_MEETING AGAIN._
AT breakfast, on Sunday morning, Millicent said to Beryl, without
preface—
"How will you like a sight of Pearl the day after to-morrow?"
Ivor had the satisfaction of finding that Beryl could be disconcerted.
She coloured, hesitated, and asked—"Am I to go so soon?"
"My sister and Pearl are coming here on Tuesday for a week."
"Mrs. Fenwick!"
"Your aunt Diana!" Millicent answered a little pointedly, noticing, as
she had noticed before, that Beryl rarely used the title. "You will be
pleased to see them both."
"I shall like to see Pearl, of course." The tone was not one of delight.
"But not Mrs. Fenwick," mischievously suggested Ivor.
"No," said Beryl, with decided shortness of manner. Then, after a
pause: "I do not know Mrs. Fenwick well enough to care for her,—and—"
"And—what?" asked Ivor.
Beryl looked towards Millicent. "I was going to say—'and I never
could;' but I thought you might not like it."
"I think you would be wise not to make up your mind until you know her
better," Millicent said kindly. "People who might be friends are often
kept apart for years by preconceived notions."
"Mrs. Fenwick and I could not be friends," said Beryl slowly, cutting
her toast into strips.
"She has been a good friend to you."
"Yes,—I don't mean that. I mean that we do not care for one another,
and that we could not—"
"Until you are better acquainted."
"No; I know her enough for 'that.' I have been with her three times for
a month, and she writes to me sometimes."
Painful recollections of one kind or another seemed to come up. Beryl
suddenly turned crimson, ceased speaking, and began to eat her toast
with unnecessary speed.
Ivor exchanged glances with his mother, discovered that he had to speak
to Escott, apologised and disappeared.
Millicent remarked quietly—
"Your acquaintance with my sister was unfortunate in its beginning,
Beryl. I always think the report of your aunt's old servant did harm,
and gave a false impression at the first."
"Did it? I don't know. I suppose I was a troublesome child," said
Beryl, in the manner of one whose childhood lay far in the rear. "But
that is no reason—"
Beryl paused, and Millicent made a sound of questioning.
"I was only going to say—that is no reason why she should be always
unkind to me."
"She has not been intentionally unkind, I am sure," said Millicent.
"I don't know. Perhaps not," Beryl said with an air of incredulity.
"One must read people by their actions, at least as much as by their
words," suggested Millicent.
Beryl evidently understood. "It is not words only," she said. "Cannot
you see by a person's face when she dislikes you? Of course I am not
a child now, and I do not forget that she has given Pearl a home, and
has paid for my schooling. And I—I suppose I am grateful. Of course I
am. Only, I would rather have had things different. I would rather have
kept Pearl."
"You will probably be much more with Pearl in the future," said
Millicent kindly.
"I don't know at all. Mrs. Fenwick—Aunt Di, I mean—does not tell me
where I am to live. And she said I might have to go out as a governess.
I should not mind working for my livelihood, but I don't think I am
clever enough to teach. I would much rather be trained as a nurse. I
think I could do 'that.' But Mrs. Fenwick said I must leave it to her
to decide, and she has told me nothing lately. Sometimes she writes as
if I were to live with her and Pearl. But I don't know—it would not be
the same. Pearl is not mine now."
The last two sentences broke out abruptly, with no dearth of feeling in
them. Beryl gathered some crumbs into a little heap on the table-cloth,
and crushed them in her hand.
"The uncertainty is trying for you," Millicent said slowly, in some
doubt how to answer. "I do not think my sister has quite made up her
mind yet. A good deal, I suppose, depends on how you meet, and how you
get on together. After all, we must have our times of uncertainty and
waiting. They do not really harm us."
"It is not the uncertainty that I mind. It is the feeling—"
Beryl broke off again, and Millicent said—"I am a little afraid that
this feeling of yours about my sister may prevent things from being as
they should be."
"It is not my fault. Could 'you' like a person who could not bear you?"
asked Beryl. "If she cared for me, I would try to care for her."
"But, my dear child, the caring must begin on one side," said Millicent
persuasively. "Why should it not begin on yours? My sister has at least
shown you much kindness. Can you not repay it with loving gratitude?"
"One can't love because one ought," said Beryl.
"Not precisely; but one can look at the best instead of the worst
in another, because one ought. One can cultivate the kindliness of
feeling which often grows into love. And one can pray to have the wrong
feelings conquered."
"I don't think the feelings are wrong. I think I have reason," said
Beryl coldly. "I cannot say much to you, of course, because you are her
sister—but—I 'have' reason."
"I can believe that you have in some measure. My sister is impulsive,
and she may have misunderstood you. Still I do not think you are quite
right to suspect her of unkind motives, or of actual dislike."
"It is not suspecting. I 'know,'" broke in Beryl.
"Know her motives?"
"No; I know she dislikes me."
"If it were so, there is such a thing as returning good for evil, and
loving those who hate us,—even hate us. That goes far beyond the utmost
feeling which you can accuse her of."
Beryl thought not. Her face wore a slightly defiant expression.
"And if she does not love you yet, why should you not sooner or later
win her love?"
Beryl looked down. "I do not care to try," she said sullenly, her usual
fence of good-humoured indifference broken down for the moment. "It is
Pearl that I want,—not Mrs. Fenwick. She has stolen Pearl from me. I do
not want 'her' love."
Millicent knew too well what Beryl meant. She had often grieved over
Diana's management of affairs, and over the growing estrangement of the
sisters. Yet she could not in so many words admit the fact to Beryl.
"There have been mistakes, no doubt," she said. "But the fact that
Pearl is fond of my sister ought not to touch her affection for you. If
Diana has caused you pain, you can at least forgive her. We all make
mistakes, and need to be forgiven."
Beryl looked up straight in Millicent's face, the old childish glow
shining in her eyes. "I never forgive Mrs. Fenwick for stealing Pearl
from me," she said.
"'Forgive us—'as' we forgive," uttered Millicent.
"I cannot help it. One may talk easily enough," said Beryl. "But you
don't know what it is. You don't know what it is to have no home, and
nobody."
Millicent would have given much to have escaped an interruption at that
moment. It came, however, as such interruptions often do come, when
apparently least to be desired, in the person of Ivor. He evidently
thought he had allowed ample time for exchange of confidences.
Beryl rose and went to the window, and when, two minutes later, she
turned round, she had entirely regained her usual staid and collected
air, and looked as if she had never in her life been farther from any
display of feeling. But Millicent had obtained a glimpse of what lay
beneath the smooth surface.
She had no opportunity of obtaining a second. Beryl studiously
avoided another "tête-à-tête" during the remainder of the day. And in
conversation, she glided persistently away from the subject of Mrs.
Fenwick and Pearl.
Monday was the same. Beryl worked at her counterpane with an air of
profound attention, and had another long walk with Ivor. But she
gave vent to no remarks beyond the merest commonplaces, and Pearl's
name scarcely passed her lips. Ivor was indignant at the seeming
indifference, for Pearl's sake; and Escott would have been indignant
also, but that he knew something from his mother of the Sunday morning
conversation.
"It is Aunt Di's fault—not Pearl's," was his view of the matter.
"Perhaps you will be able to give Aunt Di a hint some day, mother, how
to manage differently. And after all—when once Beryl is thrown with
Pearl—"
He flushed up, and left the sentence unfinished, evidently resting his
hopes there for an improvement in the state of affairs.
Millicent was not so sanguine as regarded Pearl, and she had no
confidence at all in the good effects of a hint to Diana. Advice in
that direction commonly acted in a reverse fashion from what was
intended.
Tuesday afternoon came, and the same train which had brought Beryl
brought Mrs. Fenwick and Pearl. Ivor met them at the station, and
ushered them into the drawing-room, exchanging arch nothings with
Pearl, and showing himself to be on terms of brotherly intimacy.
Diana looked not a day older than five years before, and her costume
was, as usual, elaborately fashionable. Bugles had gone out of use,
but there was always a sheeny sparkle about Diana's dress, suiting the
sparkle of her face and manner. She wore mourning no longer, though her
prevalent tone of colour was subdued.
Beryl paid small heed to Diana Fenwick, though the two shook hands, and
exchanged a conventional kiss. Her attention was concentrated on her
sister.
Pearl Fordyce had grown into a lovely girl. Thu promise of her
childhood was already richly fulfilled. She was not tall, but her
slight figure was perfectly graceful; and the delicate little
face, with its pensive blue eyes, was set off by ivory whiteness
of complexion, and geranium tinting in cheeks and lips. The smile,
too, with which she answered some gay banter of Ivor's, though not
brilliant, was sweetly winning.
"The sisters are as great a contrast as ever," Diana remarked.
It was an unnecessary observation, and it jarred on more than one
present. Pearl laughed faintly in a deprecatory way. Diana sat looking
from one to the other, carrying on her comparison.
"I suppose one could not expect anything different; and after all,
sisters are not always alike. How is Uncle Josiah? I should think he
had had enough of Weston by this time. For my part, I cannot endure the
place. In fact, I almost wrote yesterday morning to say we would not
come, but that silly child nearly broke her heart at the idea, so I had
to give it up."
"Dear auntie, you promised not to tell," murmured Pearl, with just
enough heightening of colour to add to her loveliness.
Ivor stood watching her with an air of easy and undisguised admiration.
Escott's hand was shading his eyes, but Millicent knew that those eyes
were bent in the same direction. She could not wonder. Very few people
were able to sit in the room with Pearl and not look at her. Very few
would have been able to knit calmly, with downcast eyes, at a dingy
white counterpane square, as Beryl was now doing. Of a certainty, no
one could have supposed that these two sisters had not met for twenty
months, they had so little to say to one another.
"Did I? Ah, I forgot!" Diana responded, laughing. "Little goose, was
she not, Millicent! Weston seems to have more charms for her than for
me. I have no predilection for mud. However, a change is a change, and
we must make the best of it, though really journeys are a terrible
expense in these days."
Millicent wanted to bring the sisters nearer together, but she found it
not easy. A proposal that the travellers should go to their room was
negatived by Diana. She was "dreadfully tired," and so she supposed was
Pearl; and they would rather have tea first. Millicent did not think
Diana carried her fatigue in her face, and she had rarely seen Pearl
less pale, but she could not combat the assertion. She rang for tea,
and dispensed it with as little delay as possible, Ivor making himself
generally useful, and Escott starting up to wait upon Pearl with an air
of subdued pleasure.
Pearl received the attentions of both brothers as a matter of course,
paying for them with sweet smiles and little soft-toned utterances.
Beryl worked on in steady silence. Then Millicent proposed that Beryl
should show Pearl her room, and Ivor met this with a counter-proposal
that Pearl should take a turn in the gardens across the road, and have
a nearer view of the sea. Escott protested that she would be tired, but
Pearl said—
"O no, it would be delicious."
"Then Beryl must go too," Millicent said decisively.
And Beryl rose with a reluctant expression.
"Don't ask me, that is all I entreat," Diana said languidly.
But Escott volunteered to be of the party. He was not well enough for
the exertion, and Millicent knew he would suffer for it afterwards; yet
she would not tease him by objections. She watched the four from the
window, crossing the road, Ivor and Escott on either side of Pearl, in
eager conversation, and Beryl beyond Escott, walking a little apart and
silently, in contemplation of the dust.
"She is not improved," Diana observed.
"Beryl, do you mean? I think she is, Di, in some respects."
"They must be hidden 'respects,'" said Diana, gaping.
"She is quiet and obliging, and gives no trouble; and I never saw a
girl more uniformly busy."
"I hate people to be busy about nothing. Worse than idleness."
"Hardly, Di. Misdirected energy may be turned in a right direction, but
one can make no possible use of idle tendencies."
Diana gaped again. "There's a sort of mania for making use of
everything and everybody in the present day. It is quite fatiguing.
Nobody shall make use of me, if I can help it."
"But, Di, you could not expect Beryl to turn out pretty."
"I don't know what I expected. All I hope is that she will not turn my
house upside down. If she does, I will not keep her there."
"I do not think there is much danger. Beryl has at least learnt to
control herself."
Yet even as Millicent spoke, she wondered how far this self-control
would reach.