The pretty lady came to call the very next week. Mrs Trevor and Betty
were busy sewing in the upstairs workroom when the maid brought up the
card, and the first sight of it brought no enlightenment.
"Mrs Gervase Vanburgh! Goodness! What a fine name! Who can she be?
Do you know who it is, mother?"
"Not in the least, dear. One of the neighbours, perhaps. We will go
down and see."
Betty smoothed her hair before the looking-glass, and then as carefully
fluffed it out, shook her skirt free from the little ends of thread
which would stick to the rough blue cloth, and followed her mother to
the drawing-room, for now that she was over seventeen it was Mrs
Trevor's wish that she should learn to help in social duties. Half-way
downstairs inspiration dawned. "I believe it's the pretty lady! Jill
said she was coming!" she whispered breathlessly. The pleasant
expectation brought a flush into her cheeks, and an added animation into
her eyes, so that it was in her most attractive guise that she entered
the drawing-room in her mother's train.
Yes! It was the pretty lady and no one else, prettier than ever in her
very smartest clothes, sitting in orthodox fashion, on a stiff upright
chair, card-case in hand, and discussing the weather and the advantages
and disadvantages of the neighbourhood with the sedateness of an old
married woman; yet ever and anon as she glanced at Betty there was a
something in her face,--a smile, a tremble, a momentary uplifting of the
eyebrow,--which bespoke an unspoken sympathy. "We understand each
other, you and I!" it seemed to say. "This is only a pretence. The
_real_ business will begin when we are alone, but--_don't I do it
well_?" Betty twinkled back, and was content to wait her turn, knowing
that it would surely come.
Yes, Mrs Vanburgh said, she and her husband had only lately returned to
their town house. They had a little place in the country, and spent a
great deal of time with an old uncle who was an invalid, and very fond
of young society. No! She did not care for town life, but for her
husband's sake she made the best of it for a few months in the year.
The days seemed very long when one was obliged to turn on the lights
before four o'clock. Oh yes, she was fond of reading--sometimes! But
one seemed to need some more active occupation. She did a good deal of
wood-carving. Did Miss Trevor go in for wood-carving? Would she care
to take it up? It would be so very nice to have a companion, and all
the tools were lying in readiness just across the road.
"Thank you so much. I'd love it!" cried Betty, all pink with excitement
and pleasure. "I take a few classes still--music and French--but my
afternoons are mostly free. I could come any time."
"To-day?" queried the pretty lady, raising her pretty eyebrows eagerly.
"Now? Come back with me and have tea, and I'll show you my carvings,
and you can decide what you will try first."
It was all very irregular and unconventional, because, of course, the
proper thing would have been for Mrs Vanburgh to have waited quietly
until Mrs Trevor had returned her call, and even for a judicious period
after that, before sending a formal invitation. Nevertheless Mrs
Trevor had not the heart to interfere. She remembered her own youth,
and the rapture which it had then afforded her to be able to do things
_at once_; she saw the radiance in Betty's face, and realised that her
visitor was only a girl herself, so that when Betty turned towards her a
flushed, appealing face, she smiled indulgently, and said, "Certainly,
dear! It is very kind of Mrs Vanburgh to ask you. Run upstairs and
put on your hat."
Betty lost no time in taking advantage of this permission, and in ten
minutes' time the extraordinary thing came to pass, that she and the
pretty lady were walking along the Square, chatting together as if they
had been friends of years' standing.
Mrs Vanburgh paused upon the threshold to give some instructions to the
servant, then escorted Betty straight upstairs to a big, bare room on
the third floor, which she described as her "lair."
"No one ever sits here but myself, and I can make as much mess as I
like. It's lovely!" she explained, and forthwith turned on the electric
light, and poked up the fire, for the atmosphere was distinctly chilly.
It was certainly not a tidy apartment, no one could have said that for
it, but it was extremely interesting from a girl's point of view. The
wood-carving bench occupied the place of honour before the window; but
there were evidences that the owner possessed more hobbies than one, for
a piece of copper was in process of being beaten into a pattern of
pomegranates and leaves, a work-table was littered with odds and ends,
and on an old black tray was a weird medallion portrait of a gentleman,
manufactured out of plasticine, a lump of which lay by its side.
Young Mrs Vanburgh held out the tray towards Betty with a dramatic
gesture.
"That's my husband! Let me introduce you--Mr Gervase Vanburgh--Miss
Trevor! Would you believe, to look at him there, that he is quite the
handsomest man you ever beheld?"
Betty looked at the grey profile, and sniggered helplessly.
"I'm afraid I never should!"
"No, it's horrid! I'm just beginning modelling, and it's not a success.
I suppose it's because I can't draw well enough. What _is wrong_, do
you think?"
"Everything!" Betty felt inclined to say, but politely compromised by
pointing out the most flagrant offences.
"The ear is on a level with the mouth. The eye is perched upon a mound,
instead of being in a hollow; he has no nostril, and oh! Water on the
brain! He must have, with all that bump in front!"
"Goodness! What a critic! You might be one of my very own sisters!"
cried Mrs Vanburgh, laughing. She looked at the profile
scrutinisingly. "There's one comfort--it can soon be altered. There!
I'll take a bit off his head. It's the neatest shape in the world
really. I don't think I am born to be a sculptor. For one thing, I
should never have the patience to clean my nails. This plasticine gets
into all the nooks and crannies, and simply _won't_ come out!"
Betty had no sympathy to spare for nails. She was too much occupied in
considering another problem. Mrs Vanburgh looked almost as young as
herself, and was far more spontaneous and lively in manner; it seemed
impossible to imagine her the mistress of this stately house, and the
wife of the handsomest man in the world! There was all the natural awe
of the unmarried for the married girl in her voice as she said--
"It is so strange to hear you talk of your husband. You don't look a
bit married. Doesn't it feel very--queer?"
Mrs Vanburgh laughed happily.
"It feels very--nice! I have only one trouble in life, and that is that
I am too happy. Yes, seriously, it does trouble me! It's so difficult
not to grow selfish when one is always petted, and praised, and
considered first of all. I want to be of some use in the world. My
husband says I am of use to him, and of course that's my first duty, but
it's not enough. When I was married a dear old lady wrote me a letter,
and said that marriage often became `the selfishness of two,' and I do
feel that it is true. It's no credit to be good to someone who is
dearer than yourself, and giving a few subscriptions is no credit either
when you are rich; it was a very different matter when you scraped them
out of your dress allowance. I've thought over heaps of things that I
could do, and at last I've decided--sit down, and I'll tell you all
about it! This is the comfiest chair. It's so nice getting to know you
first, because you can help. Ages ago I read a story by Sir Walter
Besant, _Katherine Regina_ was the name, I think. I forget what it was
about, and all about it, except that one character was a poor governess
living in a dreary London `Home,' knowing nobody, and having absolutely
nowhere to go in her leisure hours, because of course she could not
afford entertainments. One day she had a desperately miserable fit, and
said to one of her companions--I always remembered those words--`Is
there no woman in all the length and breadth of this great city who has
a thought for us, or who cares enough for us to open the house to us for
a few hours a week?' I made up my mind then and there, that if I ever
lived in a city and had a home of my own, I would share it with homeless
people. I asked my husband if I might have an `At Home' every Saturday
afternoon, and he said I could ask everyone I liked, so long as I did
not expect him to put in an appearance. So!"--she clasped her hands
excitedly, and her eyes flashed--"this very week I drove round to three
separate Governesses' Homes and left cards of invitation--`Mrs Gervase
Vanburgh will be at home every Saturday afternoon between November 12
and December 20 from three to seven o'clock, and will be pleased to see
any ladies who may care to call upon her.' What do you think of that
for a start?"
Betty stared in amazement. "Governesses! Three Homes! Three to seven!
How _dreadful_! What will you do with them?"
"Oh! I've lots of plans. I'll have a scrumptious light, cakey tea in
the drawing-room, and in the dining-room a sort of cold high-tea as they
have in the North, with chickens, and ham, and potted shrimps, and
sandwiches, and all sorts of good things for those who can stay until
six, and sit down to a regular meal. And I'll have nice books and
magazines in the library, and easy-chairs drawn up to the fire; and up
here, anyone who likes can practise wood-carving, or copper beating, or
any of my little hobbies. I'll throw open the whole house, and let each
one do what she likes best; and you shall help me! I've got another
girl coming on Saturday, and between the three of us we ought to be able
to manage. I don't ask you to come, you see,--I command! I need your
help."
Betty hesitated between pride and dismay.
"I can't imagine myself entertaining a party of govies! I am still
under their thrall, remember. You are emancipated, so it's different
for you. But I'll come, of course I'll come. How many visitors do you
expect?"
"That's just what cook asked, and I hadn't a notion what to say. I
don't suppose we shall have many the first time. Only the enterprising
spirits will come, but when they go back and say what a good time they
have had, the numbers will increase. Do you think perhaps--twenty
altogether?"
"Say a dozen!" said Betty, and Nan's face lengthened with
disappointment.
"Only a dozen? Oh, surely there must be more than that! Just think;
there are three Homes, and I expect forty or fifty living in each. I am
quite sure there will be twenty. I shall provide for twenty-five, to be
on the safe side."
She bent forward to poke the fire once more, and Betty's eyes roamed to
the white overmantel, which was divided into five panels, each of which
contained a vignette portrait of a girl's head, printed in a delicate
shade of brown. She had seen much the same kind of thing in furniture
warehouses again and again, but in this case the pictured faces lacked
the pretty prettiness which was the usual characteristic, and were
unmistakably portraits of living people. She looked at her hostess with
an eager question.
"Your sisters?"
"Yes; isn't it lovely? They clubbed together and gave it to me for a
wedding present. It feels a little bit as if they were here, to look up
from my work and see their faces. That's the eldest--Maud; my Maud!
She and I were always together. She is married, and has a dear little
girl. That's Lilias, the next eldest--the beauty of the family."
"Ah!" sighed Betty enviously, "she _is_ pretty. How lovely to be like
that! Is she married too?"
"No."
"Engaged?"
"No."
"How funny! I should have thought she would have been married the first
of all. Didn't everyone fall in love with her at first sight?"
"Yes, I think they did, but at second sight they seem to have preferred
Maud and--me?"
Mrs Vanburgh did not seem disposed to discuss her sister's love
affairs. She pointed to the next portrait, that of a dark, interesting-
looking girl with hair parted down the middle and smoothed plainly down,
in marked contrast to her sister's curls and pompadours.
"That's Elsie! She has views, and objects to being like the common
herd. She writes articles _for_ papers, not _in_ them, abusing
everything that is, and praising up everything that isn't. Gervase, my
husband, says she will do very well when she learns sense. She is a
dear old raven, and I miss her croak more than you would believe.
That's Agatha. She's just--Agatha! A good-natured dear, always
terribly in earnest about the smallest thing. Christabel is the baby,
which means the head of the family. She is coming out next year, and
means to outshine us all. I will tell you lots of stories about the
girls and the jolly times we had at home, and soon I hope you will meet
some of them here. Sisters are such comforts, aren't they?"
Betty mumbled an inarticulate something which might have been an assent
or the reverse, and a servant entering with a tea-tray, the conversation
turned to less personal topics. There was never any lack of anything to
say, however, for, strangers as they were, the two girls chattered away
without a break until the clock struck six, at which sound Betty leapt
from her seat like another Cinderella, and turned hastily towards the
door.
"Six! Oh, and I had Pam's music-lesson at half-past five! How awful of
me to forget! You were so interesting, and I was enjoying myself so
much. I must fly!"
"It's no use, I'm afraid. You can't put the clock back. There's one
comfort--Pam will forgive you! That's the little one, I suppose, with
the kitten face. I must get to know her soon."
Mrs Vanburgh tripped downstairs by Betty's side, and shook hands with
the geniality of a lifelong friendship.
"Remember Saturday!" she cried. "Three o'clock punctually, and bring
all your stores of small talk with you, for the first half-hour."
Betty ran across the darkened street and let herself into her own house,
aglow with pleasurable excitement. Life looked quite a different thing
in the last few hours, wherein a friend and a vocation had alike sprung
into being. After all, it was a delightful old world! She would never
grumble again, since at any moment such delightful surprises might
arise.
The door swung open. How cold and grey the hall appeared after the
glowing richness of Mrs Vanburgh's carpets and hangings! Betty made a
little grimace at the linoleum, and lifting her eyes was suddenly aware
of a wrathful figure confronting her from the threshold of the dining-
room--Jill, standing with arms akimbo, flushed cheeks, and flashing
eyes.
"So you have deigned to come back, have you? What business had you to
go to tea with her at all, I should like to know? She's my friend! I
knew her first! What right had you to go poking yourself forward?"
"I didn't poke. She asked me! Mother can tell you that she did. I'm
going again on Saturday."
Jill's wrath gave way to an overwhelming anxiety.
"And me? And me? I am sure she asked me too."
"No, she didn't. It's a grown-up party. She'll ask you another time
with Pam. She said she wanted to know Pam."
It was the last straw to be classed with Pam, a child of eight summers!
Jill stuttered with mortified rage.
"S-neak! Just like you! Mark my word, Elizabeth Trevor, _I'll be even
with you about this_!"