‘Well, now for the second stage of our guardianship!’ said Aunt Ada, as
the two sisters sat over the fire after Valetta had gone to bed. ‘Fergus
comes back to-morrow, and Gillian--when?’
‘She does not seem quite certain, for there is to be a day or two
at Brompton with this delightful Geraldine, so that she may see her
grandmother--also Mr. Clement Underwood’s church, and the Merchant of
Venice--an odd mixture of ecclesiastics and dissipations.’
‘I wonder whether she will be set up by it.’
‘So do I! They are all remarkably good people; but then good people do
sometimes spoil the most of all, for they are too unselfish to snub. And
on the other hand, seeing the world sometimes has the wholesome effect
of making one feel small--’
‘My dear Jenny!’
‘Oh! I did not mean you, who are never easily effaced; but I was
thinking of youthful bumptiousness, fostered by country life and elder
sistership.’
‘Certainly, though Valetta is really much improved, Gillian has not
been as pleasant as I expected, especially during the latter part of the
time.’
‘Query, was it her fault or mine, or the worry of the examination, or
all three?’
‘Perhaps you did superintend a little too much at first. More than
modern independence was prepared for, though I should not have expected
recalcitration in a young Lily; but I think there was more ruffling of
temper and more reserve than I can quite understand.’
‘It has not been a success. As dear old Lily would have said, “My dream
has vanished,” of a friend in the younger generation, and now it remains
to do the best I can for her in the few weeks that are left, before we
have her dear mother again.’
‘At any rate, you have no cause to be troubled about the other two.
Valetta is really the better for her experience, and you have always got
on well with the boy.’
Fergus was the first of the travellers to appear at Rockstone. Miss
Mohun, who went to meet him at the station, beheld a small figure
lustily pulling at a great canvas bag, which came bumping down the step,
assisted by a shove from the other passengers, and threatening for a
moment to drag him down between platform and carriages.
‘Fergus, Fergus, what have you got there? Give it to me. How heavy!’
‘It’s a few of my mineralogical specimens,’ replied Fergus. ‘Harry
wouldn’t let me put any more into my portmanteau--but the peacock and
the dendrum are there.’
Already, without special regard to peacock or dendrum, whatever that
article might be, Miss Mohun was claiming the little old military
portmanteau, with a great M and 110th painted on it, that held Fergus’s
garments.
He would scarcely endure to deposit the precious bag in the omnibus,
and as he walked home his talk was all of tertiary formations, and coal
measures, and limestones, as he extracted a hammer from his pocket, and
looked perilously disposed to use it on the vein of crystals in a great
pink stone in a garden wall. His aunt was obliged to begin by insisting
that the walls should be safe from geological investigations.
‘But it is such waste, Aunt Jane. Only think of building up such
beautiful specimens in a stupid old wall.’
Aunt Jane did not debate the question of waste, but assured him that
equally precious specimens could be honestly come by; while she felt
renewed amusement and pleasure at anything so like the brother Maurice
of thirty odd years ago being beside her.
It made her endure the contents of the bag being turned out like a
miniature rockery for her inspection on the floor of the glazed
verandah outside the drawing-room, and also try to pacify Mrs. Mount’s
indignation at finding the more valuable specimens, or, as she called
them, ‘nasty stones’ and bits of dirty coal, within his socks.
Much more information as to mines, coal, or copper, was to be gained
from him than as to Cousin David, or Harry, or Jasper, who had spent the
last ten days of his holidays at Coalham, which had procured for Fergus
the felicity of a second underground expedition. It was left to his
maturer judgment and the next move to decide how many of his specimens
were absolutely worthless; it was only stipulated that he and Valetta
should carry them, all and sundry, up to the lumber-room, and there
arrange them as he chose;--Aunt Jane routing out for him a very dull
little manual of mineralogy, and likewise a book of Maria Hack’s, long
since out of print, but wherein ‘Harry Beaufoy’ is instructed in the
chief outlines of geology in a manner only perhaps inferior to that of
“Madame How and Lady Why,” which she reserved for a birthday present.
Meantime Rockstone and its quarries were almost as excellent a field of
research as the mines of Coalham, and in a different line.
‘How much nicer it is to be a boy than a girl!’ sighed Valetta, as
she beheld her junior marching off with all the dignity of hammer and
knapsack to look up Alexis White and obtain access to the heaps of
rubbish, which in his eyes held as infinite possibilities as the diamond
fields of Kimberley. And Alexis was only delighted to bestow on him any
space of daylight when both were free from school or from work, and kept
a look-out for the treasures he desired. Of course, out of gratitude to
his parents--or was it out of gratitude to his sister? Perhaps Fergus
could have told, if he had paid the slightest attention to such a
trifle, how anxiously Alexis inquired when Miss Gillian was expected
to return. Moreover, he might have told that his other model, Stebbing,
pronounced old Dick White a beast and a screw, with whom his brother
Frank was not going to stop.
Gillian came back a fortnight later, having been kept at Rowthorpe,
together with Mrs. Grinstead, for a family festival over the double
marriage in Ceylon, after which she spent a few days in London, so as to
see her grandmother, Mrs. Merrifield, who was too infirm for an actual
visit to be welcome, since her attendant grandchild, Bessie Merrifield,
was so entirely occupied with her as to have no time to bestow upon a
guest of more than an hour or two. Gillian was met at the station by
her aunt, and when all her belongings had been duly extracted, proving a
good deal larger in bulk than when she had left Rockstone, and both were
seated in the fly to drive home through a dismal February Fill-dyke day,
the first words that were spoken were,
‘Aunt Jane, I ought to tell you something.’
Hastily revolving conjectures as to the subject of the coming
confession, Miss Mohun put herself at her niece’s service.
‘Aunt Jane, I know I ought to have told you how much I was seeing of the
Whites last autumn.’
‘Indeed, I know you wished to do what you could for them.’
‘Yes,’ said Gillian, finding it easier than she expected. ‘You know
Alexis wants very much to be prepared for Holy Orders, and he could
not get on by himself, so I have been running down to Kalliope’s office
after reading to Lily Giles, to look over his Greek exercises.’
‘Meeting him?’
‘Only sometimes. But Kally did not like it. She said you ought to know,
and that was the reason she would not come into the G.F.S. She is so
good and honourable, Aunt Jane.’
‘I am sure she is a very excellent girl,’ said Aunt Jane warmly. ‘But
certainly it would have been better to have these lessons in our house.
Does your mother know?’
‘Yes,’ said Gillian, ‘I wrote to her all I was doing, and how I have
been talking to Kally on Sunday afternoons through the rails of Mr.
White’s garden. I thought she could telegraph if she did not approve,
but she does not seem to have noticed it in my letters, only saying
something I could not make out--about “if you approved.”’
‘And is that the reason you have told me?’
‘Partly, but I got the letter before the holidays. I think it has worked
itself up, Aunt Jane, into a sense that it was not the thing. There was
Kally, and there was poor Valetta’s mess, and her justifying herself by
saying I did more for the Whites than you knew, and altogether, I grew
sorry I had begun it, for I was sure it was not acting honestly towards
you, Aunt Jane, and I hope you will forgive me.’
Miss Mohun put her arm round the girl and kissed her heartily.
‘My dear Gill, I am glad you have told me! I dare say I seemed to worry
you, and that you felt as if you were watched; I will do my very best to
help you, if you have got into a scrape. I only want to ask you not
to do anything more till I can see Kally, and settle with her the most
suitable way of helping the youth.’
But do you think there is a scrape, aunt? I never thought of that, if
you forgave me.’
‘My dear, I see you did not; and that you told me because you are my
Lily’s daughter, and have her honest heart. I do not know that there is
anything amiss, but I am afraid young ladies can’t do--well, impulsive
things without a few vexations in consequence. Don’t be so dismayed,
I don’t know of anything, and I cannot tell you how glad I am of your
having spoken out in this way.’
‘I feel as if a load were off my back!’ said Gillian.
And a bar between her and her aunt seemed to have vanished, as they
drove up the now familiar slope, and under the leafless copper beeches.
Blood is thinker than water, and what five months ago had seemed to be
exile, had become the first step towards home, if not home itself, for
now, like Valetta, she welcomed the sound of her mother’s voice in her
aunt’s. And there were Valetta and Fergus rushing out, almost under the
wheels to fly at her, and Aunt Ada’s soft embraces in the hall.
The first voice that came out of the melee was Valetta’s. ‘Gill is grown
quite a lady!’
‘How much improved!’ exclaimed Aunt Ada.
‘The Bachfisch has swum into the river,’ was Aunt Jane’s comment.
‘She’ll never be good for anything jolly--no scrambling!’ grumbled
Fergus.
‘Now Fergus! didn’t Kitty Somerville and I scramble when we found the
gate locked, and thought we saw the spiteful stag, and that he was going
to run at us?’
‘I’m afraid that was rather on compulsion, Gill.’
‘It wasn’t the spiteful stag after all, but we had such a long way to
come home, and got over the park wall at last by the help of the limb of
a tree. We had been taking a bit of wedding-cake to Frank Somerville’s
old nurse, and Kitty told her I was her maiden aunt, and we had such
fun--her uncle’s wife’s sister, you know.’
‘We sent a great piece of our wedding-cake to the Whites,’ put in
Valetta. ‘Fergus and I took it on Saturday afternoon, but nobody was at
home but Mrs. White, and she is fatter than ever.’
‘I say, Gill, which is the best formation, Vale Leston or Rowthorpe?’
‘Oh, nobody is equal to Geraldine; but Kitty is a dear thing.’
‘I didn’t mean that stuff, but which had the best strata and specimens?’
‘Geological, he means--not of society,’ interposed Aunt Jane.
‘Oh yes! Harry said he had gone geology mad, and I really did get you
a bit of something at Vale Leston, Fergus, that Mr. Harewood said was
worth having. Was it an encrinite? I know it was a stone-lily.’
‘An encrinite! Oh, scrumptious!’
Then ensued such an unpacking as only falls to the lot of home-comers
from London, within the later precincts of Christmas, gifts of
marvellous contrivance and novelty, as well as cheapness, for all and
sundry, those reserved for others almost as charming to the beholders as
those which fell to their own lot. The box, divided into compartments,
transported Fergus as much as the encrinite; Valetta had a
photograph-book, and, more diffidently, Gillian presented Aunt Ada
with a graceful little statuette in Parian, and Aunt Jane with the last
novelty in baskets. There were appropriate keepsakes for the maids,
and likewise for Kalliope and Maura. Aunt Jane was glad to see that
discretion had prevailed so as to confine these gifts to the female part
of the White family. There were other precious articles in reserve for
the absent; and the display of Gillian’s own garments was not without
interest, as she had been to her first ball, under the chaperonage
of Lady Somerville, and Mrs. Grinstead had made her white tarletan
available by painting it and its ribbons with exquisite blue nemophilas,
too lovely for anything so fleeting.
Mrs. Grinstead and her maid had taken charge of the damsel’s toilette at
Rowthorpe, had perhaps touched up her dresses, and had certainly taught
her how to put them on, and how to manage her hair, so that though it
had not broken out into fringes or tousles, as if it were desirable to
imitate savages ‘with foreheads marvellous low,’ the effect was greatly
improved. The young brown-skinned, dark-eyed face, and rather tall
figure were the same, even the clothes the very same chosen under her
aunt Ada’s superintendence, but there was an indescribable change, not
so much that of fashion as of distinction, and something of the same
inward growth might be gathered from her conversation.
All the evening there was a delightful outpouring. Gillian had been
extremely happy, and considerably reconciled to her sisters’ marriages;
but she had been away from home and kin long enough to make her feel her
nearness to her aunts, and to appreciate the pleasure of describing
her enjoyment without restraint, and of being with those whose personal
family interests were her own, not only sympathetic, like her dear
Geraldine’s. They were ready for any amount of description, though, on
the whole, Miss Mohun preferred to hear of the Vale Leston charities and
church details, and Miss Adeline of the Rowthorpe grandees and gaieties,
after the children had supped full of the diversions of their own
kind at both places, and the deeply interesting political scraps and
descriptions of great men had been given.
It had been, said Aunt Jane, a bit of education. Gillian had indeed
spent her life with thoughtful, cultivated, and superior people; but
the circumstances of her family had confined her to a schoolroom sort
of existence ever since she had reached appreciative years, retarding,
though not perhaps injuring, her development; nor did Rockquay society
afford much that was elevating, beyond the Bureau de Charite that
Beechcroft Cottage had become. Details were so much in hand that breadth
of principle might be obscured.
At Vale Leston, however, there was a strong ecclesiastical atmosphere;
but while practical parish detail was thoroughly kept up, there was a
wider outlook, and constant conversation and discussion among superior
men, such as the Harewood brothers, Lancelot Underwood, Mr. Grinstead,
and Dr. May, on the great principles and issues of Church and State
matters, religion, and morals, together with matters of art, music, and
literature, opening new vistas to her, and which she could afterwards go
over with Mrs. Grinstead and Emily and Anna Vanderkist with enthusiasm
and comprehension. It was something different from grumbling over the
number of candles at St. Kenelm’s, or the defective washing of the St.
Andrew’s surplices.
At Rowthorpe she had seen and heard people with great historic names,
champions in the actual battle. There had been a constant coming and
going of guests during her three weeks’ visit, political meetings,
entertainments to high and low, the opening of a public institute in
the next town, the exhibition of tableaux in which she had an important
share, parties in the evenings, and her first ball. The length of her
visit and her connection with the family had made her share the part of
hostess with Lady Constance and Lady Katharine Somerville, and she had
been closely associated with their intimates, the daughters of these men
of great names. Of course there had been plenty of girlish chatter
and merry trifling, perhaps some sharp satirical criticism, and the
revelations she had heard had been a good deal of the domestic comedy of
political and aristocratic life; but throughout there had been a view of
conscientious goodness, for the young girls who gave a tone to the
rest had been carefully brought up, and were earnest and right-minded,
accepting representation, gaiety, and hospitality as part of the duty of
their position, often involving self-denial, though there was likewise
plenty of enjoyment.
Such glimpses of life had taught Gillian more than she yet realised. As
has been seen, the atmosphere of Vale Leston had deepened her spiritual
life, and the sermons had touched her heart to the quick, and
caused self-examination, which had revealed to her the secret of her
dissatisfaction with herself, and her perception was the clearer through
her intercourse on entirely equal terms with persons of a high tone of
refinement.
The immediate fret of sense of supervision and opposition being removed,
she had seen things more justly, and a distaste had grown on her for
stolen expeditions to the office, and for the corrections of her pupil’s
exercises. She recoiled from the idea that this was the consequence
either of having swell friends, or of getting out of her depth in her
instructions; but reluctance recurred, while advance in knowledge of
the world made her aware that Alexis White, after hours, in his
sister’s office, might justly be regarded by her mother and aunts as an
undesirable scholar for her, and that his sister’s remonstrances ought
not to have been scouted. She had done the thing in her simplicity, but
it was through her own wilful secretiveness that her ignorance had not
been guarded.
Thus she had, as a matter of truth, conscience, and repentance, made the
confession which had been so kindly received as to warm her heart with
gratitude to her aunt, and she awoke the next morning to feel freer,
happier, and more at home than she had ever yet done at Rockstone.
When the morning letters were opened, they contained the startling news
that Mysie might be expected that very evening, with Fly, the governess,
and Lady Rotherwood,--at least that was the order of precedence in which
the party represented itself to the minds of the young Merrifields.
Primrose had caught a fresh cold, and her uncle and aunt would not part
with her till her mother’s return, but the infection was over with the
other two, and sea air was recommended as soon as possible for Lady
Phyllis; so, as the wing of the hotel, which was almost a mansion in
itself, had been already engaged, the journey was to be made at once,
and the arrival would take place in the afternoon. The tidings were most
rapturously received; Valetta jumped on and off all the chairs in the
room unchidden, while Fergus shouted, ‘Hurrah for Mysie and Fly!’ and
Gillian’s heart felt free to leap.
This made it a very busy day, since Lady Rotherwood had begged to have
some commissions executed for her beforehand, small in themselves, but,
with a scrupulously thorough person, occupying all the time left from
other needful engagements; so that there was no chance of the promised
conversation with Kalliope, nor did Gillian trouble herself much
about it in her eagerness, and hardly heard Fergus announce that Frank
Stebbing had come home, and the old boss was coming, ‘bad luck to him.’
All the three young people were greatly disappointed that their aunts
would not consent to their being on the platform nor in front of the
hotel, nor even in what its mistress termed the reception-room, to meet
the travellers.
‘There was nothing Lady Rotherwood would dislike more than a rush of you
all,’ said Aunt Adeline, and they had to submit, though Valetta nearly
cried when she was dragged in from demonstratively watching at the gate
in a Scotch mist.
However, in about a quarter of an hour there was a ring at the door, and
in another moment Mysie and Gillian were hugging one smother, Valetta
hanging round Mysie’s neck, Fergus pulling down her arm. The four
creatures seemed all wreathed into one like fabulous snakes for some
seconds, and when they unfolded enough for Mysie to recollect and kiss
her aunts, there certainly was a taller, better-equipped figure, but
just the same round, good-humoured countenance, and the first thing,
beyond happy ejaculations, that she was heard in a dutiful voice to say
was, ‘Miss Elbury brought me to the door. I may stay as long as my aunts
like to have me this evening, if you will be so kind as to send some one
to see me back.’
Great was the jubilation, and many the inquiries after Primrose, who had
once been nearly well, but had fallen back again, and Fly, who, Mysie
said, was quite well and as comical as ever when she was well, but
quickly tired. She had set out in high spirits, but had been dreadfully
weary all the latter part of the journey, and was to go to bed at once.
She still coughed, but Mysie was bent on disproving Nurse Halfpenny’s
assurance that the recovery would not be complete till May, nor was
there any doubt of her own air of perfect health.
It was an evening of felicitous chatter, of showing off Christmas cards,
of exchanging of news, of building of schemes, the most prominent being
that Valetta should be in the constant companionship of Mysie and
Fly until her own schoolroom should be re-established. This had been
proposed by Lord Rotherwood, and was what the aunts would have found
convenient; but apparently this had been settled by Lord Rotherwood and
the two little girls, but Lady Rotherwood had not said anything about
it, and quoth Mysie, ‘Somehow things don’t happen till Lady Rotherwood
settles them, and then they always do.’
‘And shall I like Miss Elbury?’ asked Valetta.
‘Yes, if--if you take pains,’ said Mysie; ‘but you mustn’t bother
her with questions in the middle of a lesson, or she tells you not to
chatter. She likes to have them all kept for the end; and then, if they
aren’t foolish, she will take lots of trouble.’
‘Oh, I hate that!’ said Valetta. ‘I shouldn’t remember them, and I like
to have done with it. Then she is not like Miss Vincent?’
‘Oh no! She couldn’t be dear Miss Vincent; but, indeed, she is very kind
and nice.’
‘How did you get on altogether, Mysie! Wasn’t it horrid?’ asked Gillian.
‘I was afraid it was going to be horrid,’ said Mysie. ‘You see, it
wasn’t like going in holiday time as it was before. We had to be almost
always in the schoolroom; and there were lots of lessons--more for me
than Fly.’
‘Just like a horrid old governess to slake her thirst on you,’ put in
Fergus; and though his aunts shook their heads at him, they did not
correct him.
‘And one had to sit bolt upright all the time, and never twist one’s
ankles,’ continued Mysie; ‘and not speak except French and German--good,
mind! It wouldn’t do to say, “La jambe du table est sur mon exercise?”’
‘Oh, oh! No wonder Fly got ill!’
‘Fly didn’t mind one bit. French and German come as naturally to her as
the days of the week, and they really begin to come to me in the morning
now when I see Miss Elbury.’
‘But have you to go on all day?’ asked Valetta disconsolately.
‘Oh no! Not after one o’clock.’
‘And you didn’t say that mamma thinks it only leads to slovenly bad
grammar!’ said Gillian.
‘That would have been impertinent,’ said Mysie; ‘and no one would have
minded either.’
‘Did you never play?’
‘We might play after our walk--and after tea; but it had to be quiet
play, not real good games, even before Fly was ill--at least we did have
some real games when Primrose came over, or when Cousin Rotherwood had
us down in his study or in the hall; but Fly got tired, and knocked up
very soon even then. Miss Elbury wanted us always to play battledore and
shuttlecock, or Les Graces, if we couldn’t go out.’
‘Horrid woman!’ said Valetta.
‘No, she isn’t horrid,’ said Mysie stoutly; ‘I only fancied her so when
she used to say, “Vos coudes, mademoiselle,” or “Redresses-vous,” and
when she would not let us whisper; but really and truly she was
very, very kind, and I came to like her very much and see she was not
cross--only thought it right.’
‘And redressez-vous has been useful, Mysie,’ said Aunt Ada; ‘you are as
much improved as Gillian.’
‘I thought it would be dreadful,’ continued Mysie, ‘when the grown-ups
went out on a round of visits, and we had no drawing-room, and no Cousin
Rotherwood; but Cousin Florence came every day, and once she had us to
dinner, and that was nice; and once she took us to Beechcroft to see
Primrose, and if it was not fine enough for Fly to go out, she came for
me, and I went to her cottages with her. Oh, I did like that! And when
the whooping-cough came, you can’t think how very kind she was, and Miss
Elbury too. They both seemed only to think how to make me happy, though
I didn’t feel ill a bit, except when I whooped, but they seemed so sorry
for me, and so pleased that I didn’t make more fuss. I couldn’t, you
know, when poor Fly was so ill. And when she grew better, we were all
so glad that somehow it made us all like a sort of a kind of a home
together, though it could not be that.’
Mysie’s English had scarcely improved, whatever her French had done; but
Gillian gathered that she had had far more grievances to overcome, and
had met them in a very different spirit from herself.
As to the schoolroom arrangements, which would have been so convenient
to the aunts, it was evident that the matter had not yet been decisively
settled, though the children took it for granted. It was pretty to see
how Mysie was almost devoured by Fergus and Valetta, hanging on either
side of her as she sat, and Gillian, as near as they would allow, while
the four tongues went on unceasingly.
It was only horrid, Valetta said, that Mysie should sleep in a different
house; but almost as much of her company was vouchsafed on the ensuing
day, Sunday, for Miss Elbury had relations at Rockquay, and was released
for the entire day; and Fly was still so tired in the morning that she
was not allowed to get up early in the day.
Her mother, however, came in to go to church with Adeline Mohun, and
Gillian, who had heard so much of the great Marchioness, was surprised
to see a small slight woman, not handsome, and worn-looking about the
eyes. At the first glance, she was plainly dressed; but the eye of a
connoisseur like Aunt Ada could detect the exquisiteness of the material
and the taste, and the slow soft tone of her voice; and every gesture
and phrase showed that she had all her life been in the habit
of condescending--in fact, thought Gillian, revolving her recent
experience, though Lady Liddesdale and all her set are taller,
finer-looking people, they are not one bit so grand--no, not that--but
so unapproachable, as I am sure she is. She is gracious, while they are
just good-natured!
Aunt Ada was evidently pleased with the graciousness, and highly
delighted to have to take this distinguished personage to church. Mysie
was with her sisters, Valetta was extremely anxious to take her to the
Sunday drawing-room class--whether for the sake of showing her to Mrs.
Hablot, or Mrs. Hablot to her, did not appear.
Gillian was glad to be asked to sit with Fly in the meantime. It was a
sufficient reason for not repairing to the garden, and she hoped that
Kalliope was unaware of her return, little knowing of the replies by
which Fergus repaid Alexis for his assistance in mineral hunting.
She had no desire to transgress Miss Mohun’s desire that no further
intercourse should take place till she herself had spoken with Kalliope.
She found little Phyllis Devereux a great deal taller and thinner than
the droll childish being who had been so amusing two years before at
Silverfold, but eagerly throwing herself into her arms with the same
affectionate delight. All the table was spread with pretty books and
outlined illuminations waiting to be painted, and some really beautiful
illustrated Sunday books; but as Gillian touched the first, Fly cried
out, ‘Oh, don’t! I am so tired of all those things! And this is such
a stupid window. I thought at least I should see the people going
to church, and this looks at nothing but the old sea and a tiresome
garden.’
‘That is thought a special advantage,’ said Gillian, smiling.
‘Then I wish some one had it who liked it!’
‘You would not be so near us.’
‘No, and that is nice, and very nice for Mysie. How are all the dear
beasts at Silverfold--Begum, and all?’
‘I am afraid I do not know more about them than Mysie does. Aunt Jane
heard this morning that she must go down there to-morrow to meet the
health-man and see what he says; but she won’t take any of us because of
the diphtheria and the scarlet fever being about.’
‘Oh dear, how horrid those catching things are! I’ve not seen Ivinghoe
all this winter! Ah! but they are good sometimes! If it had not been
for the measles, I should never have had that most delicious time at
Silverfold, nor known Mysie. Now, please tell me all about where you
have been, and what you have been doing.’
Fly knew some of the younger party that Gillian had met at Rowthorpe;
but she was more interested in the revels at Vale Leston, and required
a precise description of the theatricals, or still better, of the
rehearsals. Never was there a more appreciative audience, of how it all
began from Kit Harewood, the young sailor, having sent home a lion’s
skin from Africa, which had already served for tableaux of Androcles and
of Una--how the boy element had insisted on fun, and the child element
on fairies, and how Mrs. William Harewood had suggested Midsummer
Night’s Dream as the only combination of the three essentials, lion,
fun, and fairy, and pronounced that education had progressed far enough
for the representation to be ‘understanded of the people,’ at least by
the 6th and 7th standards. On the whole, however, comprehension seemed
to have been bounded by intense admiration of the little girl fairies,
whom the old women appeared to have taken for angels, for one had
declared that to hear little Miss Cherry and Miss Katie singing their
hymns like the angels they was, was just like Heaven. She must have had
an odd notion of ‘Spotted snakes with double tongues.’ Moreover, effect
was added to the said hymns by Uncle Lance behind the scenes.
Then there was the account of how it had been at first intended that
Oberon should be represented by little Sir Adrian, with his Bexley
cousin, Pearl Underwood, for his Titania; but though she was fairy
enough for anything, he turned out so stolid, and uttered ‘Well met by
moonlight, proud Titania,’ the only lines he ever learnt, exactly like
a lesson, besides crying whenever asked to study his part, that the
attempt had to be given up, and the fairy sovereigns had to be of large
size, Mr. Grinstead pronouncing that probably this was intended by
Shakespeare, as Titania was a name of Diana, and he combined Grecian
nymphs with English fairies. So Gerald Underwood had to combine the part
of Peter Quince (including Thisbe) with that of Oberon, and the queen
was offered to Gillian.
‘But I had learnt Hermia,’ she said, ‘and I saw it was politeness, so
I wouldn’t, and Anna Vanderkist is ever so much prettier, besides being
used to acting with Gerald. She did look perfectly lovely, asleep on
the moss in the scene Mrs. Grinstead painted and devised for her! There
was--’
‘Oh! not only the prettiness, I don’t care for that. One gets enough of
the artistic, but the fun--the dear fun.’
‘There was fun enough, I am sure,’ said Gillian. ‘Puck was
Felix--Pearl’s brother, you know--eleven years old, so clever, and an
awful imp--and he was Moon besides; but the worst of it was that his
dog--it was a funny rough terrier at the Vicarage--was so furious at the
lion, when Adrian was roaring under the skin, that nobody could hear,
and Adrian got frightened, as well he might, and crept out from under
it, screaming, and there fell the lion, collapsing flat in the middle of
the place. Even Theseus--Major Harewood, you know, who had tried to be
as grave as a judge, and so polite to the actors--could not stand that
interpolation, as he called it, of “the man in the moon--not to say the
dog,” came down too soon--Why, Fly--’
For Fly was in such a paroxysm of laughter as to end in a violent fit of
coughing, and to bring Lady Rotherwood in, vexed and anxious.
‘Oh, mother! it was only--it was only the lion’s skin--’ and off went
Fly, laughing and coughing again.
‘I was telling her about the acting or Midsummer Night’s Dream at Vale
Leston,’ explained Gillian.
‘I should not have thought that a suitable subject for the day,’ said
the Marchioness gravely, and Fly’s endeavour to say it was her fault
for asking about it was silenced by choking; and Gillian found herself
courteously dismissed in polite disgrace, and, as she felt, not entirely
without justice.
It was a great disappointment that Aunt Jane did not think it well to
take any of the young people to their home with her. As she said, she
did not believe that they would catch anything; but it was better to be
on the safe side, and she fully expected that they would spend most of
the day with Mysie and Fly.
‘I wish I could go and talk to Kalliope, my dear,’ she said to Gillian;
‘but I am afraid it must wait another day.’
‘Oh, never mind,’ said Gillian, as they bade each other good-night at
their doors; ‘they don’t know that I am come home, so they will not
expect me.’