Lionel had first known Ellen Scott while she was still a student at the
college and was at home during the vacation. It happened in this way.
Old Herbert Scott was one of the many learned and industrious, but quite
obscure men whose ceaseless industry under the direction of half a dozen
distinguished personages makes the British Museum the greatest
institution of its kind. He was not a scholar in the ordinary sense of
the word, for he had no degree, and had never been at a University. The
son of an English officer in the native Indian army, who had been killed
at the siege of Kabul, he had obtained a post in the Customs of Bombay.
Though he possessed little or no knowledge of the Classics at that time,
he soon became known for his extraordinary proficiency in Mahratta and
the kindred dialects. He was, in fact, a natural philologian, and soon
advanced himself to the study of Sanskrit. His misfortune was that the
subject interested him far more than any material advantage which he
might have obtained by mastering it. There is plenty of lucrative
employment in India for men who know Sanskrit and have a dozen modern
dialects thoroughly well, and who can be trusted; but Herbert Scott
cared for nothing but study, and at the age of thirty-two he was as
inefficient in the performance of his professional duties as he was
learned in the Vedas and the lore of the Brahmans; in fact, he was in
danger of losing his means of livelihood, since the Customs were not
included in the “covenanted” Indian Civil Service. Happily for him, he
was discovered at this time by one of the lights of English learning,
who instantly recognised in him the talents and qualities of one who
would always be far more useful to others than to himself. He gladly
accepted the honourable though modestly paid situation which was offered
him in the British Museum--for the twenty-four-year rule had not been
invented then; he returned to England, installed himself economically in
the cheapest part of Kensington, and went to work.
A good many years passed before Lionel Follitt made his acquaintance in
the Museum, and became indebted to him for invaluable assistance. The
extraordinary extent and variety of his learning attracted and
interested the young man, who at first had him to dinner at a Club, and
soon afterwards proposed to go and see him in Kensington on a Sunday.
Mr. Scott seemed pleased. Lionel kept the appointment he had made, and
was considerably surprised to find his learned friend in conversation
with a pretty and charming young girl.
“My daughter Ellen,” Herbert Scott had said, introducing his visitor.
Ellen had made them tea, had seen that they had everything they wanted,
and had then discreetly withdrawn, leaving them to the discussion of
Sanskrit literature.
The rest needs little explanation. The girl was vastly more to Lionel’s
taste than any of those he met in his own set: she was modest without
being shy, she was clever without ostentation, she could appreciate
without flattering, and she could understand without being vain of her
wits. Moreover, though she was not more than pretty so far as features
went, she had a lovely complexion, nice brown eyes that sparkled when
she was amused, soft wavy hair of no particular colour, and a figure
which Lionel thought the most beautiful he had ever seen.
After this first meeting his visits to the British Museum were more
frequent, and though his own industry did not relax and his learning
profited considerably by them, he often found time to go with Mr.
Herbert Scott to Kensington after hours, and even to stay to tea and
spend the evening with the father and daughter.
The old Indian knew nothing of Lionel’s position in the world, beyond
the fact that he was a quiet young gentleman who lived in the country
with his parents, and he would have been a good deal surprised to learn
that his studious friend was heir to a noble old estate in Yorkshire. It
was soon apparent that the two young people liked each other very much,
but Lionel inspired confidence, and the young girl had plenty of common
sense; and if the young gentleman from the country took it into his head
to marry the daughter of the penniless old student, so much the better.
If anything happened to her father she would have to support herself,
and as he could not hope to provide for her he had given her the best
education that could be had in England. If she did not marry and was
left alone in the world, she was at least fit for any employment that
might offer.
Herbert Scott had no great knowledge of human nature, but as months went
by, and visits followed visits, he became convinced that there was an
understanding between the two, and his hopes increased; yet it was not
until Ellen informed him of her intention to accept the position of
governess in Lionel’s family that her father ventured to ask her a
direct question.
“Yes,” she said, “I have promised to marry him if his people do not
object to me. That will be the difficulty, especially with his mother,
who wishes him to marry well. He has not spoken of me at home yet. My
plan is to make his mother like me before she has any idea of the truth.
Do you think there is anything wrong in that?”
“No,” answered Herbert Scott, to whose Anglo-Indian mind anything
appealed that had a touch of adventure in it. “But does he know
everything? Have you told him?”
“Yes, I have told him.”
But when Mr. Scott had gone with Ellen to the station, she had been
quite herself in appearance, and he would have been much surprised if he
had seen her when she walked into Lady Jane’s morning room. The disguise
was a part of her little plan which she had not confided to him, any
more than she had shown him the singularly uninviting advertisement she
had answered. She had timed her journey so as to spend the night in
York; she had arrived at the hotel in a long cloak and wearing a veil,
and had gone to her room at once, and no one had been surprised at the
appearance she presented when she came down for breakfast in the
morning. As a matter of fact, she had got the idea of making the change
in that way from the account of a celebrated robbery committed by a
woman, which she had read in a newspaper.
On the evening after Lionel’s memorable walk with Miss Scott, Anne
Trevelyan asked him whether he had found the new governess a pleasant
companion, whereat the Colonel smiled pleasantly, and Lady Jane and the
others laughed; but Lionel was not in the least disturbed.
“I was very much surprised when I saw her this morning,” he replied,
truthful to the letter, if not in the spirit--for his amazement had been
great. “I know her. She is the daughter of old Herbert Scott of the
British Museum, who has helped me a great deal with my work. So I went
to walk with her, and we renewed our acquaintance.”
Every one seemed disappointed, for the chance of chaffing the least
chaffable member of the family had seemed unique. But now everything
was explained in the dullest possible manner.
“Oh!” ejaculated Anne Trevelyan.
“Fault!” cried the Colonel, who was fond of tennis.
“Punctured!” observed Lady Jane, who motored.
“Crab!” was Jocelyn’s observation, as he looked across the table at Miss
Trevelyan, for he was the oarsman of the family.
“Hit to leg for six,” remarked Claude, who was the cricketer.
After this no one thought it strange that Lionel should treat the
governess with great friendliness, and as the Follitts were all
kind-hearted people, no allusions were made to her undesirable
appearance.
On the contrary, it occurred to Lady Jane before long that the poor girl
might really make some improvement in her looks without endangering her
ladyship’s peace of mind. Miss Scott was turning out to be so thoroughly
satisfactory, and “knew her place so well,” that Lady Jane’s heart was
softened. “I am sure you won’t mind my speaking of a rather delicate
matter,” she said one morning, when she chanced to be alone with Miss
Scott for a few moments. “I should certainly not mention it if I did not
hope that you will stay till the girls are grown up.”
“I will stay as long as I can,” answered Miss Scott demurely. “You are
all very kind to me, and I am very happy here.”
“That’s very nice, and I am sure you won’t be offended if a much older
woman gives you a little piece of advice.”
“Oh, not at all! I should be most grateful.”
[Illustration: “‘The truth is,’ answered Lady Jane, ‘it’s about your
hair.’”]
“The truth is,” answered Lady Jane, “it’s about your hair. Are
you sure you don’t mind? Don’t you think that perhaps, if you
did not draw it back so very tight, it might look--er--a little
less--er--unprepossessing?”
“It’s so easy to do it in this way,” answered Miss Scott, and she made
her right eye wander rather wildly, for that was one of the tricks she
had learnt in amateur theatricals. “But I shall be only too happy to try
something else, if you do not think it would seem ridiculous.”
“I’m sure you needn’t be afraid of that,” said Lady Jane; “and besides,
no one else will notice it, you know. I mean,” she added, not wishing to
seem unkind, “I mean that no one will care, you know, except me, and I
should like you to look--er--a little more like other people.”
“I quite understand,” answered Miss Scott; “I’ll do my best. But I ought
to tell you that when my hair isn’t pulled straight back, it’s wavy.”
“All the better,” answered Lady Jane, with satisfaction. “That will be
very nice.”
She had really felt that, in spite of Miss Scott’s admirable qualities,
she was almost too hideous to be seen in town with two very smart girls.
She might perhaps be taken for a maid.
As I have said, Ellen had nice wavy hair, though it was of no particular
colour, and when she came down to breakfast the next morning, having
arranged it as she did at home, the change in her appearance was
surprising. She still had a red nose, a blotched cheek, and a bump on
her shoulder, and she limped; but she no longer looked like a skinned
rabbit. Evelyn and Gwendolen exchanged glances, and said in their evil
hearts that the change was a step in the right direction, since it must
be intended to please Lionel. Lady Jane smiled at her and nodded
approvingly, but her prediction proved to be well founded, for neither
the Colonel, nor Jocelyn, nor Claude, nor any one of the three
Trevelyans, even glanced at the governess. And she had managed to tell
Lionel of the advice his mother had given her, so that he showed no
surprise.
On that day and the next, a large party of people came for the week-end,
and when the house was full the governess and the girls had all their
meals apart in the regions of the schoolroom, visited only by Lady Jane
and occasionally by Lionel.
But he was obliged to be a good deal with the others, and incidentally
with Miss Trevelyan. He was the last man in the world to fancy that a
woman was falling in love with him merely because she always seemed glad
to talk with him, and he was inclined to resent the way in which his
mother did her best to bring him and Anne together at all times; but
when there was a large party he preferred the society of the few whom he
knew more or less intimately to the conversation of those whom he rarely
met more than three or four times in a year, and had sometimes never met
at all--for in London he avoided the crowd as much as he could. The
consequence was that, on the present occasion, Anne saw much more of him
than when the Trevelyans had been the only people stopping at the house.
If he had been wise in the ways of the world he would have known that
when a woman has a fancy for a man she talks to him about herself, or
himself, and has little to say about any one else; and he would have
observed before now that Miss Trevelyan asked questions and led the
conversation from general subjects to people. She seemed more interested
in his brothers than in him, and particularly in Jocelyn--though she
actually treated the latter with more coldness, or less cordiality, than
the others.
“He has no ambition,” she said to Lionel. “I wish he would go in for
ballooning!”
Lionel smiled a little. They were strolling along a path on the
outskirts of the park, near the Malton road.
“I hadn’t associated ballooning with ambition before,” he answered, “but
I daresay that if you suggested it as a career, he might take a fancy to
it.”
“Not much!” answered Miss Anne, in a tone of conviction. “That would be
just the way to make him do the opposite.”
“I doubt that. But do you mind telling me what the opposite of
ballooning would be? Diving, I suppose, wouldn’t it?”
“Don’t be horrid! You know what I mean.”
Lionel did not know, but she had never before shown so clearly what she
thought about Jocelyn’s opinion of her. Lionel was interested, and
thought he knew her well enough to ask a direct question.
“You like Jocelyn, don’t you?” He looked at her quietly.
“Do you mind?” inquired Anne, with a short laugh.
“Not a bit. But, as a matter of fact, my mother has got it into her head
that it’s your duty to like me.” He laughed too.
“You’re a very calm person.”
“I didn’t mean to be cheeky,” answered Lionel. “But as we are very good
friends, and seem to be expected to fall in love with each other, though
we never shall, it’s just as well to be frank, isn’t it?”
“Yes. I was only chaffing. You’re quite right.”
“Very well. Then you won’t mind if I tell you just what I think. You
like Jocelyn, and you are quite sure he does not care for you. Is that
it?”
Anne Trevelyan did not answer for a moment, and there was a little more
colour in her handsome face. “Yes,” she said, after a few seconds.
“That’s it. Rather humiliating, isn’t it? All the same, I would rather
that you should know.”
“Thank you. But you don’t give him much encouragement to be nice to you,
do you?”
“Well, hardly!” answered Anne, holding up her head. “I don’t think it
would be very nice if I did, considering that he evidently dislikes me.”
“You’re quite mistaken,” said Lionel in a tone of certainty. “If you did
not pretend to ignore him half the time, as you do, you would soon find
it out.”
“Nonsense! You might as well say that he likes that dreadful governess!”
“I don’t think Miss Scott at all dreadful,” answered Lionel, in a tone
that made his companion look at him quickly. “Her looks are against her,
I admit, but I assure you she is a very nice girl.”
“I was only thinking of her looks, of course. And I forgot that you knew
her father. What did you say he was?”
She asked the question in a tone of real interest, which was intended as
a sort of
[Illustration:
“‘I don’t think Miss Scott at all dreadful,’ answered Lionel.”
]
apology for having said anything against the governess.
“He’s in the British Museum; but he is not really her father. He adopted
her and brought her up, that’s all. She was left on his doorstep, I
believe.”
“Really! How interesting! Do tell me all about it.”
“There’s not very much to tell,” said Lionel. “Herbert Scott has been in
the Museum five-and-twenty years, I believe, and has always lived in the
same little house in Kensington. He began life in India, and I fancy he
must be almost sixty. One morning, about twenty-two years ago, he was
lying awake at dawn, when he heard a child crying just under his window.
At first he paid no attention to the sound, but as it went on
persistently, he went down and opened the door. He found a little girl
baby, nicely dressed and quite clean, lying on the doorstep, kicking and
screaming. He thought the baby might be about a year old. That’s the
story.”
“Except the rest of it,” observed Miss Trevelyan. “The interesting thing
would be to know what he did with it--a man living alone, and who had
probably never touched a baby in his life!”
“He went to the police and made inquiries, and advertised, but as he
could not get any information, and the woman servant he had was a
respectable middle-aged widow who was fond of children, they kept it and
brought it up. That’s all I know.”
“I have heard of such things before,” said Anne Trevelyan thoughtfully.
“The child must have been kidnapped by thieves who tried to get a ransom
and failed.”
“Or gipsies,” suggested Lionel.
“No, not gipsies. They hardly ever give up a child they have stolen,
unless they are in danger of being caught; and if that had been the case
in your story, the child’s parents would probably have claimed it, for
they would have been employing detectives, and the police would have
been informed. I should think the baby Mr. Scott found must have been an
orphan in charge of some relations who were glad to get rid of it.”
“That certainly sounds likely,” answered Lionel. “I think it will be
better not to speak about it to my mother or the others. I’m not quite
sure why I’ve told you.”
“You told me because I called Miss Scott dreadful. I am sorry I did. I
won’t do it again.”
“That’s all right--you didn’t mean it. We were talking about Jocelyn, I
remember. I never understand how women do their thinking, and I suppose
that I am not curious enough to study them.”
“What has that to do with anything?” asked Miss Trevelyan quickly.
“I was only wondering why, since you like Jocelyn, you are always as
disagreeable as possible to him and as nice as possible to me.”
Miss Trevelyan laughed and looked away from him. “Of course you don’t
understand!” she said. “Men never do.”
“I’ll give you a piece of advice, Miss Anne. The next time you make an
ascent, make Jocelyn go with you, and see what happens.”
“Nothing would induce him to go, I am sure.”
“I think I could manage it, if you will only ask him.”
“I’ll take odds that you can’t,” declared Miss Anne emphatically.
“Six to four,” offered Lionel, who was not a Follitt for nothing.
“Two to one would be more like it,” proposed the young lady. “I only
mean sovereigns, of course. I’m not on the make.”
“Done!” answered Lionel promptly. “I wish it were thousands!”
“Well, it’s in your stable!” laughed Miss Anne, who seemed pleased, “and
I suppose you know what you can do.”
“There’s only one condition. You must ask him before me.”
“All right.”