_THE WORST._
"I AM DREADFULLY tired this morning," said Mrs. Fenwick. "Really, the
heat last night was quite appalling. Pearl, you are not eating any
breakfast. I insist on your taking something."
Pearl looked blue-lipped and spiritless, and she sat in a drooping
posture.
"You are not likely to hear any news of Ivor to-day, so it is of no use
expecting," said Diana, with a yawn. "Dear me, sitting up so late does
make one sleepy. Millicent is sure not to write two days running, and
Marian will get out of it if she possibly can. She has a mortal horror
of putting pen to paper. Besides, I don't suppose there will be any
change for the present. He will be ill for months. I always do think it
was the silliest thing to attempt to leap that gate."
This remark recurred on an average about six times a day. Diana Fenwick
was one of those people who invariably judge of a deed by its results.
Had the leap been successful, she would have praised Ivor's spirit and
agility.
"But young men always do silly things, and never learn by experience.
No use to attempt to control them. By the by, what were you doing all
the evening, Beryl? Pearson says she saw nothing of you. She grew quite
nervous, and hunted over the house when it was nearly dark. You are not
old enough to be walking alone in the lanes so late. I can't think how
you can like to do so."
Beryl had been debating with herself how and when to tell what had
occurred. "I did not walk," she said. "I was over the way at Miss
Carmichael's."
"You don't know Miss Carmichael," said Pearl, surprised out of her
apathetic air.
"No, but she saw me alone in the garden, and she came across to speak
to me. She asked me to go back with her."
"Extraordinary," said Mrs. Fenwick. "I detest that sort of meddling.
What business was it of hers whether you were alone or not? But it
is just the sort of thing one would expect from a person like Miss
Carmichael. I call it impertinent."
"She was very kind, and I like her very much," said Beryl.
"How long were you there?"
Beryl considered. "I don't know exactly. About an hour and a half, I
think."
"Absurd!" said Mrs. Fenwick, evidently annoyed. "I hope you did not
gossip about my affairs."
Beryl was silent.
"What were you talking about?" Mrs. Fenwick spoke sharply.
"A good many things," said Beryl reluctantly. "About—music,—and
different tunes. And I told them about school,—and about Ivor's
accident. And Miss Wyatt showed me some photographs the last part of
the time."
"It sounds lively," said Diana, with a sneer. "Rather you than me. Did
they say anything about Sir Stephen?"
Beryl did not remember at first. "O yes, she—Miss Carmichael, I
mean—showed me a photograph of her brother, and I think Miss Wyatt
called him 'Sir Stephen.'"
"When is he likely to come to Hurst?"
"I don't know. Miss Carmichael goes to visit him every year."
"And I suppose you did not find out anything about Miss Wyatt,—whether
she is a relation or what?"
"I don't think she is a relation. I think she is Miss Carmichael's
friend."
"Her companion, do you mean?"
"No," said Beryl. "Her friend,—or perhaps like her child."
"Adopted?"
"I don't know," repeated Beryl. "They did not say anything about that.
Miss Carmichael and Miss Wyatt seem very fond of one another."
"It is queer. I don't understand the connection. What is Miss Wyatt's
real name?"
"Hester Wyatt. 'Emerald' is only Miss Carmichael's pet name for her."
"Absurd!" said Diana again. She was much given to using the word, when
not in a pleasant humour.
"I did not think you would mind my going," Beryl forced herself to say,
after a pause. "Miss Carmichael saw you go off with Pearl, and she
thought I might be dull."
"She had no business to think anything of the kind. It was no concern
of hers. I hate that sort of overlooking. I suppose you made yourself
out an injured individual, in being left behind."
"I told her I was not musical," said Beryl stiffly. She found Diana's
manner difficult to bear patiently.
The arrival of letters created a diversion, but there was not one from
Weston, and Pearl's face fell. She betook herself to the corner of a
sofa with a book, and made believe to read, seldom turning a leaf, and
now and then stealthily using her pocket-handkerchief. A bright drop
might have been seen to fall occasionally.
Diana rang for the breakfast things to be removed, and disappeared for
a time. Coming back presently, she found Beryl in the window, over the
never-ending counterpane, now and then diversifying the monotony of her
occupation by a glance at the house over the way. The glances annoyed
Diana. She did not like Beryl to have advanced further than herself in
this new acquaintanceship.
"There is one thing I have to say," she remarked sharply, opening her
writing-case. "About your Confirmation."
Beryl's work came to a stand-still, and she made no answer.
"The names have to be given in within the next fortnight. I shall send
yours to Mr. Bishop."
"I can't decide in a hurry," Beryl said.
"Hurry! Nonsense. I spoke to you about it days ago. You have had ample
time."
"I can't be confirmed, feeling as I do now. It would not be right. I
should like to feel differently," said Beryl, finding it by no means
easy to say so much.
"Feel differently!" Diana repeated the words with her scornful little
silver laugh. "What about, pray?"
Beryl did not attempt to explain. "It would not be right," she
repeated. "I must wait."
"Till when?"
"I would rather wait another year, or ten years, than do it too soon."
"You are nearly eighteen. Don't be ridiculous, Beryl. Your duty is to
do as you are told, without making a fuss, and I say this is the right
time."
"It can't be only just a question of age," said Beryl. "No clergyman
would say so."
"I shall tell Mr. Bishop that I consider it the proper thing for you;
and I expect you to obey, and not to make difficulties."
Beryl was breathing hard.
"I can't help it," she said; "I must do what is right. I 'cannot'
promise what I feel that I don't really want to do."
"Stuff and nonsense. Why, everybody wants to do it—if you mean the
Confirmation vows," said Diana. "We all want to do right, I hope. That
is all that is meant!"
"Is it?"
The two syllables had a certain sting in them, apparently. Diana
flushed, and threw back her head.
"Of course. What else do you suppose is meant?"
"I don't know. Something more than that," said Beryl. "If it only means
being like everybody else, I don't see the use of being confirmed at
all."
"I suppose you have been getting hold of some ultra notions. You seem
to me to be in a muddle about the whole concern. As for 'hurry,' there
are ten days to spare still, and you can think as much as you like.
But I expect you to do as I wish, and I shall certainly speak to Mr.
Bishop."
"Is he the same Mr. Bishop who wrote to you about us five years ago?"
asked Beryl, after a pause.
"No," said Diana shortly. "A cousin."
A loud double knock sounded at the door. Pearl started as if she were
shot. "A telegram," she whispered hoarsely, and she whitened and
trembled.
"Not at all likely," said Diana. "Numbers of tradespeople knock like
that. Just see what it is, Beryl. Now, Pearl, don't be a goose and make
yourself ill about nothing. It is of no use whatever to be perpetually
looking out for news of Ivor. We shall hear no more for a day or two.
He may go on like this for six weeks and more, before he really begins
to improve."
Beryl came back with an envelope of thin texture.
"Ah, then it 'is' one," said Diana, handling it carelessly, while Pearl
leant forward in an imploring fashion. "I wish people would be content
to write instead of startling one like this. I dare say Millicent
forgot to post a letter yesterday, and thought we should be anxious for
news this morning. She had much better have let the matter alone."
Diana opened the sheet, and glanced at the few scrawled words. "From
Marian. Dear me—who could have thought it? I 'am' shocked. Poor dear
Millie! But, after all, it is no more than one might have expected—poor
fellow!"
Pearl muttered hoarsely, "What?"
"It is only what we might have expected," repeated Diana. "The doctors
never really thought he would recover. Well, if it 'was' to be, I
suppose it is a mercy that Millie is spared the pull of a long illness.
It would have worn her quite out. Poor dear Millie!"
"Ivor dead!" broke from Beryl in utter incredulity. "Ivor!" She thought
of the strong young frame and elastic step, as she had last seen them,
only a few days earlier, and her whole being seemed to rise against the
thought. "Ivor!" she repeated. She had made up her mind that he would
certainly get well.
"Yes, but I did not mean to tell Pearl so quickly," said Diana, glad to
have somebody to blame. "How you do blurt a thing out. But it is always
your way. Marian does not say much. It is only—
"'All is over. Ivor passed away at six this morning. M. pretty well.
E. much knocked down.'"
Diana laid down the sheet, sighed, and put her handkerchief to her eyes.
"Poor boy; it is a dreadful thing. I am sure I wish with all my heart
that we had never gone to Weston. I did not want to go. But, after all,
it might have happened just the same, and of course one never can tell
beforehand what is coming. I must write to Millie by the first post,
though what to say I really don't know. It will half kill her, I think.
One can't help feeling that if only it had been Escott!—He is always
so delicate. Ivor seemed such a strong hearty young fellow. Don't cry
so, Pearl. It is only what the doctors expected; but of course it is
dreadfully sad. I must have all the blinds pulled down at once, and see
about mourning for myself. You two are not his real cousins, so it will
hardly be necessary for you,—expect perhaps very slightly. Millie might
expect that."
Diana talked on, really distressed, but finding relief in words, and
Beryl sat feeling stunned. Poor little Pearl's sobs were heartrending.