WAR!
A week at Chichester served to dispel any hope of finding Pepé there,
and at her aunt's urgent insistence Mrs. Beltrán consented to making a
visit of indefinite length at Primrose Cottage.
"That girl of yours is not having enough lively company, always with
sober grown folks," said Aunt Manning. "You and I can be serious if we
choose; it's the time of life for us to be, but Nancy needs chirking
up. I can see a little pucker of anxiety on her face sometimes that
will mean wrinkles after a while. She is entirely too young to have
wrinkles. They come too soon as it is. She has had a deal of trouble,
poor child, from all you tell me, and she is more English than Spanish
in spite of her looks. Pity she couldn't have kept her yellow hair;
then no one would have suspected." Aunt Manning always spoke of Anita's
Spanish parentage as if it were a disgrace and a thing to be hushed up,
if possible.
Primroses faded. The hedges became white with May; larks and
nightingales, blackbirds and thrushes haunted the lanes and woodsy
places; still Anita and her mother lingered at Primrose Cottage. An
English Nancy was quite to Aunt Manning's liking, and she was kindness
itself in spite of her rather caustic tongue. It was a case where
actions spoke louder than words. In time she made less and less
reference to Spanish traits, bull fights and the Inquisition. She read
the papers diligently, looked grave and thoughtful during the whole of
many days, had long arguments with Mr. Kirkby when he called, but the
arguments concerned Germany and not Spain.
Meanwhile Anita was enjoying herself. There was still Pepé to think
of, but all was being done that could be in that quarter, and Terrence
Wirt, though unforgotten, was drifting into a memory whose poignancy
lessened as present pleasures brightened the summer days. There were
walks to neighboring villages, excursions to farther ones, picnics and
garden parties, all seeming to Anita like pages from an English novel.
Bertie Sargent was always in attendance and Harry Warren oftener than
not, while in the company of "His Riverence," as Anita called Mr.
Kirkby, she absorbed much knowledge of England's history, especially
that which had to do with Sussex.
A week at Littlehampton gave them a nearer view of the sea, an excuse
to visit Arundel Castle, and to make a short visit to Rye, where dwelt
the cousins Oliver. These appeared to Anita more formal, reserved and
conventional than the dwellers at Primrose Cottage, and she felt that
she could never become as intimate with them.
Lillian gave her a loyal friendship. Her dainty American clothes, the
way she wore her veil, her little Southern drawl, her use of certain
expressions all fascinated this English cousin who offered Anita the
quality of homage which she had been accustomed to receive at home.
Frank, boyish, original, with much of her grandmother's fearlessness of
speech, but with the same kindly spirit, Lillian was a companion not
to be despised and the girls were inseparable, the two dogs generally
trotting at their heels.
It was one day on the sands at Littlehampton that Lillian first hinted
at there being a closer relation between herself and Bertie than
she had been willing to admit. It was July and already there were
disquieting rumors. Lillian was employing herself in digging holes in
the sand with the tip of her parasol. The dogs were running joyously
up and down the sands, scaring the more timid little children at play
and animatedly inviting attention from boys who might desire to throw
sticks for them to bring back. Anita was lying back languidly watching
a group of children who were building a fort.
"And if there should be war," said Lillian suddenly, withdrawing her
parasol's tip from a deep hole she had made.
[Illustration: "AND IF THERE SHOULD BE WAR," SAID LILLIAN, SUDDENLY]
"War?" cried Anita, sitting up straight.
"Yes. Mr. Kirkby thinks there are ominous signs, though Granny declares
not. She will not believe it can be, but Mr. Kirkby is not so sure. It
would be with Germany, of course."
Anita leaned forward more attentively. "It would be dreadful, but could
it last long?"
"As you say in your Spanish: '_Quien sabe?_' They would go, Bertie and
all of them; they have said so. Bertie is very patriotic, and I am a
soldier's daughter. I should want him to go and yet--and yet----" She
turned suddenly away and flung herself on the sands face down.
Anita sat silent for a moment. It was such a friendly, pleasant
scene, so many little children, so many heads of families taking
their holiday. Very near her were some children with their German
_fraulein_, such a good, painstaking, homely creature, all concern for
the welfare of her charges, and never relaxing her vigilance. "_Was
macht, Dorot'y?_" she called. "_Ach, das ist shrecklich, so schmutzig
die hände. Kommt hier, spät, spät, spät._" Then the piping voice of the
child as she ran to fling herself in the nurse's arms to be cleansed
from the mud in which she had been playing, and to be sent off again
with hugs and caresses and charges to leave the mud alone and play in
the sand. Just such kindly, faithful creatures all over the land. One
could not believe evil of a country which could produce such, a country
they called Vaterland.
Lillian still lay with face hidden in her arms. Anita leaned over
and touched her shoulder. "Lillian, dear, Lillian, dear," she said,
softly, and Lillian sat up, dashing the tears from her eyes.
"I'm too silly for words," she cried, "but it came over me all of a
sudden how I should feel to see Bertie march away."
"Of course I knew it was Bertie," responded Anita.
"It's always been Bertie, of course," continued Lillian. "Oh, for
years and years. We're like that in England, you know. A man tells a
girl he is fond of her, and if there is no prospect of marrying soon
the girl just waits, waits, and doesn't mind how many years. I know
it isn't so, at least I've been told it isn't in America, that a girl
doesn't consider an engagement sacred at all, and that she doesn't mind
encouraging a man whether she cares for him or not."
Anita thought of her light-hearted girl friends at home; of Virgie
Buchanan engaged to two men at once, of Patty Blakelock with a new
admirer every month. "I'm afraid there is some truth in that," she
confessed, "although of course there are many, many girls who are not
that way at all. I think I must be one of the constant kind myself, for
it is once and forever with me."
Lillian turned to look at her. "Tell me," she said. And Anita told.
"Well, there is one thing to comfort you," said Lillian, with a sigh,
"you will not have the agony of sending your lover to the war."
"No, but I sent him into a silence from which he will probably never
come back," returned Anita, remorsefully.
The two girls sat in silent sympathy on the sands. The little nursery
governess near by softly crooned an old German lullaby to the youngest
of the little ones who, with sleepy eyes, rested in her lap. The waves
lisped gently as they curled in along the shore. Everywhere peace. Who
could dream of war?
The next day they returned to Primrose Cottage, and to the serene and
happy life they had been living. That Tommy was Lillian's favorite
of the dogs Anita had soon discovered, but Aunt Manning coddled
Haddie, who took himself very seriously and in his lordly way claimed
attentions and demanded rights which Tommy never looked for. The
latter, however, was quite satisfied to receive tidbits at the hand of
Lillian after meals, however much Haddie might be allowed the superior
advantage of sitting by Mrs. Manning's side at table to partake of sly
morsels from her plate. She denounced any such proceeding on the part
of both Hotspur and Tommy, and strictly forbade them an entrance to the
dining-room during meals, but Haddie could go anywhere. Anita found
him one day curled up on her bed in the middle of a fresh white frock,
and Tibbie, who secretly favored Tommy, next to Hotspur, told tales
of Haddie's having made free use of the pillows on the couch in the
sitting-room.
Tibbie, by the way, was a constant source of amusement to Anita. Her
Cockney expressions, to which were added many Sussex peculiarities of
speech, invited visits to her domain which, otherwise, Anita never
would have thought of making.
"That 'Addie is so dentical," she told Anita, "that 'e'll not take
less'n one o' mistus' purty pillows for a bed. 'E's unaccountable
dentical, 'Addie is. But 'e doan't think nothin' baout other folkses
denticalness. 'E'll go slubberin' an' spannelin' over my floors when
'e's been out in the wet, an' make gurt tracks as I've to clean up.
Yes, miss, 'e's unaccountable 'igh an' mighty, is 'Addie." This same
Tibbie had lived with Mrs. Manning for years. At eighteen she had been
wooed, married and deserted within a year and from that time she vowed
she would never live in a home where there was a man. That Mrs. Manning
was a widow with only a granddaughter was sufficient recommendation,
and she adored both the younger and older women, giving that faithful,
if somewhat arbitrary service one so often finds in old servants.
She backed Mrs. Manning's opinions against those of any man, and
because her "mistus" disdained any idea of war as against Mr. Kirkby's
apprehensions, Tibbie flouted the idea, and her arguments, founded upon
Mrs. Manning's, were voiced with decision to the butcher, the baker, as
well as her special antagonist, Timpkins, "the 'andy man."
It was one afternoon not long after the return from Littlehampton that
the family were gathered for tea in the garden. Lillian and Bertie
were teaching Tommy a new trick. They dearly loved to train Tommy, and
he seemed to feel it was their right as well as his privilege, for he
usually went through the ordeal with an air of meek submission.
Harry Warren was engaged in making a water color sketch of Anita in a
lavender gown, as she sat in a big garden chair. Mrs. Beltrán and Mrs.
Manning were placed before the tea table.
"Hims mus' give paw nicey," cried Lillian. "Zen be sojer boy. Give him
his gun, Bertie."
Bertie put the stick in place and Lillian stuck a paper cap on Tommy's
head. Tommy didn't mind the stick, but hated the cap. From his point
of view it did not appear to be an ornament so much as a disgrace. He
much preferred to play soldier without the cap. He shouldered his gun
and gave his three cheers for the king obediently. Then came the new
trick which was to be a salute to the Union Jack. Tommy was required
to stand on his hind legs and when Bertie or Lillian waved the flag to
wave his forepaws three times. He had come to the point of holding his
pose so far as standing on his hind legs was concerned, but to get him
to understand when to wave his paws was the problem.
"Hims mus' wave pawdies," coaxed Lillian. "Mus' be nice sojer boy
and salute. Bertie, I think you'll have to snap your fingers or do
something sudden like that; the poor darling ickle mans doesn't
understand. Hims shall have bu'ful sugar," she repeated her coaxing.
At the word sugar Tommy pricked up his ears. "Wave 'e paws." Lillian
forced the limply hanging members to move up and down while Tommy,
under his cocked hat, looked at her with a deprecating and puzzled
expression.
Anita, with Hotspur in her lap, sat watching the pair while Harry
worked diligently at the sketch. "Is that someone coming in?" he
inquired, as voices sounded near.
Anita turned her head. "It is that very, very stout young person whom
we met on the street last evening. She is standing at the gate talking
to some one; I can't see who it is."
"Oh, that's Elly Fantine," said Harry, going on with his work. "She'll
not come in. A little more to the right, please. That's it, thank you."
"What a queer name and why a name so exactly suited to the character?"
Harry laughed. "It isn't her name, really, you know. Hers is Eleanor
Frances Teaness, but Lil and Bertie have hit on Elly Fantine. You know
their custom is to give everybody and everything a name which they have
evolved from their inmost consciousness." He squinted up his eyes as he
held off his sketch.
"They are a funny pair," commented Anita. "How is the sketch coming on,
Harry?"
"Pretty well. I'd like a little more sunlight, but the sun do move.
What are those two doing with his nibs?"
"It isn't Haddie, you know. They never try to teach him anything. I
suppose he would resent it if they attempted it. Tommy is the pupil."
"Oh, of course. I'll not keep you much longer, señorita."
Anita smiled. "You'd better not let Aunt Manning hear you address me
in that way. She is trying to forget that any of my ancestors ever saw
Spain, and gives me long accounts of my English forbears, expatiates
on the glories of their performances and tries to waken in me a wild
enthusiasm for England."
"But you do like it."
"Of course. I love it, but I like Spain, too."
"I don't blame you. I am going there to paint, to copy Velasquez. You
must tell me some nice out-of-the-way places to go, picturesque spots
that painter men don't usually visit."
"I can tell you plenty of such," Anita began, but just then came the
click of the gate, a step was heard hastily approaching and Mr. Kirkby,
his ruddy countenance more than usually highly colored and an excited
look in his eye, called out. "Where are you all? It has come! Here is
the paper. War! War has come!"
Tibbie who had come out with the tea things stood staring. "Beant so,"
she said defiantly, as she looked to Mrs. Manning for support of her
remark.
Mrs. Manning motioned her to silence with a wave of her hand. "Hush,
Tibbie," she rebuked her. "You don't know what you're talking about."
Harry laid aside his sketch. Tommy dropped to all fours, glad of escape
from further training, and stood wagging his tail. Bertie ran forward
with the little Union Jack in his hand. "What's this? What's this?" he
cried.
Lillian snatched the flag from him and stuck it in the lattice of the
arbor, where it flopped feebly. There was something in Bertie's act
which struck terror to her soul. So might he run forward some day with
flag in hand to be stricken down by the enemy. She dashed past Tibbie,
almost upsetting her and a tray of teacups, and on to the house, into
which she disappeared.
Mrs. Manning took the paper into her shaking hand, tried to adjust
her glasses, then threw down the paper. "Tell us, Ernest," she said,
"that will be the quicker way of getting at it. One can't waste time in
wading through a newspaper."
"The Germans have invaded Belgium. They are marching on toward France."
"And Belgium?"
"Resists, of course. I knew what was coming when war was declared upon
Serbia. We cannot allow Belgium to suffer. We shall be in it in no
time."
"But are we ready?"
"No, but Germany is. She has been preparing for forty years."
Harry and Bertie wheeled around suddenly to face each other. They
clasped hands, looking steadily in each other's eyes, but neither spoke
a word.
"Well, war or no war," said Mrs. Manning, "we must have tea. Where is
Lillian. I never could bear that German language; it always sounds as
if they were spitting at one another like two cats. Where's Lillian?"
Presently Lillian came out, calm and without a sign of having passed
through a storm of emotion. "Tea ready?" she said. Then she went to the
arbor, took down the Union Jack and stuck it in the vase of flowers
which ornamented the centre of the table. The two young men, with heads
held high, saluted. Mr. Kirkby removed his hat. "God save the State,"
he said, reverently.