MRS. PEYTON'S COMPANION
"Dear me!" said Mrs. Peyton. "Here is Patience, down off her monument,
come all this way to smile at Grief! I am Grief, my dear; allow me to
introduce myself. Well, Margaret, and how do you get on without your
brats--I beg pardon! I mean your pets?"
"As well as could be expected," said Margaret, lightly, as she stooped
to kiss the ivory forehead. Mrs. Peyton was charming, but one did not
confide one's troubles to her. "We are behaving beautifully, Mrs. Peyton.
Not only have we dried our tears and hung our pocket-handkerchiefs
out to dry, but we have set up some new pets already."
"Not more children? Not another set of 'The Orphans of Fernley,' bound
in blue denim? That would be unendurable."
"No; four-legged pets this time. We have two dogs, Mrs. Peyton;
beautiful Gordon setters. I hope you are fond of dogs."
"Oh!--dogs? Yes, I like dogs. As a rule I like them better than
two-legged torments. You are a two-legged torment, Margaret, when you
move about the room in that exasperatingly light-footed manner. I don't
suppose you actually do it to make me feel my helplessness, but it has
that effect. Do sit down! you are not a bird. And don't, for pity's
sake, look patient! If there is one thing I cannot abide, it is to see
people look patient when I insult them. If I had only known--but John
Montfort always did like to thwart me, it's his nature--if I had only
known, I say, that those brats of yours were going away, I need not have
set up a menagerie of my own. It's too late now, the creature's coming."
"What do you mean, Mrs. Peyton?" asked Margaret, always prepared for any
whim of her whimsical neighbor. "Are you setting up a dog too?"
"No! nothing half so comfortable as a dog. A fox, or wolf, or hyena, or
something of that kind. Don't be stupid, Margaret; I am not up to
explanations to-day. A companion, simpleton! A Miss Fox or Miss Wolfe, I
can't remember which. I don't _think_ it was Miss Hyena, but it might
be. It's an unusual name, but she is recommended as an unusual person."
"Mrs. Peyton! you said you never would try it again. And you know I am
always ready to come and read to you."
"I know you are a little Fra Angelico angel, with your halo laid in your
top bureau drawer among your collars, for fear people should see it; but
I have a little scrap of conscience about me somewhere,--not much, only
about a saltspoonful,--and if you came every day it would get up and
worry me, and I can't be worried. Besides, the doctor ordered it,
positively."
"Doctor Flower? has he been out again?"
"Yes, he came on Monday. I thought I was going to die, and wanted him to
see how prettily I should do it. I'll never send for him again; he
always tells me to get up and do things. Tiresome man! I told him I was
perfectly exhausted by simply listening to him for half an hour. He
replied by ordering this Miss Fox, or whoever she is. I am to try her
for a month; I sha'n't probably keep her a week."
"A nurse?"
"No, not a trained nurse. She means to be one, goes to the hospital in
the autumn. He thinks she has a gift, or something. I detest people with
a gift. Probably she has a squint, too. You will have to receive her
when she comes, Margaret, and take the edge off her. I fancy her
unendurable, but I promised to try; I really must be going to die, I am
growing so amiable. Which of my gems do you want? I am going to make my
will this time. You needn't laugh, Margaret Montfort."
"I was laughing at your dying of amiability, Mrs. Peyton!" said
Margaret. "When is this young lady--I suppose she is young, if she is
going to study nursing--when is she coming?"
"To-morrow, I believe; or is it to-day? where is the note? Tuesday! Is
this Tuesday? It cannot be."
"Yes, this is Tuesday, and the three o'clock train--I suppose that is
the train she will come by--must be in by this time. Hark! there are
wheels this moment. Can she be coming now, Mrs. Peyton?"
"My dear, it would be exactly like the conception I have formed of her.
Go down and see her, will you, Margaret? Tell her I have a headache, or
Asiatic cholera, or anything you like. I cannot possibly see her to-day.
Her name is Fox--or Wolfe, I can't remember which. Bless you, child! you
save my life. Show her the Calico Room. Hand me the amethyst rope before
you go; I must compose my nerves."
With a smile and a sigh, Margaret ran down-stairs, and met the newcomer
on the doorstep. A tall, pale, grave-looking girl, with deep-set blue
eyes, and smooth bands of brown hair--a rather remarkable-looking
person, Margaret thought.
"Miss Fox?" she said, hurriedly, holding out her hand. "Oh, how do you
do? Pray come in. Mrs. Peyton asked me to receive you,--I am a friend
and neighbor,--and show you your room and make you comfortable. She has
a bad headache, and does not feel able to welcome you herself."
She led the way into the dining-room, and rang the bell. "You will have
lunch?" she said, "or would you rather have tea?"
"Tea, please," said the stranger; and her voice had a deep, musical
note, that fell pleasantly on Margaret's ear.
"I am sorry Mrs. Peyton is unable to see me. Is it a real headache, or
doesn't she want to?"
Margaret colored and hesitated. The blue eyes looked straight into hers
with a compelling gaze; a gleam of comprehension seemed to lurk in their
depths. Margaret was absolutely truthful, and, consequently, was
sometimes at a loss when speaking of her invalid friend.
"Doctor Flower told me somewhat about her," Miss Fox went on. "He
thinks--he wants me to rouse her to effort."
She spoke so quietly, her whole air was one of such calm and repose,
that Margaret looked at her wonderingly.
[Illustration: "MARGARET DID THE HONORS, STILL FEELING VERY SHY."]
"If Doctor Flower has explained the case to you," she said, at last,
"you probably know more about it than I do. Mrs. Peyton often seems to
suffer a great deal. She is fanciful, too, no doubt, at times; I
suppose most invalids are."
"I have just been staying with a woman who had had both feet cut off by
a train," said Miss Fox, tranquilly. "She was not fanciful."
It was a relief when the tea came. Margaret did the honors, still
feeling very shy, she could not tell why, before this grave person, who
could not be more than a year or two older than herself.
"Have you come far to-day, Miss Fox?" she asked, for the sake of saying
something. The stranger put her head on one side, and gave her a quaint
look. "Any addition to one's personal menagerie is always interesting,"
she said; "but one has one's favorites in the Zoo. If it is not taking a
liberty--why Fox?"
Margaret started, and blushed violently. "I _beg_ your pardon," she
said. "Mrs. Peyton was not sure--she could not remember--is it Miss
Wolfe, then? I hope you will forgive me, Miss Wolfe!"
"Please don't," said Miss Wolfe. She smiled for the first time, and
Margaret thought she had never seen so sweet a smile. "It is not your
fault that I am philologically quadruped, surely. So long as I am not
called Zebra, I really don't mind. I always associate Zebra with Zany,
don't you know? they were in my Alphabet together. But you were saying
something which I was rude enough to interrupt."
"I only asked if you had come far."
"Not very far, if you put it in miles; only from New York; if you mean
by impressions, a thousand leagues. It is at least that from that
maelstrom to this quiet green place. How should one have nerves in a
place like this? To sit here in peace and turn slowly into a
lettuce--that would be the natural thing; but life is not natural, if
you have observed."
Margaret laughed. "Mrs. Peyton is certainly not in the least like a
lettuce; I don't know whether you see any signs of the change in me; I
have only been here two years, though."
Miss Wolfe surveyed her critically. "N--no!" she said, slowly. "I see
nothing indicating lettuce--as yet. You are cool and green--no offence,
I hope! I pay you one of the highest compliments I know of when I call
you green; it is the color of rest and harmony; cool and green enough,
and pleasantly wavy in your lines, but you have too much expression as
yet, far too much. Placidity--absence of emotion--that is what
superinduces the lettuce habit." She waved her hand gracefully, and
seemed to fall into a reverie. Margaret surveyed her in growing wonder.
At this moment Mrs. Peyton's bell rang violently; and presently a maid
appeared to say that her mistress was feeling better, and would see the
lady now. Miss Wolfe rose and glanced significantly at Margaret.
"Curiosity overcomes distaste!" she said. "Are you coming?"
"No," said Margaret. "I think I'd better not. I will slip away quietly.
But I shall see you soon again. I will run over this evening, perhaps;
and you must come over to Fernley whenever Mrs. Peyton can spare you. It
is very near, just across the park."
"Fernley!" repeated Miss Wolfe, pausing and looking at Margaret with an
altered expression.
"Fernley House, Mr. Montfort's place. That is where I live. Why--I have
never introduced myself all this time, have I? I am Mr. Montfort's
niece; my name is Montfort, too, Margaret Montfort."
"Oh, my prophetic soul! my aunt!" exclaimed Miss Wolfe. "I beg your
pardon; nothing of the sort. I am somewhat mad at times. Good morning,
Miss Montfort; I am glad to know you. To be continued in our next!"
She nodded, kissed her hand gravely to Margaret, and turning, followed
the maid up-stairs.
Margaret looked after her for a moment in amazement. "What a _very_
extraordinary girl!" she said. "She seemed to know my name. I wonder
how."
She paused, shook her head, then went soberly home across the park,
wondering how the new venture would turn out.
[Illustration: "AT THIS MOMENT POLLY APPEARED RED-CHEEKED AND
BREATHLESS."]