AT HELMSLEY COURT.
"Lady Caroline has brought you back, then?" said Sir Philip, after his
first pause of astonishment.
"Yes," said Margaret, serenely. "I have been expelled."
"Expelled! _You?_"
"Yes, indeed, I have," said the girl, with a faintly amused little
smile. "And so has my great friend, Janetta Colwyn. Here she is:
Janetta, I am telling Sir Philip Ashley that we have been expelled, and
he will not believe me."
Sir Philip turned in some curiosity to see the girl of whom he had heard
for the first time that morning. He had not noticed before that she was
present. He saw a brown little creature, with eyes that had been swollen
with crying until they were well-nigh invisible, small, unremarkable
features, and a mouth that was inclined to quiver. Margaret might afford
to be serene, but to this girl expulsion from school had evidently been
a sad trouble. He threw all the more kindness and gentleness into his
voice and look as he spoke to her.
Janetta might have felt a little awkward if she had not been so entirely
absorbed by her own woes. She had never set foot before in half so grand
a house as this of Helmsley Court, nor had she ever dined late or spoken
to a gentleman in an evening coat in all her previous life. The size and
the magnificence of the room would perhaps have oppressed her if she had
been fully aware of them. But she was for the moment very much wrapped
up in her own affairs, and scarcely stopped to think of the novel
situation in which she found herself. The only thing that had startled
her was the attention paid to her dress by Margaret and Margaret's maid.
Janetta would have put on her afternoon black cashmere and little silver
brooch, and would have felt herself perfectly well dressed; but
Margaret, after a little consultation with the very grand young person
who condescended to brush Miss Colwyn's hair, had herself brought to
Janetta's room a dress of black lace over cherry-colored silk, and had
begged her to put it on.
"You will feel so hot downstairs if you don't put on something cool,"
Margaret had said. "There is a fire in the drawing-room: papa likes the
rooms warm. My dresses would not have fitted you, I am so much taller
than you; but mamma is just your height, and although you are thinner
perhaps----But I don't know: the dress fits you perfectly. Look in the
glass, Janet; you are quite splendid."
Janetta looked and blushed a little--not because she thought herself at
all splendid, but because the dress showed her neck and arms in a way no
dress had ever done before. "Ought it to be--open--like this?" she said,
vaguely. "Do you wear your dresses like this when you are at home?"
"Mine are high," said Margaret. "I am not 'out,' you know. But you are
older than I, and you used to teach----I think we may consider that you
_are_ 'out,'" she added, with a little laugh. "You look very nice,
Janetta: you have such pretty arms! Now I must go and dress, and I will
call for you when I am ready to go down."
Janetta felt decidedly doubtful as to whether she were not a great deal
too grand for the occasion; but she altered her mind when she saw
Margaret's dainty silk and lace, and Lady Caroline's exquisite brocade;
and she felt herself quite unworthy to take Mr. Adair's offered arm when
dinner was announced and her host politely convoyed her to the
dining-room. She wondered whether he knew that she was only a little
governess-pupil, and whether he was not angry with her for being the
cause of his daughter's abrupt departure from school. As a matter of
fact, Mr. Adair knew her position exactly, and was very much amused by
the whole affair; also, as it had procured him the pleasure of his
daughter's return home, he had an illogical inclination to be pleased
also with Janetta. "As Margaret is so fond of her, there must be
something in her," he said to himself, with a critical glance at the
girl's delicate features and big dark eyes. "I'll draw her out at
dinner."
He tried his best, and made himself so agreeable and amusing that
Janetta lost a good deal of her shyness, and forgot her troubles. She
had a quick tongue of her own, as everybody at Miss Polehampton's was
aware; and she soon found that she had not lost it. She was a good deal
surprised to find that not a word was said at the dinner table about the
cause of Margaret's return: in her own home it would have been the
subject of the evening; it would have been discussed from every point of
view, and she would probably have been reduced to tears before the first
hour was over. But here it was evident that the matter was not
considered of great importance. Margaret looked serene as ever, and
joined quietly in talk which was alarmingly unlike Miss Polehampton's
improving conversation: talk about county gaieties and county magnates:
gossip about neighbors--gossip of a harmless although frivolous type,
for Lady Caroline never allowed any talk at her table that was anything
but harmless, about fashions, about old china, about music and art. Mr.
Adair was passionately fond of music, and when he found that Miss Colwyn
really knew something of it he was in his element. They discoursed of
fugues, sonatas, concertos, quartettes, and trios, until even Lady
Caroline raised her eyebrows a little at the very technical nature of
the conversation; and Sir Philip exchanged a congratulatory smile with
Margaret over her friend's success. For the delight of finding a
congenial spirit had brought the crimson into Janetta's olive cheeks and
the brilliance to her dark eyes: she had looked insignificant when she
went in to dinner; she was splendidly handsome at dessert. Mr. Adair
noticed her flashing, transitory beauty, and said to himself that
Margaret's taste was unimpeachable; it was just like his own; he had
complete confidence in Margaret.
When the ladies went back to the drawing-room, Sir Philip turned with a
look of only half-disguised curiosity to his host. "Lady Caroline
brought her back then?" he said, longing to ask questions, yet hardly
knowing how to frame them aright.
Mr. Adair gave a great laugh. "It's been the oddest thing I ever heard
of," he said, in a tone of enjoyment. "Margaret takes a fancy to that
little black-eyed girl--a nice little thing, too, don't you think?--and
nothing must serve but that her favorite must walk with her, sit by
her, and so on--you know the romantic way girls have? The schoolmistress
interfered, said it was not proper, and so on; forbade it. Miss Colwyn
would have obeyed, it seems, but Margaret took the bit in a quiet way
between her teeth. Miss Colwyn was ordered to take her meals at a side
table: Margaret insisted on taking her meals there too. The school was
thrown into confusion. At last Miss Polehampton decided that the best
way out of the difficulty was first to complain to us, and then to send
Miss Colwyn home, straight away. She would not send _Margaret_ home, you
know!"
"That was very hard on Miss Colwyn," said Sir Philip, gravely.
"Yes, horribly hard. So Margaret, as you heard, appealed to her mother,
and when Lady Caroline arrived, she found that not only were Miss
Colwyn's boxes packed, but Margaret's as well; and that Margaret had
declared that if her friend was sent away for what was after all _her_
fault, she would not stay an hour in the house. Miss Polehampton was
weeping: the girls were in revolt, the teachers in despair, so my wife
thought the best way out of the difficulty was to bring both girls away
at once, and settle it with Miss Colwyn's relations afterwards. The joke
is that Margaret insists on it that she has been 'expelled.'"
"So she told me."
"The schoolmistress said something of that kind, you know. Caroline says
the woman entirely lost her temper and made an exhibition of herself.
Caroline was glad to get our girl away. But, of course, it's all
nonsense about being 'expelled' as a punishment; she was leaving of her
own accord."
"One could hardly imagine punishment in connection with her," said Sir
Philip, warmly.
"No, she's a nice-looking girl, isn't she? and her little friend is a
good foil, poor little thing."
"This affair may prove of some serious inconvenience to Miss Colwyn, I
suppose?"
"Oh, you may depend upon it, she won't be the loser," said Mr. Adair,
hastily. "We'll see about that. Of course she will not suffer any injury
through my daughter's friendship for her."
Sir Philip was not so sure about it. In spite of his intense admiration
for Margaret's beauty, it occurred to him that the romantic partisanship
of the girl with beauty, position, and wealth for her less fortunate
sister had not been attended with very brilliant results. No doubt Miss
Adair, reared in luxury and indulgence, did not in the least realize the
harm done to the poor governess-pupil's future by her summary dismissal
from Miss Polehampton's boarding-school. To Margaret, anything that the
schoolmistress chose to say or do mattered little; to Janetta Colwyn, it
might some day mean prosperity or adversity of a very serious kind. Sir
Philip did not quite believe in the compensation so easily promised by
Mr. Adair. He made a mental note of Miss Colwyn's condition and
prospects, and said to himself that he would not forget her. And this
meant a good deal from a busy man like Sir Philip Ashley.
Meanwhile there had been another conversation going on in the
drawing-room between the three ladies. Margaret put her arm
affectionately round Janetta's waist as they stood by the hearthrug, and
looked at her mother with a smile. Lady Caroline sank into an easy-chair
on the other side of the fireplace, and contemplated the two girls.
"This is better than Claremont House, is it not, Janet?" said Margaret.
"Indeed it is," Janetta answered, gratefully.
"You found the way to papa's heart by your talk about music--did she
not, mamma? And does not this dress suit her beautifully?"
"It wants a little alteration in the sleeve," said Lady Caroline, with
the placidity which Janetta had always attributed to Margaret as a
special virtue, but which she now found was merely characteristic of the
house and family in general, "but Markham can do that to-morrow. There
are some people coming in the evening, and the sleeve will look better
shortened."
The remark sounded a little inconsequent in Janetta's ear, but Margaret
understood and assented. It meant that Lady Caroline was on the whole
pleased with Janetta, and did not object to introducing her to her
friends. Margaret gave her mother a little smile over Janetta's head,
while that young person was gathering up her courage in two hands, so to
speak, before addressing Lady Caroline.
"I am very much obliged to you," she said at last, with a thrill of
gratitude in her sweet voice which was very pleasant to the ear. "But--I
was thinking--what time would be the most convenient for me to go home
to-morrow?"
"Home? To Beaminster?" said Margaret. "But you need not go, dear; you
can write a note and tell them that you are staying here."
"Yes, my dear; I am sure Margaret cannot part with you yet," said Lady
Caroline, amiably.
"Thank you; it is most kind of you," Janetta answered, her voice
shaking. "But I must ask my father whether I can stay--and hear what he
says; Miss Polehampton will have written to him, and----"
"And he will be very glad that we have rescued you from her clutches,"
said Margaret, with a soft triumphant little laugh. "My poor Janetta!
What we suffered at her hands!"
Lady Caroline lying back in her easy chair, with the candle light
gleaming upon her silvery grey and white brocade with its touches of
soft pink, and the diamonds flashing on her white hands, so calmly
crossed upon the handle of her ivory fan, did not feel quite so tranquil
as she looked. It crossed her mind that Margaret was acting
inconsiderately. This little Miss Colwyn had her living to earn; it
would be no kindness to unfit her for her profession. So, when she spoke
it was with a shade more decision than usual in her tones.
"We will drive you over to Beaminster to-morrow, my dear Miss Colwyn,
and you can then see your family, and ask your father if you may spend a
few days with Margaret. I do not think that Mr. Colwyn will refuse us,"
she said, graciously. "I wonder when those men are coming, Margaret.
Suppose you open the piano and let us have a little music. You sing, do
you not?"
"Yes, a little," said Janetta.
"A little!" exclaimed Margaret, with contempt. "She has a delightful
voice, mamma. Come and sing at once, Janetta, darling, and astonish
mamma."
Lady Caroline smiled. She had heard a great many singers in her day, and
did not expect to be astonished. A little governess-pupil, an
under-teacher in a boarding-school! Dear Margaret's enthusiasm certainly
carried her away.
But when Janetta sang, Lady Caroline was, after all, rather surprised.
The girl had a remarkably sweet and rich contralto voice, and it had
been well trained; and, moreover, she sang with feeling and passion
which were somewhat unusual in one so young. It seemed as if some hidden
power, some latent characteristic came out in her singing because it
found no other way of expressing itself. Neither Lady Caroline nor
Margaret understood why Janetta's voice moved them so much; Sir Philip,
who came in with his host while the music was going on, heard and was
charmed also without quite knowing why; it was Mr. Adair alone whose
musical knowledge and experience of the world enabled him,
feather-headed as in some respects he was, to lay his finger directly on
the salient features of Janetta's singing.
"It's not her voice altogether, you know," he said afterwards to Philip
Ashley, in a moment of confidence; "it's soul. She's got more of that
commodity than is good for a woman. It makes her singing lovely, you
know--brings tears into one's eyes, and all that sort of thing--but upon
my honor I'm thankful that Margaret hasn't got a voice like that! It's
women of that kind that are either heroines of virtue--or go to the
devil. They are always in extremes."
"Then we may promise ourselves some excitement in watching Miss Colwyn's
career," said Sir Philip, dryly.
After Janetta, Margaret sang; she had a sweet mezzo-soprano voice, of no
great strength or compass, but perfectly trained and very pleasing to
the ear. The sort of voice, Sir Philip thought, that would be soothing
to the nerves of a tired man in his own house. Whereas, Janetta's
singing had something impassioned in it which disturbed and excited
instead of soothing. But he was quite ready to admire when Margaret
called on him for admiration. They were sitting together on a sofa, and
Janetta, who had just finished one of her songs, was talking to, or
being talked to, by Mr. Adair. Lady Caroline had taken up a review.
"Is not Miss Colwyn's voice perfectly lovely?" Margaret asked, with
shining eyes.
"It is very sweet."
"Don't you think she looks very nice?"--Margaret was hungering for
admiration of her friend.
"She is a very pretty girl. You are very fond of each other?"
"Oh, yes, devoted. I am so glad I succeeded!" said the girl, with a
great sigh.
"In getting her away from the school?"
"Yes."
"You think it was for her good?"
Margaret opened her lovely eyes.
"For her good?--to come here instead of staying in that close
uncomfortable house to give music lessons, and bear Miss Polehampton's
snubs?----" It had evidently never occurred to her that the change could
be anything but beneficial to Janetta.
"It is very pleasant for her, no doubt," said Sir Philip, smiling in
spite of his disapproval. "I only wondered whether it was a good
preparation for the life of hard work which probably lies before her."
He saw that Margaret colored, and wondered whether she would be offended
by his suggestion. After a moment's pause, she answered, gravely, but
quite gently--
"I never thought of it in that way before, exactly. I want to keep her
here, so that she should never have to work hard at all."
"Would she consent to that?"
"Why not?" said Margaret.
Sir Philip smiled and said no more. It was curious, he said to himself,
to see how little conception Margaret had of lives unlike and outside
her own. And Janetta's brave but sensitive little face, with its
resolute brows and lips and brilliant eyes, gave promise of a
determination and an originality which, he felt convinced, would never
allow her to become a mere plaything or appendage of a wealthy
household, as Margaret Adair seemed to expect. But his words had made an
impression. At night, when Lady Caroline and her daughter were standing
in the charming little room which had always been appropriated to
Margaret's use, she spoke, with the unconscious habit of saying frankly
anything that had occurred to her, of Sir Philip's remarks.
"It was so odd," she said; "Sir Philip seemed to think that it would be
bad for Janetta to stay here, mamma. Why should it be bad for her,
mamma, dear?"
"I don't think it will be at all bad for her to spend a day or two with
us, darling," said Lady Caroline, keeping somewhat careful watch on
Margaret's face as she spoke. "But perhaps it had better be by-and-bye.
You know she wants to go home to-morrow, and we must not keep her away
from her duties or her own sphere of life."
"No," Margaret answered, "but her duties will not always keep her at
home, you know, mamma, dear."
"I suppose not, my dearest," said Lady Caroline, vaguely, but in the
caressing tone to which Margaret was accustomed. "Go to bed, my sweetest
one, and we will talk of all these things to-morrow."
Meanwhile Janetta was wondering at the luxury of the room which had been
allotted to her, and thinking over the events of the past day. When a
tap at the door announced Margaret's appearance to say good-night,
Janetta was standing before the long looking-glass, apparently
inspecting herself by the light of the rose-tinted wax candles in silver
sconces which were fixed on either side of the mirror. She was in her
dressing-gown, and her long and abundant hair fell over her shoulder in
a great curly mass.
"Oh, Miss Vanity!" cried Margaret, with more gaiety of tone than was
usual with her, "are you admiring your pretty hair?"
"I was thinking," said Janetta, with the intensity which often
characterized her speech, "that _now_ I understood you--now I know why
you were so different from other girls, so sweet, so calm and beautiful!
You have lived in this lovely place all your life! It is like a fairy
palace--a dream-house--to me; and you are the queen of it, Margaret--a
princess of dreams!"
"I hope I shall have something more than dreams to reign over some day,"
said Margaret, putting her arms round her friend's neck. "And whatever I
am queen over, you must share my queendom, Janet. You know how fond I am
of you--how I want you to stay with me always and be my friend."
"I shall always be your friend--always, to the last day of my life!"
said Janetta, with fervor. The two made a pretty picture, reflected in
the long mirror; the tall, fair Margaret, still in her soft white silk
frock, with her arm round the smaller figure of the dark girl whose
curly masses of hair half covered her pink cotton dressing-gown, and
whose brown face was upturned so lovingly to her friend's.
"And I am sure it will be good for you to stay with me," said Margaret,
answering an unspoken objection in her mind.
"Good for me? It is delicious--it is lovely!" cried Janetta,
rapturously. "I have never had anything so nice in my whole life. Dear
Margaret, you are so good and so kind--if there were only anything that
I could do for you in return! Perhaps some day I shall have the chance,
and if ever I have--_then_ you shall see whether I am true to my friend
or not!"
Margaret kissed her, with a little smile at Janetta's enthusiasm, which
was so far different from the modes of expression customary at Helmsley
Court, as to be almost amusing.