The east gleamed upon Ethelberta's squirrel-coloured hair as she said to
her companion, 'I have come, Picotee; but not, as you imagine, from a
night's sleep. We have actually been dancing till daylight at Wyndway.'
'Then you should not have troubled to come! I could have borne the
disappointment under such circumstances,' said the pupil-teacher, who,
wearing a dress not so familiar to Christopher's eyes as had been the
little white jacket, had not been recognized by him from the hill. 'You
look so tired, Berta. I could not stay up all night for the world!'
'One gets used to these things,' said Ethelberta quietly. 'I should have
been in bed certainly, had I not particularly wished to use this
opportunity of meeting you before you go home to-morrow. I could not
have come to Sandbourne to-day, because we are leaving to return again to
Rookington. This is all that I wish you to take to mother--only a few
little things which may be useful to her; but you will see what it
contains when you open it.' She handed to Picotee a small parcel. 'This
is for yourself,' she went on, giving a small packet besides. 'It will
pay your fare home and back, and leave you something to spare.'
'Thank you,' said Picotee docilely.
'Now, Picotee,' continued the elder, 'let us talk for a few minutes
before I go back: we may not meet again for some time.' She put her arm
round the waist of Picotee, who did the same by Ethelberta; and thus
interlaced they walked backwards and forwards upon the firm flat sand
with the motion of one body animated by one will.
'Well, what did you think of my poems?'
'I liked them; but naturally, I did not understand all the experience you
describe. It is so different from mine. Yet that made them more
interesting to me. I thought I should so much like to mix in the same
scenes; but that of course is impossible.'
'I am afraid it is. And you posted the book as I said?'
'Yes.' She added hurriedly, as if to change the subject, 'I have told
nobody that we are sisters, or that you are known in any way to me or to
mother or to any of us. I thought that would be best, from what you
said.'
'Yes, perhaps it is best for the present.'
'The box of clothes came safely, and I find very little alteration will
be necessary to make the dress do beautifully for me on Sundays. It is
quite new-fashioned to me, though I suppose it was old-fashioned to you.
O, and Berta, will the title of Lady Petherwin descend to you when your
mother-in-law dies?'
'No, of course not. She is only a knight's widow, and that's nothing.'
'The lady of a knight looks as good on paper as the lady of a lord.'
'Yes. And in other places too sometimes. However, about your journey
home. Be very careful; and don't make any inquiries at the stations of
anybody but officials. If any man wants to be friendly with you, try to
find out if it is from a genuine wish to assist you, or from admiration
of your fresh face.'
'How shall I know which?' said Picotee.
Ethelberta laughed. 'If Heaven does not tell you at the moment I
cannot,' she said. 'But humanity looks with a different eye from love,
and upon the whole it is most to be prized by all of us. I believe it
ends oftener in marriage than do a lover's flying smiles. So that for
this and other reasons love from a stranger is mostly worthless as a
speculation; and it is certainly dangerous as a game. Well, Picotee, has
any one paid you real attentions yet?'
'No--that is--'
'There is something going on.'
'Only a wee bit.'
'I thought so. There was a dishonesty about your dear eyes which has
never been there before, and love-making and dishonesty are inseparable
as coupled hounds. Up comes man, and away goes innocence. Are you going
to tell me anything about him?'
'I would rather not, Ethelberta; because it is hardly anything.'
'Well, be careful. And mind this, never tell him what you feel.'
'But then he will never know it.'
'Nor must he. He must think it only. The difference between his
thinking and knowing is often the difference between your winning and
losing. But general advice is not of much use, and I cannot give more
unless you tell more. What is his name?'
Picotee did not reply.
'Never mind: keep your secret. However, listen to this: not a kiss--not
so much as the shadow, hint, or merest seedling of a kiss!'
'There is no fear of it,' murmured Picotee; 'though not because of me!'
'You see, my dear Picotee, a lover is not a relative; and he isn't quite
a stranger; but he may end in being either, and the way to reduce him to
whichever of the two you wish him to be is to treat him like the other.
Men who come courting are just like bad cooks: if you are kind to them,
instead of ascribing it to an exceptional courtesy on your part, they
instantly set it down to their own marvellous worth.'
'But I ought to favour him just a little, poor thing? Just the smallest
glimmer of a gleam!'
'Only a very little indeed--so that it comes as a relief to his misery,
not as adding to his happiness.'
'It is being too clever, all this; and we ought to be harmless as doves.'
'Ah, Picotee! to continue harmless as a dove you must be wise as a
serpent, you'll find--ay, ten serpents, for that matter.'
'But if I cannot get at him, how can I manage him in these ways you speak
of?'
'Get at him? I suppose he gets at you in some way, does he not?--tries
to see you, or to be near you?'
'No--that's just the point--he doesn't do any such thing, and there's the
worry of it!'
'Well, what a silly girl! Then he is not your lover at all?'
'Perhaps he's not. But I am his, at any rate--twice over.'
'That's no use. Supply the love for both sides? Why, it's worse than
furnishing money for both. You don't suppose a man will give his heart
in exchange for a woman's when he has already got hers for nothing?
That's not the way old Adam does business at all.'