She was small and thin, with a bleached, joyless face, which seemed all
of the same dull grey tint. Grey hair, grey eyes, grey complexion, a
pinched-in mouth and deeply-furrowed forehead. She was dressed in
black--shabby black, which is the shabbiest of all shabbies--and,
looking at her, it seemed impossible to believe that there had ever been
a time when she was young and happy, and had frisked and frolicked, and
liked pretty things like any ordinary girl. Cynthia and Betty felt a
chill of dismay, but Nan's heart gave a throb of delight. This was one
of the very starved, joyless lives which she longed to brighten; it
would have been difficult to find a better type of the class. She
walked quickly forward, and held out a warm, welcoming hand.
"How do you do? I am so pleased you have come?"
Miss Beveridge looked at her coldly, then cast an inquiring glance
around the room; at the luxurious hangings and furniture, at the glowing
fire, at Betty slim and childish in her simple blue frock, at Cynthia
with her flowing locks.
"Is--is Mrs Vanburgh not at home?" she inquired, drawing up her thin
figure with an air of wounded dignity. "I understood that the hours
mentioned were from three to seven, but if she is engaged--"
Nan smiled in the merry, radiant manner which made her look even younger
than her years.
"I am Mrs Vanburgh!"
"Oh, indeed!" said Miss Beveridge coldly.
Why she should have taken the announcement as a personal insult the
girls could not understand, but that she did receive it in such, a
spirit was proved by the sudden stiffening which passed over her
features even as she spoke. She seated herself on the edge of the chair
to which Nan escorted her, sternly refused an offer of tea, and
vouchsafed only monosyllabic replies when spoken to. It was a terrible
occasion! Nan took refuge in the resort of the destitute, and exhausted
the subject of the weather in all its branches.
"It is a very chilly afternoon."
"Very chilly."
"It seemed in the morning as if it were going to clear up."
"It did."
"The forecast says it will rain before night."
"Indeed!"
"November always _is_ a dreary month."
No reply.
"In London there are so many fogs, but in the country the fallen leaves
are almost as depressing."
"Perhaps so."
Nan looked across the room and made a desperate grimace at her
companions. Before doing so she made sure that Miss Beveridge was not
looking, but she forgot that in turning her head in the opposite
direction she was naturally _vis-a-vis_ with Cynthia and Betty, and
they--silly things!--simultaneously jerked with surprise, flushed and
struggled after speech, thereby hopelessly giving away the situation.
"Er--are you _quite_ sure you will not have a cup of tea? Or--er,
coffee? We have both ready. Or a high-tea downstairs, if you care for
anything more solid."
"I have had luncheon, thank you. I am not in the least in need of
food," replied Miss Beveridge in tones of scathing coldness. There was
a ghastly silence.
"Horrid thing! Always did hate 'em!" soliloquised Betty.
"How dare she? Ungrateful wretch!" queried Cynthia.
"She's cross because she's miserable; she's just as miserable as she can
be! Somebody else could comfort her, but I can't. She thinks I am a
presumptuous chit. Perhaps I am, trying to do work that is far beyond
me!" sighed Nan, with a heavy sinking of the heart. She could not
attempt to speak, and the silence lasted several minutes, until at last
Miss Beveridge roused herself to inquire hesitatingly, yet with a
certain suppressed eagerness--
"Were you perhaps wishing to--er--to organise some classes? My time is
disengaged on Saturday afternoons. My special subject is music, but I
hold very high certificates, and am of course competent to take up other
subjects."
Nan gasped with dismay! Here was a situation, to be treated as a
schoolgirl whose education required finishing! She could hear Gervase's
derisive laughter, the amused chuckle with which he would say, "Silly
girl, serve you right!" Across the room Cynthia and Betty were
sniggering, and biting their lips. This was indeed a travesty of what
she had expected. The blood flamed in her cheeks, but she answered
steadily enough--
"Oh no, I was not thinking of anything for myself. It occurred to me
that it might be dull in those `Homes' on holiday afternoons, especially
for ladies who are strangers in London, and I hoped it might make a
little change for them to come out to tea. It would certainly be a
pleasure to me to receive them."
"Indeed!" said Miss Beveridge coldly.
The momentary animation which had flickered in her face at the thought
of the possibility of classes died away, leaving her looking even more
bleached and hopeless than before. She pressed her thin lips together,
looked at the clock, and inquired suddenly--
"Can you tell me the nearest way from here to Maida Vale?"
It was a direct intimation of departure, and Nan accepted it as such,
giving the desired information, without protest, it is true, but in a
manner absolutely devoid of offence. It was raining heavily by this
time, and she would fain have offered to whistle for a hansom, but she
felt that such a proceeding would have been interpreted as an additional
offence. When the visitor rose, however, she insisted upon accompanying
her downstairs, where in the privacy of the vestibule she allowed
herself the luxury of a farewell appeal.
"I am so sorry that it has been a failure! You are vexed with me for
having brought you here for nothing, and on such a terrible afternoon
too, but I _meant_ well! I'm young, and foolish, and don't know how to
do things properly, but I couldn't bear to keep everything to myself,
and I could think of no better way. You'll forgive me, won't you? I'm
so sorry you've been bored!"
Miss Beveridge looked at her swiftly, and as she looked her thin
features twitched beneath her veil, and two little patches of colour
showed themselves on her cheeks.
"There is nothing to forgive," she said hurriedly. "Nothing on your
side, at least. I was taken by surprise and did not quite understand.
If you will allow me I will come again another time."
"Will you--will you really? Oh, it would make me so happy!" cried Nan
rapturously. "Thank you so much! Next Saturday, perhaps? I shall look
forward to it all the week."
She motioned the servant aside, and, accompanying her visitor to the
door, insisted upon opening her umbrella and helping to tuck up the
well-worn skirt. Her bonnie face shone out under the light as she waved
her hand and cried out eagerly, "Come soon! Come soon!" Miss Beveridge
shut her lips tightly and did not reply in words, but she did something
which was more expressive--she dropped her skirt into the mud on purpose
to wave a response! The November evening was dark and cheerless enough
to strike a chill to the stoutest heart, but one solitary woman walked
through it with a new glow at her heart. The warm light streaming out
into the darkness, the sweet welcoming voice, were as meat and drink to
her starved soul.
In the drawing-room the girls awaited Nan's return with some anxiety,
but, to their amazement, she came bounding upstairs two steps at a time,
all abeam with complacent delight. What a comfort it was that she had
so soon returned to her senses!
"Has she gone? Really gone! What a relief!"
"She's coming again! She said she would. Thank goodness for that!"
"Mrs Vanburgh, you--you can't mean it! She was a horror! You can't
possibly want to see her again! She was as cross as two sticks because
she had come once, so why should she try it a second time?"
"She didn't understand, and it was a shock to find us all so young.
Yes, of course I want her! She's just the sort I do want; the happy,
prosperous ones have no need of me. Oh, did you see her poor grey
face?"
Betty shivered dramatically.
"I did! It made me think of vinegar and, lemon-juice, and all the sour
things you can think of mixed together. Her lips were so thin you could
hardly see them at all, and they turned right down at the corners."
"She was pretty once, prettier than any of us--her features are perfect
still. She's worried, and ill, and badly dressed. Did you see her
blouse?"
"Yes!" Betty sighed sententiously. "It was such a comfort to me. I'd
been feeling so grumpy because my own was horrid compared to yours, but
when I saw that grey flannel atrocity I felt I ought to be thankful
instead?"
Nan laughed happily.
"Then she did you good too? That's all right. Girls, I'm hungry. This
has been a most exhausting afternoon. I don't think there is a chance
of anyone else coming, so hadn't we better go downstairs and eat up some
of the good things ourselves? How do you feel?"
There was no doubt about the girls' feelings. They might have been
starving, from the alacrity with which they sprang from their seats,
followed their hostess downstairs, and seated themselves at the dining-
table.
"We will not wait any longer, Johnson. Bring in fresh tea and coffee,
and then you can leave us. We will attend to ourselves," said Nan to
the solemn-faced butler; and, as soon as he had departed, "Isn't it just
wonderful how servants contrive to keep their faces straight?" she cried
laughingly. "I've no doubt they are all laughing themselves ill
downstairs at the collapse of my great `At Home,' but Johnson looks as
if it were the most correct thing in the world for three people to sit
down to a table laid for a dozen! I'll carve, and you can pour out.
Now for the chicken and ham--now for the gay Sally Lunn! Eat, my
darlings, eat! Do without dinner for one night, and save a friend's
reputation! I shall never hear the last of it from Gervase, unless I
can tell him that some of the things were used."
It was a merry meal, and lasted for an inordinately long time, and when
it was over the three girls felt that their mutual acquaintance had
progressed by giant strides.
Cynthia went home to give a graphic description of Betty's charms, and
to cry--
"You must, you really must, call upon Mrs Trevor, mother, for I can't
be happy till I know the whole family."
Betty burst into the dining-room in a flutter of excitement, exclaiming
all in a breath--
"She's a darling, a perfect darling; and the Pet was there, and her name
is Cynthia, and she's not pampered a bit. We are awfully good friends;
and what do you think?--only one governess turned up, and there are
heaps and heaps of cakes left. And may Jill and Pam go to tea on Monday
to eat them up?"
As for Nan, she laid her pretty head on her husband's shoulder, and
refused to be comforted.
"No, it was not a failure! I'm not disappointed a bit. I was silly,
and expected too much, but the one who came--oh, Gervase, she was the
very incarnation of homelessness. If she will let me help her, I shall
be quite, quite satisfied?"