The father of Ruth and Mollie Farrell had died when the latter was two
years old, leaving his wife but a few hundred pounds with which to
support herself and her children. She was a pretty, winsome creature,
the sort of woman who attracts sympathy and love, but a most difficult
person to help.
Friends came forward with suggestions and offers of assistance, and Mrs
Farrell thanked them ardently, and wept, and agreed to all that they
said. In words, she was ready to undertake any exertion, however
arduous; but when it came to deeds, she was so weak, so incapable, so
hopelessly confused, that the school, the boarding-house, and the home
for Indian children ended successively in failure.
At the end of three years her scanty capital was almost exhausted; but
at this critical moment the Fates--which seem to take special care of
the helpless ones of the earth--sent Ernest Connor to play the part of
rescuer. He was a round stone in a square hole, that is to say, a
student by nature, who, by the exigencies of fortune, found himself
doomed to a business life, wherein he was a painstaking but consistent
failure.
Nervous and shy, he shrank from the society of women; but it was
impossible to be shy with the irresponsible little widow, who confided
all her troubles to him on the first day of their acquaintance, and
asked his advice with tears in her pretty eyes. To his amazement, he
found himself confiding his own troubles in return, and the ready
sympathy accorded to them seemed the sweetest thing in the world. A
month after their first meeting he asked her to be his wife, explaining
honestly his financial position, and the uncertainty of improvement in
the future.
"But you will help me!" he said. "The money will go twice as far when
you hold the purse!"
And Mrs Farrell agreed with ardour, unabashed by previous failures.
She went to her new home full of love and gratitude, and, let it be said
at once, never had cause to regret the step in after years.
Ernest Connor was a devoted husband, and a most kindly father to the two
little girls; but life was not easy. It was a constant strain to make
ends meet, and as Trix, and Betty, and Drummond, and Ransome, and Bruce
came in quick succession to fill the nursery, the strain grew even more
and more acute.
The elder girls had been educated at a neighbouring high school, but
left as soon as they were seventeen, and after that there was no money
to spare for music and painting lessons, such as most girls continue as
an interest and occupation long after schooldays are over.
Ruth and Mollie were kept busy teaching the babies and making clothes
for the family--cutting down Trix's dress to do duty for Betty;
laboriously planning little pairs of knickers out of trousers worn at
the knees; patching, darning, covering-up, hiding over, turning and
twisting; making up something out of nothing, with the lordly sum of
fifteen pounds a year each for dress and pocket-money alike. They had
never known the luxury, dear to girlish hearts, of choosing a garment
simply because it was pretty or becoming. Dark, useful remnants were
their lot; sailor-hats in summer, cloth toques in winter; stout, useful
boots, and dogskin gloves which stood a year's hard wear.
Many a time over had Mollie stretched forth hands and feet for her
sister's inspection, quoting derisively--
"`Her thickly--made country shoes could not conceal the slender contour
of her ankles; her rough gloves served only to reveal the patrician
beauty of her hands.' Look at that, my love--there's contour for you!
There's patrician beauty! What rubbish those books do talk, to be
sure!"
Many a time had the girls groaned together over their impecuniosity, and
vaguely vowed to "do something" to remedy their condition, until at last
Ruth's unrest had reached the point of action, and she determined to
seize the first opportunity of a private conference with her mother.
It was not easy to secure a _tete-a-tete_ in the house of Connor. On
this particular evening, Trix was practising scales on the piano in the
drawing-room, while Mollie read a novel, and Betty lolled on the rug;
the three boys were busy at lessons, or, as they eloquently described
it, "stewing," round the dining-room table. Mr Connor was smoking his
pipe and reading the evening papers in his den at the back of the house;
and the little, white-faced mother moved incessantly from room to room,
no sooner settled in one place than she was seized with an anxious
presentiment that she was needed elsewhere.
She was pretty still, in a pathetic, faded manner; and wherever she went
she spoke loving, gentle words, and met loving glances in response: but,
alas, her efforts seemed rather distracting than helpful! She stroked
Drummond's hair, and asked if he was sure his throat was better, just as
he was on the point of completing a difficult addition; she told her
husband the tragic history of the cook's impertinence, and handed him a
heavy bill, when the poor man was enjoying the first quiet rest of the
day; she requested Mollie's advice about spare-room curtains at the
moment when long-separated lovers were united, and it was agony to lift
one's eyes from the page for the fraction of a second.
Husband and children alike answered gently and with courtesy, for, if
there was little else, there was plenty of love in this shabby
household, and the little mother was the central figure round which
everything revolved; nevertheless, her departure was marked by half-
involuntary sighs of relief, as if a disturbing element had been
withdrawn.
Ruth knew that she would have to bide her time until the younger members
of the family had retired to bed; but, too restless to settle down to
any definite occupation, she drifted across the drawing-room to where
Trix sat, her fingers scrambling up and down the notes of the piano.
Trix was tall and lanky; she had grey eyes, set far apart, a _retrousse_
nose, dotted over with quite a surprising number of freckles, and an
untidy shock of light-brown hair.
In years to come it was possible that she might develop into a pretty
girl; at the present moment she despised appearances, and certainly
failed to make the best of her good points. Now, as she sat by the
piano-stool, with shoulders hunched up and head poked forward, she
looked so awkward and ungainly that Ruth's tried nerves suffered afresh
at the sight.
"For pity's sake, sit up, Trix!" she cried sharply. "You look a perfect
object, bent double like that! You might be deformed, to look at your
back! If you go on like this, you will grow so round-shouldered that
you won't be able to get straight again, and how will you like that?"
Trix deliberately finished her scale, then faced her sister, and
retorted pertly--
"Very much indeed, thank you--if you will only realise that I _can't_
help it, and leave me alone! I'd rather be a humpback at once, than be
worried morning, noon, and night about deportment, as I am now. My
back's my own; I can use it as I like!"
"It's wicked to talk like that, Trix, and very impertinent as well! Who
is to tell you of your faults if we don't at home? Other people look
on, and say, `What a fright that girl looks! How shockingly she carries
herself!' But they don't trouble to tell you about it, and it is not
very pleasant for us when you take it like this. If we did not love you
and care for your interests--"
"Oh dear me," sighed naughty Trix, "then I wish you'd love me a little
less! I could bear it quite well if you lost your interest, and left me
in peace. You and Mollie can do the beauty show for the family; I am
content to represent `intellect and common-sense.' If you want
something to do, you might help me with a French exercise instead of
nagging. It's simply awful to-day; and if I lose any more marks, it's
all up with my chance of getting a prize. Now, then--will you, or won't
you?"
Trix's method of asking favours was hardly as ingratiating as might be
desired, and for a moment the chances seemed all in favour of a refusal.
The colour flamed in Ruth's cheeks, and her black brows drew ominously
near together. She was fighting a hard battle against pride and
resentment; but, as was usually the case, the better self won. She
nodded back at Trix, and said--
"I will! ... Run and bring your books. We won't venture into the
dining-room, for the boys make such a noise that one can't hear one's
own voice."
There was something very sweet in the absolute surrender of self-will,
and Trix, who was the most warm-hearted of mortals, promptly bounded up
from her stool and flung her arms round her sister's neck.
"You duck--you angel! You shall nag at me as much as ever you like, and
I'll never be cheeky again. It's brickish of you to worry about me at
all; but I'll always be a fright, so what's the use? You are pretty
enough for the family, Ruth. Ella Bruce's brother watches behind the
curtains every Sunday to see you pass, and he says you are the prettiest
girl he knows, and are always so nicely dressed!"
"Poor, deluded mortal; may he be forgiven for his blindness! I'm the
shabbiest creature in the parish! It's very nice of him to watch; but I
wish he would come out from behind the curtains and let me see him. I
have not so many admirers that I can afford to have them hidden from
view. What is he like, Trix; handsome?"
"Oh, well enough! Ella thinks him a model, but he is too thin and lanky
for my taste. He is not half good enough for you, Ruth, anyway. You
ought to marry a duke, and retrieve the fortunes of the family!"
"I'm willing, my dear. Produce him, and I promise you I will not stand
in the way. I could do quite easily with being a duchess. It would be
so soothing to be called `Your Grace,' and a coronet is peculiarly
suited to my style of beauty. I won't have you for a bridesmaid,
though, if you stoop like that. Get your book, Trix, and let us set to
work. Better take advantage of my good mood while it lasts."
Trix departed obediently, and returned with a pile of books, which she
dropped upon the table with a bang, which made the other occupants of
the room start in their seats, and for the next hour the two girls
wrestled with the difficulties of an advanced Brachet exercise. Truth
to tell, Ruth was not much more expert than Trix herself; but she was
infinitely more exact, and, by dint of hunting up back rules, and making
endless references to the irregular verbs, the result achieved was
fairly correct.
It was ten o'clock. Betty and the three boys had departed to bed;
Mollie still sat gloating over her novel, with a forefinger thrust into
either ear to shut out the sound of the disturbing discussion on moods
and tenses. Trix collected her books with a sigh, and prepared to go
upstairs in her turn. She looked white and tired, and the freckles on
her nose seemed darker and more conspicuous than ever.
"Good-night, old Ruth! Thanks, most awfully! I'll do as much for you
some day."
"Good-night, young Trix! Mind you do. I shall remind you when the time
comes."
The door opened and closed; Ruth rose wearily, and laid her hand on
Mollie's shoulder. Such a charming face was lifted to meet her glance--
so fresh, so bright, full of such dazzling youth and vigour! True,
Mollie had been lazing all the evening while the others worked; but as
Ruth stood looking down at her she wondered for the hundredth time how
it was that so little was made of Mollie's beauty in comparison with her
own.
The golden hair rippled back in a thick, soft wave; the grey eyes were
large, and generously lashed; the laughing lips parted, to show white,
even, little teeth; yet a stranger, looking for the first time at Mollie
Farrell, rarely remarked upon her good looks.
"What a nice girl! What a dear girl! What a delightful creature!" they
cried, according to their different degrees of enthusiasm. They wanted
to know her, to have her for a friend, and forgot to think of mere
outward appearance.
"What a noise you have been making, Ruth!" said Mollie lazily. "I can't
think why you can't be quiet when you get a chance! This book is too
exciting for words. I told you how the lovers quarrelled just after
they were married, and he went abroad, thinking, of course, that she
didn't love him any more; while, of course, she simply adored the ground
he trod on, but thought that he had grown tired of her, while he was
more madly in--"
Ruth gave an exclamation of impatience.
"Oh, what rubbish! I don't believe such things are possible! If they
really loved each other, do you suppose they could keep on pretending
while they lived together every day, and when it came to saying good-bye
into the bargain? Nonsense! She'd break down and howl, and he would
comfort her, and take off his coat. Look here, Mollie--go to bed! I've
waited all the evening to have a talk with mother, and you are the only
impediment left. Take your book with you if you like,--but go!"
Mollie rose, unwillingly enough.
"I know what you want to talk about," she said, looking into Ruth's
face. "I know; and it's not a mite of use. Mother won't let you leave
home; she needs you far too much. I shan't go to sleep, for I shall
want to hear every single word when you come upstairs. I'll snoodle up
to the hot bottle, and read till you come."
The programme sounded very attractive,--to snoodle up to the hot bottle,
and lie at ease reading an interesting book,--much more attractive than
to linger downstairs by the dying fire, and discuss disagreeable
problems with an anxious mother. But Ruth did not waver in her
decision, and a few moments later Mrs Connor was caught paying a round
of visits to the children's bedrooms--"just in time," as Ruth thought
whimsically, "to waken the poor souls from their first sleep!"--and
escorted back to the chair which Mollie had vacated.
"Is anything wrong, dear?" she asked nervously. Poor little woman, if a
surprise were in store, it seemed so much more likely that it should be
disagreeable rather than bright! "You don't feel feverish, or ill,
or--"
"No, no, my dear; I just want to talk to you about my own affairs. I'm
quite well, and so strong and--and grown-up, don't you know, that it is
time I grew independent, and began life on my own account. You have
Mollie at home, and Trix and Betty growing up, and I think, mother dear,
that I ought not to be dependent on the pater any longer. He has been
very good and kind to us all these years; but, still--"
She hesitated, and Mrs Connor looked at her with anxious tenderness.
She had honestly considered the welfare of her two little girls as much
as her own when she decided to marry a second time, and it had been a
constant joy to feel that her expectations had been fulfilled; yet here
was Ruth, her firstborn darling, her right hand in household affairs,
actually talking of leaving home!
"Aren't you happy, Ruth? Have you not been happy all these years? I
thought you were quite content and satisfied."