_DIANA'S TROUBLE._
ON Friday morning, somewhat early, Miss Carmichael crossed the road,
and sought admittance at Mrs. Fenwick's. "That child has not run in
yet," she said to Hester. "I must go and see after her."
She was shown into the drawing-room, and found Diana there with Beryl.
Somehow Miss Carmichael discovered, almost at the first glance, that
things were on a happier footing between the two than in past days.
"I have come to thank you for the loan of Beryl for a week, and to wish
that the time had been longer," she said, kissing the one and shaking
hands with the other.
"You were very good to have her at all," said Diana, assuming an air of
light indifference.
"When you want to get rid of her again, you will know what to do with
her, Mrs. Fenwick."
"Thanks. I don't think that will be at present. Beryl is old enough now
to be useful."
"And she has the will and intention to be so, I am sure," said Miss
Carmichael.
"She is more practical than Pearl," said Diana. "I do not find I can
depend upon Pearl."
"I hope Pearl is better for her little change."
"Thanks," repeated Diana. "I don't think much is wrong with her. Of
course the death of poor Ivor was rather a shock,—the two had been on
such intimate terms. But she will shake it off in time."
"She is very young,—poor little woman."
"Girls don't break their hearts now-a-days," said Diana carelessly.
"She was quite delighted with the West-End shops."
Miss Carmichael's face wore a rather comical expression. "Then I think
you are right," she said. "It can hardly be a case of a broken heart
with little Pearl. Perhaps the few days' change of scene will have set
her up again."
"Perhaps," responded Diana, as if she did not much care about the
matter.
"Can you spare Beryl to go for a drive with me this morning? I am
expecting a pony-chaise at home in ten minutes."
Diana's colour came and went, and there was a suppressed start.
"Thanks; you are very kind. I—I really don't see how—I don't quite
think I can spare Beryl this morning."
"Only for two hours. We would not keep her longer."
"I don't quite see that I can spare her."
Diana's manner was agitated, and her lips trembled visibly.
"It does not matter. I'll come another time to see you, Miss
Carmichael," said Beryl, with an effort of self-denial far greater than
appeared on the surface.
"I must not tempt you away from your duty;" and Miss Carmichael's smile
of approval almost repaid Beryl for the lost delight.
She rose to say good-bye, and for a moment retained Diana's hand,
looking solicitously into her face. "You are not well, I am sorry to
see," she said.
"I—I—it is nothing, I assure you," said Diana hurriedly. "I am a little
nervous and low just now,—nothing of consequence. One must expect that
sort of thing occasionally."
"I think you should consult a doctor. It is not well to let oneself
down too low."
"Perhaps—yes—if I find it necessary."
"I have noticed a change in you lately. Forgive my frankness, but I do
not think you ought to neglect yourself, Mrs. Fenwick."
"No, indeed; I assure you I do not. I am most careful," said Diana,
with a cheerful air. "I hope you will enjoy your drive, Miss
Carmichael."
"How would the little Pearl like to come with me, since Beryl cannot?"
asked Miss Carmichael.
"She would like it very much. You are extremely kind," said Diana.
"Pearl shall be with you in five minutes."
"You would not like to put the question to her? No—never mind. If she
does not appear in ten minutes or so, I shall understand, and I shall
not wait."
"She will be quite delighted," said Diana. "Beryl, you can open the
door for Miss Carmichael, and then tell Pearl. She must make haste; and
you can come back to me."
Beryl obeyed, accompanying Miss Carmichael into the porch.
They paused there for a moment, and Miss Carmichael said gently, "I am
sorry it cannot be you, my child."
"I was afraid you would think I did not care," said Beryl gruffly. "But
I do."
"I am not so blind. I confess I do not quite see why you cannot be
spared."
"Aunt Di seems so nervous about being alone," said Beryl, in a low
voice. "She told you she was nervous, so I suppose I may say that; but
please don't tell anybody. She had Pearson to sleep in her room last
night, and all day long she can hardly bear me to be five minutes away
from her."
"Cannot Pearl take turns with you?"
"Pearl is frightened, and does not like it."
"Well," said Miss Carmichael gravely, "you wanted work, child, and here
it is."
"She is much kinder than she was, only she cries so. I like being
useful," said Beryl. "But I do long to see you oftener."
"Would she spare you to spend Sunday with us?"
Tears came to Beryl's eyes. "If I only 'could!'" she said. "I am afraid
she will not like it."
"Wait till to-morrow, and we shall see. Patience meantime, my child,
and do the work your Master gives you. Now send me the little Pearl."
Beryl was rather surprised to find Pearl quite as much pleased as Mrs.
Fenwick had foretold. "I don't care for Miss Carmichael," she took the
trouble to explain; "but the house is so dismal with Aunt Di like this.
Anything to get away."
"You must be quick, Pearl, or Miss Carmichael will start before you get
there."
This fear shortened Pearl's operations before the looking-glass.
Beryl remained with her, and was thus absent ten minutes from the
drawing-room.
As the two girls passed the door, Pearl said, "She is crying again. I
shan't go in; there really isn't time."
Beryl knew that remonstrance would be useless, and entered alone.
Diana lay on the sofa, with her handkerchief pressed over her face, in
an agony of weeping. It was by far the worst fit of distress that Beryl
had yet seen.
"Don't call Pearson,—don't go away," gasped Diana, when Beryl would
have rung the bell.
She desisted, and stood beside the sofa, wondering what she ought to do.
"I thought you would never come back," broke out at length in sobbing
complaint. "So unkind!"
"I did not mean to be so long," said Beryl, speaking gently. "I just
stayed to help Pearl get ready."
"Oh, I know—I understand. Nobody cares what 'I' feel. Nobody cares to
be with 'me.'"
"Wouldn't you like me to get a little 'sal volatile,' Aunt Di?" asked
Beryl, taking refuge in her most passionless manner.
"No, no,—no use," answered Diana. "Nothing is of any use. Oh, I do feel
so ill and miserable. I think I shall die."
Beryl was young enough to be alarmed at the words, though less alarmed
than if she had not been accustomed to Diana's habitual use of strong
expressions.
"I think you ought to see the doctor," she said. "I am sure Miss
Carmichael would tell you so."
"Miss Carmichael knows nothing about it. Nobody knows, and nobody can
do anything."
"I thought, perhaps, it was what she said that made you cry," observed
Beryl. "I mean, what she said about your looking ill."
Diana's response to this was another paroxysm of sobs, so violent and
unrestrained as to break at times into positive screams. There was a
strange mixture of childishness and misery in the display. Beryl took
the matter with quietness. Happily she was able to do so. Excitement
of manner on her part would have made Diana worse. She said what she
could; but, finding her words unavailing, she took out her knitting,
and sat down by Diana's side, with a half-finished square. This step
proved efficacious. Diana's weeping came to an end.
"You certainly are the oddest girl," she said, in a changed voice.
"Pearl would be frightened out of her wits."
"I don't see anything to be frightened at," said Beryl calmly. "I wish
I knew what to do for you, when you are like that."
"You can't do anything. People must cry when they are utterly wretched."
"I think Miss Carmichael would do something."
"I don't want Miss Carmichael. I am not going to be condoled over and
gossiped about," said Diana passionately. "If I am miserable, I can
bear it, I suppose. There is nothing I hate like being pitied."
"Do you? I don't think I feel so now," said Beryl slowly. "But I did
once, I know."
"You queer girl," Diana said again.
Beryl was naturally silenced. She worked steadily at her square for
some time, making no remarks, and never lifting her eyes. She did not
notice the change of mood which was creeping over Diana, or see the
excitement passing into utter dejection.
But when at length Diana spoke, the sunken and despairing voice could
not fail to make an impression.
"Beryl, can you keep a secret?"
"Yes," said Beryl, looking up. Then she laid her work aside, for the
haggard misery in Mrs. Fenwick's face called for undivided attention.
"I believe you could, but I can't be sure. Somehow, I think you are a
good girl now, Beryl, not what you used to be."
Beryl could not talk freely of herself to any one except to Miss
Carmichael, least of all to Mrs. Fenwick. "I want to be different," she
said soberly. "If it would be any comfort to you, Aunt Di, I am quite
sure I could keep a secret as long as you wish."
"And not tell even Miss Carmichael?"
"No," said Beryl firmly. "I would tell her my own secrets, but I would
not tell her yours. I promise to say nothing to anybody, if it is
right."
"Right! Of course. Nonsense. Right, indeed! It is nobody's business
except my own. Miss Carmichael has nothing to do with the matter. I
don't know why I should think of telling you, but there is nobody else.
I won't be gossiped about by other people, and Marian has left me, and
Millicent has no thought except for Escott. And one can't write such
things. But I feel as if I must speak to somebody. I think I shall go
mad with it, if I don't."
"Yes," said Beryl quietly. "I think you ought to tell some one."
"Tell—what? You don't know what I mean."
"No; but I can see that you are very unhappy about something," said
Beryl. "And I am sure you feel ill. And I think it must be dreadful to
have no friend to help you."
"Feel ill,—yes, frightfully. I never felt so ill in my life,"
said Diana hurriedly. "But that is nervousness,—I am only low and
nervous—not ill. You need not fancy me really ill, Beryl. I am not
going to die yet, to please you or anybody," and she laughed in a
hysterical fashion. "O no, it is not that. As for friends, I don't
believe in friends. If I did, you don't suppose 'you' could help me,
do you?" She spoke scornfully, and then burst into tears. "But I don't
want to be unkind to you, for I have nobody else to depend upon,—and
by and by—by and by—I shall have to depend on some one. O Beryl, I am
so fearfully unhappy, so fearfully miserable. I don't know how to bear
it. And he told me so suddenly, so cruelly. I shall never get over the
shock. Sometimes I think I shall die of it in the end. Oh, I am so
utterly wretched. And I ought not to cry, they say. Not cry! When I
feel like this."
"If you could just say what it is that is wrong, I should understand
better," said Beryl gravely.
"I don't want you to understand. I don't want anybody to understand. I
wish I didn't know it myself. Sometimes I don't believe it now, and I
think I won't believe it. I never thought anything so dreadful could
happen to 'me' in life. I can't tell you yet, Beryl. Perhaps to-morrow."
"It must be just as you like, of course," said Beryl. "Only I do think
you would feel better, if you did not keep it all to yourself."
"Talking does not make one's troubles less," said Diana. "But perhaps
I might feel better. I don't know. I don't think anything can make any
real difference. There seems no hope or comfort left in life. And one
thing I can't stand, and that is being preached at. You have grown more
religious lately, I know; and if you like to be so, you can, of course.
But you are not to throw it at me. I am not going to be lectured
about submission and patience, and all that sort of thing. I am not
submissive, and I am not patient; and I never was."
"No," said Beryl. "But perhaps that is just why the trouble has had to
come."
"You know nothing about it," said Diana sharply. "Who is that? A
caller? Pearson must say I am engaged."
"If you please, ma'am, it is Miss Crosbie," said Pearson.
Marion Crosbie entered quietly, without waiting for permission. Diana
flushed scarlet, rose from her reclining posture, and threw back her
head. Marian's greeting was coldly responded to, but she appeared
unconscious of any change of manner.
"I thought you were at Weston-super-Mare still," said Diana stiffly.
"I have only come back for a night. There are some books and papers
which Uncle Josiah wants, and which a servant could not find for him.
The truth is, we are talking of joining Millicent abroad."
"Oh, indeed," said Diana.
"We have poor accounts of Escott, and Uncle Josiah wishes to see for
himself how he is."
"Some people are fortunate in having more money to throw away than
others," said Diana.
"Some have more calls for their money. I do not suppose we shall start
for another two or three weeks, but the plan is under discussion."
"Very absurd, at Uncle Josiah's age. But of course it is no business of
mine."
"I suppose you can give me luncheon to-day," said Marian. "There is
nothing prepared for me at home. You are not looking well, Di."
"Thanks, I am quite well," said Diana, with more curtness than truth.
"You do not look so. I am sorry you had to give up your tour. How was
it?"
"Why, 'you' advised it."
"I gave no advice. I was a little perplexed how you meant to meet the
expense," said Marian patiently. "But that could hardly have been the
reason for your change of plan."
"I chose to come home instead of going abroad. That is all," said
Diana, with a toss of her head.