“Why then should vain repinings rise,
That to thy lover fate denies
A nobler name, a wide domain?”—SCOTT.
THE friendship with the Sisters was about three weeks old when, one
morning, scaffold poles were being erected in the new side aisle of St.
Kenelm’s Church, and superintending them was a tall dark-haired young
man. There was a start of mutual recognition; and by and by he met Paula
and Vera in the porch, and there were eager hand-clasps and greetings, as
befitted old friends meeting in a strange place.
“Mr. Hubert! I heard you were coming!”
“Miss Vera! Miss Paula! This is a pleasure.”
Then followed an introduction of Sister Mena, whose elder companion was
away, attending a sick person.
“May I ask whether you are living here?”
“Two miles off at the Goyle, at Arnscombe, with our sister.”
“So I heard! I shall see you again.” And he turned aside to give an
order, bowing as he did so.
“Is he the artist of those sweet designs?” asked Sister Mena.
“Did we not tell you?”
“And now he is going to execute them? How delicious!”
“I trust so! We must see him again. We have not heard of Edie and
Nellie, nor any one.”
“He will call on you?” said Sister Mena.
“I do not think so,” said Paula. “At least his father is really an
artist, but he is drawing-master at the High School, and Hubert works for
this firm. They are not what you call in society, and our sister is all
for getting in with Lady Merrifield and General Mohun and all the swells,
so it would never do for him to call.”
“She would first be stiff and stuck up,” said Vera, “and I could not
stand that.”
“I thought she was so kind,” said Mena.
“You don’t understand,” said Vera. “She would be kind to a workman in a
fever; but this sort—oh, no.”
“To be on an equality with the man painting the church?” said Paula.
“No, indeed! not if he were Fra Angelico and Ary Scheffer and
Michelangelo rolled into one.”
At that moment the subject referred to in that mighty conglomeration
reappeared. He was a handsome young man, his touch of Italian blood
showing just enough to give him a romantic air; and Sister Philomena
listened, much impressed by the interchange of question and answer about
“Edie and Nellie,” and the dear Warings, and the happy Christmas at the
Grange; and Vera blushed again, and Paula coloured in sympathy, as it
appeared that Mr. Delrio had never had such a splendid time.
The colloquy was ended by Mr. Flight being descried, approaching with his
mother, whereupon the two girls fled away like guilty creatures.
Presently Vera exclaimed, “Oh, Polly dear, what a complication! Poor
dear fellow! he cares for me as much as ever.”
“And you will be staunch to him in spite of all the worldly allurements,”
said Paula.
“Well, I mean Mr. Wilfred Merrifield is not half so handsome,” returned
Vera.
“Nor is he engaged in sacred work; only bent on frivolity,” said Paula;
“yet see how the M.A. encourages him with tennis and games and nonsense.”
Poor M.A., when the encouragement had only been some general merriment,
and a few games on the lawn Paulina, who had heard many confidences when
Vera returned from Waring Grange, believed altogether in the true love of
the damsel and Hubert Delrio, who had been wont to single out the
prettiest of the girls at Filstead, and she was resolved to do all she
could in their cause, being schoolgirl enough to have no scruple as to
secrecy towards Magdalen, though on the next opportunity she poured out
all to Sister Philomena’s by no means unwilling ears.
Lovers had never fallen within the young Sister’s experience, either
personally or through friends; and they had only been revealed to her in
a few very carefully-selected tales, where they were more the necessary
machinery than the main interest, for she had been bred up in an
orphanage by Sister Beata, and had never seen beyond it. So to her
Paula’s story, little as there was of it, was a perfect romance, and it
gained in colour when she related it to her senior.
Sister Beata hesitated a little, having rather more knowledge of the
world, remembering that Vera Prescott was not eighteen years old, and
doubting whether an underhand intimacy ought to be encouraged; but then
Mr. Flight had spoken of Mr. Delrio as a highly praiseworthy young man,
of decided Catholic principles; he was regular at Church services, and
had dined or supped at the Vicarage. The intercourse, as the girls had
explained, had been sanctioned by Mrs. Best in their native town, where
all parties were well known, and thus there could be no harm in letting
it continue. While as to the elder Miss Prescott, she was understood to
be unduly bent on county and titled society, and to be exclusive towards
inferiors. Moreover, she was an attendant at St. Andrew’s Church, and
thus regarded as out of the pale of sympathy of the St. Kenelm’s flock.
So no obstacle was put in the way of the gossips, for they were really
nothing more, except that there was admiration of the designs for the
side chapel, which were of the Scripture children on one side, and on the
other of child martyrs. Now and then there was a reference to the
chilliness and hardship of living with an unsympathising sister, and
being obliged to go to churches of which they did not approve. Sometimes
too there were airy castles of a distant future to be shared by the
magnificent architect, together with Vera, while Paula nursed in the
convent with Mother Beata and Sister Philomena.
But all this did not prevent an excitement and eager laughter and chatter
whenever Wilfred Merrifield came in the way, and he certainly was enough
attracted by Vera’s pretty face and lively graces to make his sisters
think him very absurd; but his mother had seen so many passing fancies
among her elder sons as to hold that blindness was better than serious
treatment.
There was the further effect that Magdalen had no suspicion that the
vehement attraction to St. Kenelm’s went beyond the harmless quarter of
the two nursing Sisters and some hero worship of Mr. Flight. Miss Mohun,
who knew everything, had indeed hinted that something foolish might be
going on there; but Magdalen had not decided on the mutual fairness of
the two congregations, and deferred investigation till Agatha should come
home, when she would have a reasonable, if cold, person to deal with.
Nor did Thekla’s chatter excite any suspicion; for the only time when she
had been present at a meeting with Mr. Delrio, she had been half bribed,
half threatened into silence, and she was quite schoolgirl enough to feel
that such was the natural treatment of authority, though she had become
really fond of “sister.”