himself. He was smarting with annoyance and impatience, but he managed,
as not one man in a hundred could have done, to keep his irritation to
himself, and be absolutely amiable and courteous to his instructress.
Miss Munns thought him a most well-disposed young man, and did not
discover one of the anxious glances at the clock, nor the yawns so
dexterously hidden beneath strokings of the moustache.
When three-quarters of an hour had passed by, Jack felt as if the
interview had lasted a fortnight, but fate was kinder to him than he
deserved, and sent relief in the person of the widow occupant of Number
Ten, who arrived to pay an evening call, cribbage-board in hand. Then
Mr Jack departed, and paced up and down the road smoking cigarettes,
and meditating on revenge. He caught the echo of girlish laughter from
within his own threshold, and could easily picture the scene within--the
two sisters huddling over the fire, Sylvia seated in state in the
grandfather chair, Pat, her devoted admirer, perched on the end of a
table, and placidly maintaining his position in spite of repeated
injunctions to run away.
He pictured Sylvia's face also as he had often seen it--the sharply-cut
little features, the suspicion of pride and self-will in aquiline nose
and firmly-moulded chin, the short, roughened hair, which was such a
cross to its owner, but which gave her a gallant, boyish air, which one
spectator at least found irresistibly piquant. He saw the firelight
play upon the pretty pink dress and the rings on the restless hands, saw
the brown eyes sparkle with laughter, and grow suddenly soft and
wistful. It seemed to him that they were turned towards himself, that
her thoughts were meeting his half-way, that she was already repenting,
and dreading the result of her hasty flight.
Jack O'Shaughnessy stopped short in his pacings up and down, and stood
staring before him with a strange, rapt expression. Out there in the
prosaic street the greatest discovery of his life had come to him, and
the wonder of it took away his breath. Young men often imagine
themselves in love with half a dozen pretty faces before they have
reached five-and-twenty, but to most of them there comes at last, in the
providence of God, the one woman who is as far removed from the passing
fancies of an hour as the moon from her attendant stars. She has
appeared, and for him thenceforth there is no more doubt or change; his
life is, humanly speaking, in her hands, and her influence over him is
the greatest of all the talents which has been entrusted to her care.
Too often he is careless about religious matters, if not actively
antagonistic, and her light words may confirm him in a life of
indifference; but, on the other hand, his heart is never so tender and
ready to be influenced as at the moment when she has given her life into
his charge, and this golden opportunity is hers to seize and turn to
lasting good. In the best sense of the word she is his Queen and he is
her knight, who will perform noble and gallant deeds at her behest.
Jack of the humbugging eyes, handsome, happy-go-lucky Jack
O'Shaughnessy, had been what he called "in love" since the days when he
wore pinafores and little round collars with frills at the edge, but he
had never known what love meant until this winter evening, when at the
vision of Sylvia's face his heart leapt with painful violence, and he
stood still appalled by the strength of his own emotions.
He had known Sylvia Trevor for one month, four short weeks in all, yet
now here she was occupying the foremost position in his thoughts, making
the past years seem blank and empty, blocking the gate of the future
with her girlish figure. Jack felt dazed and bewildered, a trifle
alarmed, too, at the extent of the journey which he had travelled so
unthinkingly, but he never attempted to deny its reality. He loved
Sylvia--that was an established truth; the only question which remained
concerned the next step in the drama.
When a man loved a girl, when a girl blushed when he appeared, and,
despite all her little airs of superiority, could not hide her pleasure
in his society, it was generally easy enough to prophesy a speedy
engagement and marriage, but what if Providence had made other ties for
the man before the Queen's appearance? What if, though unmarried, he
was still master of a household, a bread-winner to whom brothers and
sisters looked for support?
Jack's thoughts drifted longingly towards a little home of his own,
where Sylvia reigned as mistress, and cast pretty, saucy glances at him
from the other side of the table, but he knew all the time that it was
the veriest castle of dreams. He could not keep a wife who was hard
pressed to fulfil his present obligations; marriage was out of the
question until the boys were self-supporting, and the girls either
settled in homes of their own, or comfortably portioned off. That being
so, it was plainly the duty of an honourable man to keep out of the
girl's way, to make no attempt to win her affections, but to hide his
love both from her and those at home, who would otherwise be made to
feel themselves in the way.
Jack turned and renewed his pacings up and down. There was a heavy
weight of depression on his spirits, but he never flinched from the
right path, nor did it occur to him that there was anything heroic in
this simple accepting of a hard duty. Family affection was very strong
among the O'Shaughnessys, and not even the glamour of first love could
make him grudge anything to Bridgie and Pixie, or the two big boys who
looked up to him with such touching confidence. His first duty was to
them, and it would be "caddish" to let them suspect any sacrifice in its
fulfilment. A poor, commonplace word, which it is safe to say would
have a nobler translation in the Great White Book, wherein are written
the records of men's lives!
Sylvia blushed as she heard the key turn in the latch, and cast an
apprehensive glance at the door. Would Jack be angry? How would he
look? What would he say? The first glance showed him graver than
usual, but with no shadow of offence in look or bearing, and for some
unaccountable reason her spirits sank as she met his unclouded smile.
He sat down and held out his hand to Pixie, who promptly seated herself
on the arm of his chair, and amused herself by trying the effects of
various arrangements of the curling brown hair. Parted in the middle,
it gave a ridiculously dandified expression to the handsome face; pulled
forward in shaggy locks over the forehead, the dandy died a sudden
death, and Pat of the cabin and clay pipe appeared in his stead; combed
upward by ten little fingers until it stood erect above the forehead,
nationality underwent an even more startling change.
"_Voila_, Adolph!" cried Pixie triumphantly. "Me I have seen a hundred
men, but a hundred, all the same as thou every day I promenade me in
Paris!" And Jack smiled and, to Bridgie's surprise, allowed himself to
be disfigured without a protest--a surprising thing when a pretty girl
was among the spectators.
When the hairdressing operations were concluded, he held Pixie's hand in
his own, as if unwilling to let her go, and turned towards Sylvia with a
smile.
"I think your aunt quite enjoyed giving me a lesson, and I was very much
interested in her original system of book-keeping. What a wonderful old
dear she is, so energetic and full of interest in her fellow-creatures!
I must go to see her again, and have a game of cribbage, which appears
to be her pet dissipation. I'm fond of old people, but I daresay they
get a little trying if you have no variety. If I relieve guard
sometimes, it will set you free to have a chat with the girls!"
Was he sarcastic? Was he paying her back in her own coin? Sylvia
stared dumbly, but could see no hidden meaning in the glance which met
hers so frankly. "Thanks awfully. You are kind!" she cried with
enthusiasm, but in her heart she thought the kindness the most cruel
treatment she had ever experienced. As soon as she could leave
naturally she rose to say good-bye, and then came a fresh blow, for,
instead of escorting her across the road as he had insisted on doing
hitherto, Jack kept his arm round Pixie's shoulder, and deputed Pat to
take his place.
"Now, then, you lazy fellow, get your hat, and see Miss Trevor home!"
Pat was delighted, and after all it was natural enough that Jack should
not care to turn out in the cold so soon after coming in, and yet--and
yet--Sylvia stood at her bedroom window looking at the lights across the
road, and as she looked they grew strangely dull and faint. Triumphs
are dearly won sometimes, and her mood to-night was the reverse of
victorious.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.
AT THE CIRCUS.
Mamzelle Paddy began and continued her work in the Wallace nursery with
complete satisfaction to all concerned. Esmeralda, it is true, had
surpassed herself in violence of diction in the letter which came in
answer to the one breaking the news; but while Bridgie shed tears of
distress, and Jack frowned impatience, the person against whom the
hurricane of invective was hurled, received it with unruffled and even
sympathetic composure.
As Pixie read over the crowded sheets her eye flashed approval of
dramatic points, she set her lips, and wagged her head, entering so
thoroughly into the spirit of the writer that she unconsciously adopted
her manner when aroused, and when the concluding words were read, heaved
a deep sigh of satisfaction. "She'll feel a lot better after that!" she
remarked tersely, and the prophecy could not fail to be comforting to
those who knew Mrs Hilliard's temperament.
After such an outburst, repentance might be expected to set in even more
speedily than usual, and a peace-offering in the shape of a hamper
crowded with good things could be confidently looked for in the course
of the next few days. Esmeralda disliked formal apologies, and from the
boys' point of view, at least, turkeys and game made a more eloquent
_amende_.
Viva and Inda Wallace were loving and lovable children, but possessed
with a nervous restlessness, an insatiable curiosity, and with such
easily-roused tempers as would have reduced an ordinary adult governess
to despair within a very short period. Their delicate mother was
occupied with many social duties, and the father, though devoted to his
pretty daughters, had little patience with their vagaries, while the
frequent screaming attacks which sounded through the house had a trying
effect on nerves already strained by long residence abroad.
Parents and servants alike breathed sighs of relief when each morning
punctually as the clock struck ten, Mamzelle Paddy came running upstairs
primed with half a dozen thrilling devices for amusement and occupation.
Viva, as ringleader and rebel-in-chief, had flatly refused to speak, or
listen to, a word of French, but when it was presently revealed to her
that the Spoopjacks understood no other language, there was no course
left but to withdraw her opposition. The Bobityshooties were English,
and stupid at that, but by the time that Nicholas Spoopjack had
succeeded in teaching them how to address him with propriety, the two
unsuspicious listeners to the conversation had themselves mastered the
lesson without once suspecting what they were about.
The adventures which those two enterprising and admirable families went
through, were as varied as they were endless, and each day brought a
thrilling development of the situation. Nicholas Spoopjack thought
nothing of going out in a diving-bell in the morning, and a balloon in
the afternoon, while the Bobityshooties entertained royalty to dinner in
the kitchen cupboard, and feasted luxuriously on the cruets, and the
pinked-out paper which covered the shelves.
"She don't teach us nuffin': we only plays!" was little Inda's summing
up of the situation; but a moment later she would repeat a dialogue
which had taken place between the rival factions during the morning,
reproducing, with the wonderful imitative faculty of children, the very
accent and gesture with which it had been delivered, and her parents
would look at each other with delighted appreciation.
Mamzelle Paddy was a grand institution, and being generously disposed
people, Mr and Mrs Wallace endeavoured to show their gratitude by
including her in the many amusements which were arranged for the
children's benefit. She accompanied them on sight-seeing expeditions,
organised games at evening parties, and on one memorable occasion paid a
visit to the circus. Pixie had always cherished a passion for clowns,
and when in Paris had appreciated nothing more than an evening at the
"Nouveau Cirque," where Auguste the Frenchman played a secondary part to
his English brother, and the performance concluded with a play in which
the British tourist played a large part, conspicuous in plaid suits,
sailor hats, and thick-soled shoes. She was all eagerness to see the
London circus, and nearly as much excited as her pupils, as they drove
up to the door, and took their seats on the red velvet chairs.
Inda sat by her mother and stared solemnly around, but Viva insisted
upon being next her dear Mamzelle, and pranced up and down in a manner
which augured ill for future comfort. Once she began to fidget, adieu
to all hope of peace for her companions. Once she began to ask
questions, it was safe to predict that she would go on until despair
seized those who were obliged to answer. Pixie recognised signs of the
coming attack, and managed an adroit change of places which would leave
Mrs Wallace free to enjoy the afternoon, and punctually at three
o'clock the performance began.
The ring-master walked in and cracked his whip; the clown tumbled head
over heels into the arena, and cried, "Here we are again!" the lady
rider jumped through paper hoops, and blew kisses to the audience.
Viva's cheeks grew a vivid pink, and at each change in the performance
she adopted a change of position. When the hook of her jacket had been
extricated from the hair of the lady in front, she perched herself on
the arm of her own chair; when she had applauded herself backward into
Pixie's arms, she leant against the supercilious-looking gentleman in
the next seat, and tickled his cheeks with her fluffy hair. Then the
first wonder wore away, and she found her tongue.
"Why does the clown look like that?"
"It's a way they have in the family. They always have those funny eyes,
and red and white faces."
"Did he always look like that?"
"He did--all the time he has been a clown."
"Is it the same clown that was here before?"
"It says on the paper it's a new one for the occasion."
"Then why does he say he is here again?"
"I'll ask him next time we meet! Hush now, and listen to what he is
saying. See how they are all laughing!"
"Does the clown sleep in the circus?"
"'Deed he does not, poor creature! There are no beds, and the seats are
too hard."
"Where does he sleep, then? What is his true home?"
"Number Seven, Poplar Gardens, corner of Phillamore Park--the corner
house with the red curtains!"
Pixie understood her pupil's love of detail by this time, and Viva put
her head on one side and stared at her with gratified admiration. If
she had asked her mother, she would have looked tired and sighed, and
said, "My dear child! how should _I_ know? Don't ask ridiculous
questions," but Mamzelle Paddy knew better than that.
Her face assumed an expression of radiant satisfaction as she pondered
on that house in Poplar Gardens. Big and grey, with flower boxes in the
windows and little clowns looking out of the nursery windows.
Delightful! She was silent for several minutes, and the supercilious
gentleman took advantage of the pause to examine the party with curious
eyes. The elegant-looking woman was plainly the mother of the little
girls, but who was this, who was scarcely more than a child herself, who
was addressed as "Mamzelle" and spoke with a strong Irish accent? He
stared at her, and Viva discovering his glance turned round with her
back to the ring, and stared back with leisurely enjoyment.
At first her face expressed nothing but curiosity, but gradually her
features became twisted, the lips down drawn, the eyebrows elevated to
an unnatural height, until the beholder realised with horror that she
was experimenting on his own expression, and endeavouring to copy it on
her own small visage. Many a long year had passed since he had known
what it meant to blush, but he blushed then, and hitched round in his
seat to hide his scarlet face from view, while Viva once more turned her
attention to the ring.
The white-skirted lady had disappeared and another was cantering round,
clad in a riding habit and gentleman's hat. The horse was black, and
shone like satin; he pawed the ground with dainty, cat-like tread; the
ring-master followed him as he went, and cracked his whip in encouraging
fashion. Viva planted one foot on Pixie's toe, and jumped up and down
to attract attention.
"Is the gentleman really angry, that he cracks his whip? Does he pitend
to be angry? If he pitends to be angry, why do all the others pitend
that they think he doesn't pitend, but only,--Why does the gentleman
crack his whip?"
"Maybe he hears you talking! I saw him cast his eye upon you," replied
Pixie sagely, and the supercilious gentleman pointed the sentence with a
sigh, and privately resolved to remove his seat at the first
opportunity.
The threat of the whip, however, had the effect of quietening Miss Viva
for a good two minutes, and in the meantime Fate sent an unexpected
deliverance. Certain portions of the auditorium were portioned off into
squares, which did duty for private boxes, and into the nearest of these
there now entered a party of ladies and children, in whom he recognised
some intimate friends. To advance towards them and beg the use of a
vacant chair was the work of a moment, when he proceeded to pour the
story of his woes into the ear of the young lady by his side. She was
fair and pretty, charmingly dressed, and almost as supercilious in
expression as he was himself.
"Little wretch! How impossible of her!" she ejaculated, and bent
forward to examine the wretch forthwith.
Viva had climbed on the empty seat, and was craning her little face to
right and left to discover where the deserter had fled. With her great
blue eyes and rose-leaf complexion set in a frame of golden hair, she
looked like an angel from heaven, or one of the sweet-faced cherubs who
float in space at the top of Christmas cards and valentines.
But it was not on Viva that the young lady's attention was riveted, but
upon the figure by her side--Mamzelle Paddy in all the glory of a French
hat, wearing the very biggest hair-ribbon in her possession, in honour
of the occasion. At sight of the profile the young lady started and
cried, "It is! It must be!" Then she dodged backwards, saw the hat,
and became filled with doubt. "No, it can't be! It's much too smart!"
Finally Pixie turned round to apostrophise Miss Viva, who was in the act
of striding the back of her chair, and immediately a flash of
recognition leapt from eye to eye. The French hat nodded until the
feathers fairly quivered with the strain, and the face beneath became a
beam of delight, in which eyes disappeared and the parted lips stretched
back to a surprising distance. The fair-haired young lady had more
respect to appearance in her recognition, but all the same she grew
quite pink with pleasure, and cried eagerly--
"It's my dearest friend! We were at school together, but she has been
in Paris finishing her education, and I have not heard from her since
her return. I must speak to her in the interval--I really must! You
can't think what a fascinating little creature she is when you get to
know her."
"Ah, really! She looks distinctly--er--out of the common," drawled the
supercilious man lazily. "Rather interesting-looking woman, the
children's mother. Some relation of your friend, I suppose?"
"Oh, I suppose so! The O'Shaughnessys are a very good family. Very
well connected. Beautiful old place in Ireland," drawled the young lady
in her turn, and in the intervals of the performance she proceeded to
expatiate on the grandeur of the O'Shaughnessy family, the beauty of
Esmeralda, and the riches of her husband, until her companion looked
forward with increased interest to the coming introduction.
At the first interval Pixie came forward in response to eager
beckonings, and stood leaning against the side of the box talking to her
friend, with superb disregard of the more extended audience.
"Fancy, now, the two of us meeting without knowing that we were here!
You look quite old, Lottie, with your hair done up. Turn your head and
let me see the back! D'you still curl it with slate-pencils, like you
did at school? I came home at Christmas, and I've thought of writing
ever since, but I've been too busy. I suppose you're busy too, now you
are grown-up and living at home. Have you come out, and gone to dances
in low necks? We had an old servant at Knock, and one day a friend came
to lunch and she says to Bridgie, `That's a fine, handsome young lady!'
`She is,' says Bridgie. `She's just come out!' `Out of w'ere?' says
Molly, staring."
Pixie darted a quick glance round the box to enjoy the general
appreciation of her joke, then gave a low chuckle of satisfaction.
"Ye'll never guess what I'm doing!"
"No," said Lottie Vane complacently. She too had noticed the smiles of
the audience, and was anxious to encourage her friend in her
reminiscences. In society people were always grateful for being amused,
and if in her recital Pixie let fall further references to the standing
and importance of her family, why, so much the better for all concerned.
"What mischief are you up to now, you funny little thing?"
"I'm in service!" said Pixie proudly.
The shocked amaze of Lottie's expression, the involuntary rustle of
surprise which went round the box, were as so many tributes to the
thrilling nature of the intelligence, and she waited a moment to enjoy
it before pointing unabashed in the direction of the two children, and
condescending to further explanations.
"Me pupils! I've been with them now for over a month."
"What do you mean? How absurd you are, Pixie!" cried Lottie irritably.
"In service--you! I never heard such nonsense. As if you were a
servant! I don't know what you are talking about!"
"I get wages, anyhow, and that's all I care about. They are my pupils,
I tell you, and I've brought them here with their mother for a little
diversion. I've the training of them every morning for a couple of
hours, and thirty pounds a year paid every month. Jack and I make
enough between us to support the family."
"You don't really mean it?" gasped Lottie, horrified. Her cheeks were
scarlet, and it was evident that she was profoundly uncomfortable, but
as she met the triumphant eyes her face softened, and she made a valiant
effort to retain composure. "You mean to say you have turned into a
governess at sixteen--you who were always at the bottom of the class,
and couldn't get a sum right to save your life! Poor little girls, I
pity their education! How did you ever persuade the mother to take
you?"
Mamzelle Paddy tossed her head with complacent pride.
"'Deed, me dear, the room was packed with them, and natives at that, and
she chose me before the whole bunch. I'm not supposed to teach them
anything but French, and I don't teach that except by playing games.
But I keep them from crying and quarrelling, and ye don't need to be
head of your class for that! 'Twasn't cleverness she took me for, as
she told me plainly the first day I went; 'twas m'influence!"
A smothered laugh went round the box at the sound of this curious
compound word, uttered in tones of complacent pride; but Lottie Vane did
not laugh, and her hand stretched out involuntarily and clasped the
little fingers which lay on the side of the box. Her face lost its
supercilious expression, and grew sweet and womanly.
"Dear little Pixie," she said softly, "I don't pity the pupils after
all. I think they are very well off. May I come over and be introduced
to them and their mother? She must be a very wise woman."