_A HAPPY NEST._
THE idea of the Engadine roused Pearl more than anything else had done
since Ivor's death. She cried less, talked more, and waxed positively
eager over the choice of dresses and hats for the trip. Diana seemed
not to have the slightest idea how long she would stay away. She showed
impatience to be off, and was meanwhile in an uncomfortable state of
alternate excitement and depression. Beryl could not make her out.
Marian's defection seemed to have caused even deeper annoyance than had
appeared at the first. Diana could not hear her sister's name without
an angry flush, and she repeatedly declared that Marian should never
again reside under her roof. Something in Marian's letter had probably
wounded her self-esteem. A hot and lengthy answer was despatched in the
first outburst of passion. Marian's reply was brief, and Diana read it
aloud to the girls, under one of her sudden impulses.
"DEAR DI,—I do not think you can have meant all you said in your last.
When you have had time to cool, you will be sorry. It is absolutely
necessary for Escott to travel, the doctors say,—and how could I leave
poor Uncle Josiah alone for six months or more? You could not really
wish it, or ask it of me. I dare say a trip to the Engadine would be
pleasant; but I must say I cannot quite see how you are to meet the
expense of it just now,—after what you said in your last letter.—Your
affectionate sister,—
"MARIAN CROSBIE."
"Cool! I am as cool as a cucumber," Diana declared, with burning
cheeks and glowing eyes. "I don't pretend to be a lump of ice like
Marian. Couldn't ask it, indeed! Why not? Millicent doesn't scruple
to ask what crosses my wishes, and why am I to be tongue-tied? 'Poor
Uncle Josiah!'—yes, of course,—poor anybody and everybody except me.
Can't see how I am to meet the expense! No, I dare say she can't. What
business is it of hers? But they shall see that I will have my own way;
I am not going to be sat upon in this style."
The girls had little to say. Pearl only hoped that nothing might stand
in the way of the trip, and Diana's anger did not disturb her, when
not directed towards herself. Beryl dared not answer. She was falling
more and more into the clutches of that uneasy dread of "saying the
wrong thing," which checks all freedom of intercourse with some people,
occasionally even with those people who stand nearest in order of
natural relationship. She did not fear Diana's displeasure, for hers
was a tough nature, capable of standing rough words; but she did fear
the feelings which the expression of Diana's displeasure aroused in
herself.
"I shall write at once, and tell Marian that everything is settled.
Thanks to Miss Carmichael, I need not ask any favour of her. I am quite
independent."
Beryl began to understand why she was so easily permitted to accept the
invitation from over the way.
"I wanted to start next week, but I don't quite see that we can be
ready, Pearl. Better say next Tuesday week."
Beryl was sorry, knowing that "next Tuesday week" would be the day of
the last Confirmation class. She would much have preferred to be then
at Miss Carmichael's.
Diana went on, unheeding:—
"Marian will be sorry by and by for behaving in this way,—when
Millicent comes back, and my uncle doesn't want her any more. But I
shall not have her here. I can't endure that sort of playing fast and
loose. She may look-out for herself in future. I have a great mind to
give notice to my landlord next quarter, and go to live somewhere else.
I am getting sick of Hurst, and of being overlooked and meddled with
at every step."
The last few words filled Beryl with dismay.
Diana noted her expression, and thenceforward made systematic use of
the notion, when she wished to annoy Beryl.
Mrs. Fenwick proposed to spend a week with Pearl in London,
before starting for the Continent. The last few days before they
left, Beryl had enough to do, to satisfy the requirements of even
her occupation-loving nature. She was at their beck and call
incessantly—sewing, mending, packing, shopping, running up and down
stairs, acting the part of "white slave" uncomplainingly. It was
gradually becoming a habit with them to hand over to Beryl whatever
they did not care to do themselves. Beryl liked to be busy, and liked
to be useful. Yet, however willing to work, she had at times a wish for
a grateful word or smile in return for her labours. Diana and Pearl
could smile and thank gracefully enough, when it pleased them; but they
did not count it worth their while to waste smiles upon Beryl. "Just do
this," and "Just fetch that," with, "Oh, you have finished at last," or
possibly a careless "Thanks," were the order of the day.
Tuesday came at last, and early in the afternoon the travellers
started. Beryl was busy up to the moment of their departure. She had
found time by early rising to put together what she would need at Miss
Carmichael's; but after eight o'clock not a minute of her time had been
her own. Diana was excited and irritable; and Pearl, now that things
had come to a point, looked flat. Neither remembered to give Beryl a
parting kiss, and Beryl would not ask for one. She stood quietly on the
step, watching the fly rumble down the road, and feeling as if a sudden
calm had come over the face of nature.
"Miss Pearl 'might' have taken the trouble to look round and say
'Good-bye,'" Pearson remarked unexpectedly by her side.
"People don't remember everything when they are busy," said Beryl
slowly, turning round.
"She don't forget her ribbons and gloves, though," said Pearson with
some point. "You're tired, Miss Beryl."
"I suppose I am—a little," said Beryl, as if not quite sure of so
unwonted a sensation. "I don't quite know how I am to get my things to
Miss Carmichael's."
"I'll see to that. You just tell me what has to go, and I'll see to
it," said Pearson, who had experienced a growing approval of Beryl
during the last few weeks, and a growing disapproval of the manner in
which she counted her to be "put upon."
"If you don't mind, I should be glad," said Beryl. "I must be off to
the Confirmation class in a few minutes, and Miss Carmichael expects me
to tea."
"Well, don't you trouble yourself, Miss Beryl. Your things 'll be
over all right, by the time you're there. And we shan't be off till
to-morrow, so if you want anything more you can just run over in the
morning, you know."
Beryl's "Thank you," if sober, was grateful. She went upstairs for hat
and jacket, and started soon, with her Bible in her hand.
An hour and a half later, Miss Carmichael saw her coming up the garden
path, and Hester met her at the front door.
"Welcome, Beryl,—I am glad you are here at last. We have been looking
out for you. Your 'baggage' has arrived first. Go and speak to Miss
Carmichael in the drawing-room. I am wanted downstairs for a minute."
Beryl obeyed, and received a second affectionate greeting. Miss
Carmichael held her hands, scrutinised her face, and said "Well?"
inquiringly.
"They are gone," said Beryl, with an unconscious accent of relief.
"And you have been to your class since. A pleasant one?"
"Yes,—I liked it very much," said Beryl, with emphasis.
"Rather longer than usual, was it not?"
"I don't know. Am I late? It did not seem long, but it is the last. Mr.
Bishop wants to see us all alone now, and he has fixed the day after
to-morrow for me."
"Do you see your way yet, my child?"
"Yes," said Beryl, lifting her eyes to her friend's face. "I want to be
confirmed."
"And the difficulty about Mrs. Fenwick?"
"I think it is gone," said Beryl. "You have helped me so much. I don't
feel the same now that I did. I don't 'like' her, Miss Carmichael, and
I don't see how I can. But I like to be useful to her,—and I should
not be glad to see her unhappy,—and it doesn't make me angry now to
see Pearl fond of her. I don't know whether Pearl really is so very
fond—but still she cares for Aunt Di much more than for me, and I can
bear it now. I 'think' I may be confirmed."
"I think so too," said Miss Carmichael. "But be true, Beryl. Don't have
any sham about the matter,—and don't be half-hearted. Let your life be
one of real faithful service to Christ from this time forward."
"I want that—" said Beryl huskily, with flushing face. "Miss
Carmichael, the class to-day was about—"
Beryl hesitated.
"Yes,—about—?" said Miss Carmichael.
Beryl's tone took its shy gruffness. "Only about—the love of God," she
said.
"And that has gone home to your heart?"
"I don't think I ever saw it before," said Beryl. "I thought—of
course—I 'had' to try to do right—just because I ought. I didn't see
'that!'"
"You did not see the outpouring of tender love, beyond a mother's,
asking your heart in return. But you see it now,—and you will not let
go what you have found. If you see His love, you 'must' love Him in
return. Only, the life must go with the love. You cannot separate the
two."
Beryl's look was responsive. She had no more to say.
"You will be glad of your tea now," said Miss Carmichael. "Come and see
your room."
She led Beryl to a cosy chamber, looking out upon the back garden,
pretty with white muslin and pink linings. A glass of geraniums stood
on the toilet-table, and the very pincushion spoke "welcome" with its
pins. To Beryl all this possessed the charm of novelty. She had never
before been a petted and honoured guest.
"Your home for the present—for many weeks, I hope," said Miss
Carmichael. "Hettie has filled the bookcases with a selection which she
thinks may suit your taste. We must try to turn you into something of a
reader while you are here. Do not wait to unpack now, or to change your
dress, for tea is ready. Just make yourself tidy, and come down."
Beryl obeyed, positively speechless with happiness. She had never
known such a sense of peaceful enjoyment as seemed to pervade the
very atmosphere of this house—an atmosphere which she had never been
so fitted to breathe as on this particular evening. She did not dream
how her own usually stolid face was changed by this new sense of
peace, within and without. When she re-entered the drawing-room, Miss
Carmichael and Hester looked at her, exchanged glances, and smiled,
both well content.
"This is to be your seat at the table," said Miss Carmichael kindly. "I
dare say you are tired, and hungry too, after your busy day. The last
few days have been far from idle, I think."
"No, I have had a great deal to do," said Beryl. "But I am not tired
now. I was, before the class—a little. I like being busy."
"That liking is a gift worth having. Hettie and I mean to keep you
employed while here. We don't approve of 'idle hands' any more than
Watts did. How is the little Pearl?"
"I don't think she is happy," said Beryl. "She seems to have been
so very fond of poor Ivor. Aunt Di thinks they would soon have been
engaged."
"Poor child! Too young," said Miss Carmichael pityingly. "Foreign
travel will be the best cure for her, probably. And Mrs. Fenwick?"
"Aunt Di is quite well," said Beryl. Then she saw something in Miss
Carmichael's face which made her add, "Why? Don't you think so?"
"No," said Miss Carmichael, and Hester shook her head.
"I did not know anything was the matter with Aunt Di," said Beryl,
rather bewildered.
"She is not well," said Miss Carmichael.
"But what is the matter with her?"
"I am not in her confidence, so I cannot undertake to say. It is easy
to see that something is wrong, and that she is aware of it. If you
were a little more experienced, you would have noticed the same. Don't
talk about it to anybody else."
"She does seem unhappy sometimes," said Beryl. "But I fancied it was
only just her way. I did not know she had anything particular to make
her so."
"I may be mistaken, but I should say that she has. I am glad you have
felt more kindly towards her lately, poor thing."
"Oh, so am I," said Beryl. "But she isn't really ill, is she?"
"'Ill' is an indefinite term. I do not count her well. Try some
home-made cake, Beryl."