VISCOUNT CARNELLY was by no means a rich man, and his wife's
extravagant tastes made him a poor one. The arrival of his sister was,
however, no disadvantage, for the interest of Ida's little fortune
amply sufficed to cover all her expenses, and was really of service to
her brother.
It suited Lady Carnelly to give a different impression with regard
to the girl's coming. She did not say in so many words that Ida was
dependent on her brother, whose family, and most of all, his wife,
had to exercise self-denial in order to meet this additional claim.
But she succeeded in conveying this impression to the minds of many
of her acquaintances, partly by what she said, still more by what she
left unsaid. No remark of the kind was made in Ida's presence, but the
insinuations of her sister-in-law could not be persistently repeated,
even under promise of secrecy, without at length coming to the girl's
knowledge. Grieved and indignant, she scarcely knew what course to
take. She felt inclined to deny that her residence under her brother's
roof was at his cost, or that it necessitated self-denial on the part
of Lady Carnelly.
"Lindsay has told me more than once," thought she, "that my being here
was rather a benefit than otherwise, and said that I almost spent too
little on dress and other minor personal matters."
She was about to say this to the gossip who had made her acquainted
with her sister-in-law's insinuations, when, catching sight of the
eager, curious expression on her face, she restrained herself. With
quiet dignity she said,—
"I cannot understand why my private affairs should be discussed in such
a manner, even by my brother's wife—if she has indeed spoken of them
as you say. I think you must have misunderstood her; but in order to
remove the false impression, I will ask my brother—"
Ida could not finish her sentence, for her visitor warmly protested
against Lord Carnelly being made acquainted with the matter at all.
"It would perhaps cause some unpleasantness, and one should never do
that between husband and wife, my dear Miss Carnelly. Besides, Lady
Carnelly did not exactly say you were dependent on your brother, and
it was hard on him and herself, but she gave me to understand as much.
Perhaps I have gone too far. And, you know, I said you must not repeat
what I was going to tell you. It was rather a breach of confidence on
my part, but I felt for you, and thought you ought to know."
"I made no promise of secrecy," said Ida.
"No; but you allowed me to go on, and so, I think, it was implied. I
would not make mischief amongst members of the same family for the
world."
"As if you had not done it already!" thought the girl. But she answered
coldly, "Since you took my silence as equivalent to a promise, I will
say nothing either to my brother or his wife on the subject. You will
excuse me now, please. I am a good deal troubled by what you have told
me."
Glad enough to escape, the visitor departed, and Ida was left to grieve
and chafe under the knowledge of Lady Carnelly's unkindness and want of
straightforwardness, without daring to appeal to her brother.
"Poor Lindsay!" thought she. "I will never be the one to disturb his
domestic quiet by any act of mine. He is very fond of his wife, and it
is right he should be. But it is hard for me. I was so reckoning on
coming, after being so long without a real home, just staying on at
school from year to year. I thought Beatrice would be as glad to have
me as I should be to come, and that I should find a true sister in her.
What can I have done to make her treat me so strangely? And to speak of
me amongst these gossiping people as if I were a pensioner on Lindsay's
bounty, and robbing his wife! It is too bad, and it is shamefully
untrue. Ought I to sit down quietly and bear it?"
Such were Ida's mental cogitations, and as they were drawing to a close
she caught sight of her brother and his handsome wife, he looking proud
and pleased, she evidently amusing him with some lively talk, whilst
two of the little ones played at their feet.
"I will bear as long as I can," was the girl's decision. "I am almost
a stranger to Beatrice yet, and I daresay she does not care for having
a third person—even Lindsay's sister—so much with them. I will study
her likings, and be careful not to intrude too much upon the privacy
of husband and wife. I daresay I shall win her affection in time, and
when we understand each other better, this matter which has troubled me
will, no doubt, be easily cleared up."
Not for a moment did the girl guess that Lady Carnelly could be jealous
of her. Ida had not been accustomed to flattery or compliments, living
in the quiet atmosphere of a boarding-school, where only a dozen pupils
were received. She thought very humbly of herself in comparison with
her brilliant sister-in-law, who might have had in this innocent-minded
girl a sweet companion and great admirer.
Perhaps, had Lady Carnelly understood the feelings of her young guest,
she might have been flattered by Ida's admiration, which was equally
simple and genuine. But she never troubled herself to study Ida's
character. She judged it by her own, and, long before the girl came
from England, made up her mind that in her she would have a rival,
whom it would be her business to humiliate. It would, however, be easy
enough for her to hold her own against a mere schoolgirl, she thought,
and from the very first, whilst preserving an appearance of smiling
good humour, this clever woman of the world succeeded in trying Miss
Carnelly's patience almost beyond endurance.
Sometimes Lady Carnelly would contrive to make Ida appear ridiculous,
at others to sting her to the quick by some trifling remark which had
none the less been carefully studied, though seemingly carelessly
uttered.
Then, when the girl, whose temper was naturally quick, was driven to
retort, or, while remaining silent, had hard work to restrain her
tears, Lady Carnelly would profess to soothe her like a petted child.
Or, if Ida left the apartment, she would lament the hasty temper
which rendered her poor sister-in-law unable to bear the least bit of
raillery without flying into a passion.
"I am positively afraid to speak to the child," she would say. "First
she flies up in this absurd way, and then makes herself ill by
fretting. I am pretty even-tempered myself, or I could not bear with
Ida. Being Lord Carnelly's sister, I am naturally most anxious for her
to be comfortable, and feel a great delicacy in dealing with her. If
she were my own—" And then the speaker would shrug her shoulders, and
leave her hearers to guess the rest.
Looking, as she did, indulgence and good humour personified, she always
left the impression that she was the injured, worried individual, and
Ida the one who was always meeting grievances half-way, and destroying
the peace of the household by her childish petulance.
What could her hearers do but condole with her on having such a wilful
charge? And then Lady Carnelly would wax pitiful over herself, and sigh
and bemoan her responsibility.
"If I were older it would be different, you know. But it is a very
serious matter to have the guardianship of a sister-in-law so near
one's own age, so ignorant of the ways of society, and yet so
self-willed."
Somebody ventured to say, "I thought the colonel was his sister's
guardian?"
"In the eye of the law he is, of course. But who does not know that
where a girl is question, the lady who has charge of her is the real
guardian, on whom rests the great weight of responsibility?"
Lady Carnelly's hearers could hardly help assenting. Did she, however,
deceive them? Probably she scarcely expected to do so. Certainly there
was one who saw through her actions and divined her motive. This was
Dr. Andrew Crawford, who, from the first, had deeply regretted that
this innocent, tender young creature should have no more sympathetic
female friend about her than Lady Carnelly.
"She can sway most of her immediate intimates," thought Dr. Crawford.
"Her position as the wife of a man of title and colonel of the regiment
gives her so much influence, of a sort. Both men and women are afraid
of offending her, for she is clever into the bargain. I pity the girl,
poor thing! Her brother will never see what is going on, and, if I
judge Miss Carnelly rightly, she will not be the one to tell."
Lady Carnelly's plan succeeded perfectly, and Ida gradually withdrew
herself more and more out of her sister's little world.
Happily for the girl, she was fond of children. A loving nature must
have some object on which to lavish its wealth. It cannot even be
contented without some measure of self-sacrifice, so Ida made the
nursery her frequent refuge. Her brother's two eldest children had been
sent to England before she left it, but there were four still at home.
In the little ones she found objects to occupy and interest her, and
she was more really happy with them than when under the chaperonage of
their mother.
Lord Carnelly often urged Ida to accept invitations, but the moment his
wife professed to second him, the girl would shrink away, and say, with
truth, that she preferred remaining at home. Then Lady Carnelly would
laugh, and in a playful tone accuse her of obstinacy.
"She will have her own way, Lindsay," she would say. "If I ask Ida
to do a thing, that is quite enough to make her choose the opposite
course. You are apt to fancy that it is my fault your sister stays so
much at home, but I hope you now see for yourself that such is not the
case."
Before the sentence was finished, Ida would be out of hearing.
On one of these occasions Lord Carnelly looked regretfully after her
retreating figure, and said, "How much the child is altered! She used
to be considered so very sweet-tempered. In fact, if anything, too
easily swayed, particularly by those whom she loved, or any one who was
kind to her. School life and discipline often alter girls, especially
if those in authority do not study the dispositions of their pupils.
Ida always seemed happy at school, and whilst she reckoned on being
with us here, she left her teachers with great regret."
"Girls may be changed during their school-days, but I presume they are
sent to school in order that they may alter for the better. You seem to
insinuate that if Ida has changed, it must be for the worse, seeing she
was so very amiable before," replied Lady Carnelly, with ill-concealed
scorn.
"I did not mean to convey such an idea, Beatrice; I only tried to
recall to mind what my sister was as a child, and to account for the
great difference you seem to find in her. I am sorry, dear, that she
should be a cause of annoyance and anxiety to you."
"I suppose it must be because I have not been kind enough to Ida,
or else that I have not yet had time to make myself sufficiently
acquainted with her disposition to manage her properly. But she is the
first grown-up baby with whom I have had to do."
"Are you not rather hard on Ida?" asked Lord Carnelly, his face showing
how much he was pained by his wife's words.
"Hard! I think few girls have so much freedom as your sister enjoys,
and probably that is one reason why she appreciates her position so
little. Coming here straight from school life, she cannot complain of
undue restraint. She is invited wherever I am, and has the option of
refusing or accepting, as she may think proper. She has the position of
an independent woman, though only a girl. And on the other hand, if the
least thing puts her out, she acts like a perfect child. The fact is,
she has too much indulgence, too many good things."
"I do not think she avails herself of her opportunities to any
unreasonable extent. On the contrary, she refuses two out of every
three invitations."
"Precisely so. Like a child again, Ida scarcely knows what she wants.
Too many sweets spoil the appetite, and the provoking part is, that the
girl refuses most of the invitations which any on but herself would
consider it a privilege to accept. She will offend the very people who
are inclined for our sakes to show her special kindness. Ida never
thinks of yielding to my advice in such matters. But it is only what
might be expected. I always told you, Lindsay, that I was not old
enough to take charge of a grown-up girl like Ida. It is a pity you
did not place her in the hands of some family connection, and let her
remain in England."
There was no near relative to whom Ida could have been entrusted, and
Lady Carnelly knew it. A loving woman would never have uttered such
a suggestion when there were but the brother and sister near of kin,
truly attached to each other, and wishing to be together.
Her husband, however, took a humorous view of these last words, and
with a hearty laugh, inquired whether she thought a residence with two
ancient maiden great-aunts—the only persons whom he could call to mind
at the moment—would have been quite to the taste of a girl like Ida.
"You always turn things into ridicule, Lindsay. How do I know what
would have suited your sister? Perhaps the great-aunts might have known
better what to do with her than I do. She is not satisfied here, where
her circumstances are so different. However, I shall not make myself
miserable about the whims of a girl who does not know when she is well
off."
Without waiting for a reply, the speaker left the apartment and her
husband.
Lord Carnelly pondered, and hardly knew what to say or do. To him, Ida
seemed only improved since those early days when she had been the pet
and darling of her grown-up brother and their parents. To himself she
was always most affectionate. When in his presence she readily agreed
to any reasonable wish, and to the children she was at all times loving
and tender. Indeed, her sweetness and patience towards the little
people touched the heart of the loving father, and tightened the bond
between him and his sister. Surely she could not be so very different
when out of his sight!
Lord Carnelly, after much cogitation, came to the conclusion that it
was often difficult for two ladies, however individually lovable, to
agree together, and he trusted that time would smooth differences, and
make his wife and sister better friends.
When Lady Carnelly re-entered the room, he spoke soothingly to her, and
tried to take the peacemaker's part.
"I am sure," he said, "you are both kind and very indulgent to Ida. You
wish to make her happy, but perhaps, owing to your surroundings and
hers having long been different, you scarcely understand each other.
You will be patient with her for my sake as well as her own, will you
not, Beatrice? I have wife and children as well as my sister. Ida has
only her brother, until she learns that in you she has a sister also."
Lord Carnelly did not see the look of good-humoured contempt on his
wife's face, for it was turned away, but at this moment the subject of
the conversation entered.
"Have you decided to go with me, after all?" asked Lady Carnelly, who
was in evening dress and prepared for a visit.
"No, thank you, Beatrice; I prefer remaining at home," replied Ida.
Lady Carnelly glanced significantly at her husband, as if to say,
"You see for yourself." Then, answering Ida, she said, "Take your own
way, my dear. I wished you to come, and wasted a great many words in
trying to persuade you. But no one shall say that you make a martyr of
yourself to please me."
Then with a light laugh the speaker went off to keep her engagement.
[Illustration]