Next afternoon Betty left Jill engaged in filling up the blanks in her
Christmas letters, and Pam lovingly dressing up Pamela junior in her
various costumes, and, accompanied by her father and Miles, called for
Cynthia and set out to walk across the Park to the Albert Hall, where
Miss Beveridge and a friend had arranged to meet them in the box.
Cynthia looked delightfully graceful and pretty in a blue costume and
hat, which had already caused Betty many pangs of envy, and perhaps it
was a remembrance of his own youth which made Dr Trevor pass his hand
through Betty's arm and lead her ahead, so that his son should have the
pleasure of a talk with this very charming little lady. Miles was the
best of good fellows, all solid goodness and worth, but he was still in
the boorish stage, and it would do him good to be drawn out of himself,
and forced to play the gallant.
Miles himself was by no means sure that he approved of the arrangement.
He would have preferred to walk behind Cynthia, and admire her pretty
hair, her tiny feet, and the general air of daintiness which was to him
the greatest charm of all, but he had not the slightest idea what to
say, and thought of the long walk before him with something approaching
consternation. Fortunately for him Cynthia was not in the least shy,
and had so seldom an opportunity of talking to anyone of her own age,
that she could have chattered away the whole afternoon without the
slightest difficulty.
"It isn't often _you_ have a holiday, is it?" she said, smiling at him
in her bright, friendly manner. "Once when I was up very early I saw
you going out before six o'clock, and now if I'm awake I hear the door
slam--you do slam it very loudly, you know!--and know it is you going
out to your work. It makes me feel so lazy, because I am supposed to do
half an hour's practising before nine o'clock breakfast, and I do feel
it such a penance."
Miles laughed shortly.
"Did you ever see me coming back?" he inquired, and when Cynthia nodded,
with a twinkle in her eye--"Betty was afraid you would believe I was a
_real_ workman," he told her. "She thought you would put us down as
quite impossible people, having a workman living in the house!"
"Betty is a goose," said Betty's new friend cheerily, "but she is a nice
goose. I like her. I guessed you were learning to be an engineer,
because I have a cousin who did the same. I like a man to do manly
work. I suppose you are dreadfully interested in all those noisy
engines and things. Tell me about them."
It was rather a large order, and Miles would have answered shortly
enough if an ordinary acquaintance had put such a question, but there
was a magnetism about Cynthia which broke down reserve, and to his own
astonishment he found himself answering quite easily and naturally.
"I am not studying for railway engineering--I am going in for mines.
It's a different course altogether, and in some ways much more
difficult. There seems nothing that a mining engineer ought not to
know--assaying, and surveying, and everything to do with minerals, and,
of course, a thorough understanding of pumps, and all the machinery
employed. Then he ought to know something about doctoring, and even
cooking, if he wants to be an all-round success, for ten to one he will
be sent to some out-of-the-way wilderness where there is no one else to
look after the comfort of his men--"
"Is that what you intend to do? Go and bury yourself at the end of the
world?"
"I expect so--any time after the next six months. I shall have finished
my course by that time, and be on the look-out for the first opening
that comes!"
"What will Betty do without you?"
Betty's brother shrugged his shoulders with the unconcern with which, it
is to be feared, most lads regard their sisters' feelings.
"Oh, she'll get used to it! It's no use sticking at home if one wants
to get on in the world. I should never be content to jog along in a
secondary position all my life, as some fellows do. I don't care how
hard I work, but I mean to get to the very top of the tree!"
"Wish I'd been born a boy! It must be delicious to rough it in the
wilds," sighed Cynthia, stepping daintily over a puddle, and looking
down with concern to see if perchance there was a splash on her boots.
"Boys have much the best of it; they have a chance of doing something
great in the world, while girls have to stay at home and--darn their
socks! All the great things are done by men--in war, in science, in
discovery, even in art and literature, though a few women may equal them
there. All the great things are made by men, too, the wonderful
cathedrals and buildings, and the great bridges and battleships--all the
big things. There's so little left for us."
Miles looked at her beneath drawn brows, his rugged face softening with
the smile that Betty loved to see.
"And who makes the men?" he asked simply, and Cynthia peered at him in
startled, eager fashion, and cried--
"You mean--_we_ do? Women, mothers and sisters and wives? Is _that_
what you mean? Oh, I _do_ think you say nice things!" (Shy, silent old
Miles being accused of saying "nice things" to a member of the opposite
sex! Wonders will never cease!) "I shall remember that, next time I see
a lucky boy pass by rattling the railings, and looking as if the world
belonged to him, while I must stand behind the curtains, because it's
not `lady-like' to stare out of the windows! I do ramp and rage
sometimes!"
Miles' laugh rang out so merrily that Betty turned to stare in
amazement. The idea of Cynthia doing anything so violent as "ramp and
rage" seemed impossible to realise, as one looked at her dainty figure
and sweet pink-and-white face. All the same it was a pleasure to find
that she did not belong to the wax-doll type of girl, but had a will and
a temper of her own.
"Yes, you may laugh," she cried, laughing herself, "but it's quite true.
Or perhaps it would be more `lady-like' to say that I feel like `a
caged bird,' as people do in books. In future I shall console myself
with the thought that I may be the lever which supplies the force. Is
that simile right, or ridiculously wrong? It's rash of me to use
engineering terms before you. I mean that I'll try to be a good
influence to some man, and so inspire work, if I can't do it myself.
The worst is, I know so few men! Father is abroad, all our relations
are far away, and until I come out I seem to meet nothing but girls, old
and young. Of course, if I got to know you better, I might influence
_you_!"
She turned her laughing face upon him, the face of a frank, innocent
child, for, though she was nearly seventeen years old, Cynthia was
absolutely innocent of the flirtatious instinct which is strong in some
little girls in the coral and pinafore stage. She offered her
friendship to Betty's brother as composedly as she had done to Betty
herself; it was Miles who blushed, and stared at the pavement, and his
voice sounded hoarse and difficult as he mumbled his reply--
"I wish you--I'm sure I should--awfully good thing for me if you did!"
"Very well; but you will have to do great things, remember! I shan't be
satisfied with anything less. It will be good for me too, for I shall
have to be very stern with myself, if I am to influence someone else.
What are your chief faults? I ought to know, oughtn't I, so as to be
able to set to work the right way?"
She was so deliciously naive and outspoken, that once again Miles' rare
laugh rang out, and once again Betty marvelled, and felt a thrill of
envy.
By the time that the Albert Hall was reached, the two young people had
progressed so far towards intimacy that Miles had forgotten his shyness,
and confided to his new mentor some of the trials and grievances which
beset him in his work, the which he had never before confided in a human
being. The attraction of one sex to another is a natural and beautiful
thing. God designed it as one of the great forces in His universe, and
an almost omnipotent power it is, either for good or evil. Do the girls
who jest and frivol with the young men with whom they are brought in
contact, realise their responsibility in all they say and do? Do they
ever reflect that the beauty and charm which they possess are weapons
with which God has endowed them,--weapons which may have more power in
the battle of life than a two-edged sword? Laugh and be merry--enjoy
the sunshine of your youth; it is a sin to see a young thing sad; but
never, never, as you value your womanhood, speak a slighting or
irreverent word against God's great laws of righteousness, nor allow
such a word to pass unreproved in your presence. Remember in the midst
of your merry-making to preserve your dignity as women, knowing that by
so doing you will not lose, but trebly strengthen your hold on any man
worthy of the name. Say to yourself, dear girls--"With God's help I
will be a good angel to this man, who has to meet trials and temptations
from which I am exempt. So far as in me lies I will make him respect
all women, and help, not hinder him in his work." It isn't necessary to
be prim and proper--don't think that! The Misses Prunes and Prisms, who
are always preaching, weary rather than help, but when the bright,
sweet-natured girl, who loves a joke, and can be the whole-hearted
companion of a summer day, speaks a word of reproof, or draws back from
a proposed enterprise, her action carries with it a treble weight of
influence.
When the whole party were seated in the box--Miss Beveridge and Betty in
the front row, Cynthia and governess number two in the second, and the
two "men" at the back--Miles had little attention to spare for the
music, so absorbed was he in gazing at Cynthia's delicately-cut profile,
and in weaving about her the halo of a young man's first romance. There
was no romance in the two girls; they were absorbed in admiration of the
wonderful building itself, in enjoyment of the music, and in anxiety to
do their duty to dear Mrs Vanburgh's "Govies," as they irreverently
termed Miss Beveridge and her companion. Even when on pleasure bent,
the former could not be called "responsive." When asked, "Do you like
music?" she replied curtly, "No! I teach it!" which reduced the
questioner to stupid silence, though her thoughts were active enough.
"Oh, indeed! That's one for me, as I am a pupil still! It's the
stupidity of pupils which has made her dislike music, but then--why does
she come to a concert? Why couldn't she have had the decency to refuse,
and let someone else have the ticket? Oh, I do dislike you--you cold,--
cutting, disagreeable, ungrateful, snappy old thing!"
Betty sat back in her chair and let her eyes rest on Miss Beveridge's
profile, as that lady in her turn stared fixedly at the orchestra. She
was wearing quite "a decent little toque," and had taken pains with the
arrangement of her hair. Betty was at the stage when she imagined that
it was impossible that life could retain any interest after the age of
thirty, but it dawned upon her now that, at some far-off, prehistoric
period, Miss Beveridge had been handsome--even very handsome, which made
her present condition all the more pitiable. Suppose, just suppose for
a moment, that one became old and lonely, and poor and plain and snappy,
oneself! It was too horrible a prospect to be believed; much more
satisfactory to take refuge in the usual rose-coloured dreams!
The Royal Box was close at hand--empty, unfortunately, of interesting
occupants. How would it feel to be a princess, and loll back in one's
chair, conscious of being the cynosure of every eye? Betty lolled, and
tried to project herself into the position, pleasingly conscious of a
new blouse, quite immaculate suede gloves, and Cynthia's buckle showing
its dull blues and reds at the front of her belt. She turned her head
slowly from side to side, and cultivated a charming smile.--"Princess
Elizabeth appeared in the Royal Box, looking as fascinating as ever in a
costume of her favourite grey.--"
The musical programme was interesting and varied, but during the second
half of the concert the cheerfulness of the scene was sadly marred by
the ever-increasing fog which crept in from without, filling the vast
interior with a gloom against which the many lights seemed powerless to
contend. Dr Trevor began to feel a little nervous about the safety of
his party, and suggested making a move before the end of the concert,
but Miss Beveridge insisted that she and her friend needed no escort
home.
"It would have to be a very bad fog to frighten us. We are accustomed
to going about town in all weathers," she declared, and this was so
obviously the case that it seemed affectation to protest. The doctor
therefore explained that as he was in charge of Cynthia he wished to
allay her mother's natural anxiety as soon as possible, and the young
people bade farewell to their guests of the afternoon and hurried
downstairs.
Early though it was, hundreds of people seemed to have been inspired by
the same fears, for the stairway was thronged and the passages
downstairs were becoming momentarily blocked. Dr Trevor tucked
Cynthia's hand through his arm.
"Look after your sister, Miles," he cried, turning a quick glance over
his shoulder. "I'm afraid it's very thick. Keep close behind me if you
can. In any case make the best of your way home."
A moment later they passed through the doorway into a world of black
gloom, in which phantom shapes at one moment pressed against one, and at
the next vanished utterly from sight.
Betty gave a little cry of dismay, for, London-bred as she was, never
before had she been out of doors in such an impenetrable fog. She put
out her hand towards the spot where Miles had stood a moment before, but
her fingers gripped nothing more substantial than air. She gave a quick
leap forward, and clutching at a shadowy coat-sleeve shook it violently,
calling out in accents half-frightened, half-angry--
"Miles, how horrid of you! You must not stalk on ahead like that! I
shall be lost, and then what will become of me? For pity's sake keep
hold of my arm!"
She had walked a few paces forward as she spoke, but now she stopped
short, in response to a determined movement of the arm to which she
clung. Betty glanced upwards in surprise; she could not see the face so
near to her arm, but the blood chilled in her veins as a strange voice
answered slowly--
"But--I'm sorry, but I do not happen to be Miles!"