rosy finger-tips. "You would not wish me to do that, I am sure, mother
mine." Then with a loving hug and kiss Juliet bounded away, laughing
lightly as she quitted the room.
Thus the talk between Juliet and her mother ended as Hannah could have
foretold that it would end.