"Winifred," said Mrs Balderson, the next morning but one, at the
breakfast-table, "here is something that will please you, I think," and
she held out to Miss Maryon a letter she had just opened.
It was from Lady Campion, asking them--the sisters and their hostess,
or, if Mrs Balderson were otherwise engaged, the Maryon girls by
themselves--to tea that same day, to meet Miss Norreys!
Winifred's eyes sparkled.
"Oh, how delightful!" she said. "How kind of her to have remembered
about it!"
But Mrs Balderson's face had clouded over with an expression of
perplexity.
"It is unlucky," she said. "I had forgotten for the moment that we were
engaged to go with my cousins, the Nestertons, to the Exhibition of
Embroidery in Street, and to tea with them afterwards. It _is_ a pity.
Mrs Nesterton took some trouble to arrange it, and it is the last day
of the Exhibition."
"Oh, but it really doesn't matter," said Miss Maryon, and on Mrs
Balderson's looking up with some surprise--for she had supposed that
Winifred was exceedingly anxious to meet the woman she had so
admired--"I mean," she went on calmly, "I don't at all mind missing the
Exhibition, and I really don't know the Nestertons, you see, dear Mrs
Balderson."
Mrs Balderson did not feel very "dear" at that moment.
"There are other things to be considered," she said, stiffly. "You
_were_ very eager to see the Exhibition, and I cannot be rude to my
cousins, whether you know them or not, my dear Winifred. Besides, there
is your sister as well as yourself. What do you say, Celia?"
It was new for Winifred to take in that Celia could have a voice of her
own apart from hers; it was new for Celia to realise the fact. But she
saw that Mrs Balderson was annoyed; she had infinitely greater power of
putting herself in another's place than was possessed by her elder
sister.
"I should be very sorry not to see the embroidery," she replied,
quickly, her face flushing a little, "besides it would never do to be so
rude to Mrs Nesterton."
"I think Lady Campion deserves some consideration too," said Winifred,
unyieldingly. "She is a very busy person, and she has evidently planned
this on purpose to please m--us. And Miss Norreys must be a still
busier person. I don't see that Mrs Nesterton _could_ be offended if
it were all explained to her."
There was something in what she said as regarded Lady Campion and Miss
Norreys. But Mrs Balderson, for once, was really vexed.
"Engagements are engagements," she said, in a dry tone not usual with
her.
Celia's face was still flushed. If only she could give Winifred a hint
to be more deferential! She was so used to taking the lead at home,
thought Celia, she could not help that authoritative manner.
Eric Balderson had watched the breakfast-table drama with slightly
cynical interest. It gratified him to see Miss Maryon showing herself
to disadvantage. He did not like her. But he loved his mother, and he
liked Celia. He did not wish them to be worried. And he was of a
kindlier nature than he allowed to himself. So he came to the rescue.
"Can't you make a compromise?" he said. "Supposing Miss Maryon goes to
Lady Campion's, and you, mother, and Miss Celia Maryon keep to the
Nesterton engagement? You might call for Miss Maryon on your way back,
which would give Ce--Miss Celia Maryon," with a slight twinkle of
amusement in his eyes at his own involuntary freedom, "a good chance of
seeing Miss Norreys too. And,"--with an obtrusively ponderous sigh--"if
it would smooth down Cousin Barbara, I certainly haven't called there
for an immense time. I might--there's no saying to what lengths the
spirit of self-sacrifice won't carry me--I _might_ meet you myself at
the Exhibition, and go back to the Nestertons' with you."
Mrs Balderson's face cleared. She hated being vexed with anybody; it
was quite against her nature, if not her principles; she was already
regretting her cold words to Winifred, and was pleased to find a
consistent way out of the difficulty.
"That would be _very_ nice," she said, heartily. "The Nestertons would
be so pleased to have you, Eric, that I daresay they would scarcely
regret even Winifred."
It was hardly in human nature to have refrained from this little hit.
"Exactly," said Winifred, coolly. "They can't miss me when they don't
know me. Very likely they will not even notice I am not there."
Her coolness struck Celia as it had never done before. She would have
given worlds to hint to her sister that something in the way of thanks
for falling in with her wishes, to both her hostess and her son, would
not have been unbecoming. But the suggestion would have been thrown
away upon Miss Maryon, who was a striking example of the possibility of
not seeing what she did not want to see. A word timidly hazarded by
Celia on the subject, when they found themselves alone for a moment a
short time afterwards, showed the younger sister that any such effort
was better unmade.
The afternoon's programme was adhered to, Celia setting off with Mrs
Balderson to the "rendezvous" at the Exhibition, in apparently great
content, for, if she were secretly disappointed at the small chance of
her having more than a glimpse of Hertha Norreys, she was too unselfish
and too sensible of what was due to her kind old friend to show it.
And at about a quarter to five, Winifred, in happy independence, and
blissfully unconscious of having in any way fallen short in
consideration of others or deference to their wishes, found herself
making her way into Lady Campion's drawing-room.
Her heart--for she was a girlish creature after all--beat considerably
faster than usual: much faster, in all probability, than if she had been
about to be introduced to some personage of exalted rank or social
position. Her short-sightedness added somewhat also to her unusual
embarrassment. For the room was fitfully, rather than dimly, lighted,
after the fashion of drawing-rooms of the present day; and Winifred was
used to old-fashioned lamps and white-panelled wainscoting, reflecting
the clear, generally diffused radiance. And there seemed to her to be a
whole crowd of people sitting or standing about, as somewhat awkwardly,
only just avoiding a catastrophe of some kind, she threaded her way
through the too abundant pretty things on every side to the lady of the
house.
She was not annoyed or ashamed of herself, however. She was too much in
earnest about meeting Miss Norreys to think about herself. So there was
real simplicity in her bearing, though, for once in her life, she looked
decidedly timid. And the look added wonderfully to her charm--in some
eyes at least.
It is to be doubted if Hertha would ever have "taken to" the girl as she
did, but for the gentleness and appeal about her, this first time they
met.
For Lady Campion had found time to whisper a word or two to her friend
when Miss Maryon's name was announced.
"This is one of the little country girls--_the_ one," she said, "who
fell so desperately in love with you the other day, as I was telling
you. Be nice to her, poor dear, won't you? Don't be stuck-up and
stand-off."
For both these dreadful things Miss Norreys _could_ be, said rumour--and
rumour sometimes speaks truly, on occasion. But not when she was sorry
for any one, not when her large, pitiful heart was touched; then no
woman could be sweeter and gentler and less alarming than Hertha.
And her first glance at Winifred made her sorry for her. Lady Campion's
"poor dear" had misled Miss Norreys. She had no idea that the girl was
one of the prosperous of the earth, and Winifred was plainly dressed.
She was neat, but that was about all. Her morning attire left more to
be desired than her evening toilettes, which, though a trifle heavy,
perhaps, and on the outside of simplicity, were yet, as I said, of rich
material, whereas her country ideas had not risen far as regarded the
tailor-made tweeds and black or blue serges which were her usual winter
garments.
And the room was imperfectly lighted. All that Miss Norreys saw was a
girl of not more than average height and slightly square build, standing
with perplexed eyes and an unmistakable air of strangeness, looking
about for Lady Campion.
The face was a good one, good in form and pleasant in colouring; the
eyes, despite their bewilderment, were clear and sweet; the whole was
sweeter than Winifred's face was wont to be, thanks to the passing touch
of wistfulness and perplexity.
In a moment Lady Campion was greeting her, exerting the charm of manner
on which she not unjustly prided herself, to make the girl feel at her
ease.
And soon Winifred found herself replying, with her usual readiness, to
her hostess's inquiries as to what had become of Mrs Balderson and
"your sister."
"They are coming later," said Miss Maryon. "They have gone first to the
Lace Exhibition, in Street, and then to the Nestertons. It was an old
engagement, but Mrs Balderson will certainly call here on her way
home."
"It was very good of _you_ to come," said Lady Campion. "It would have
been too bad if you had all failed us."
"I was only too delighted," said Winifred. "I am so glad to see you
again, and,"--with a not unbecoming hesitation and rising colour, as she
glanced towards where she had, by this time, discovered Hertha--"you
know I am _so_ grateful to you for giving me the chance of meeting Miss
Norreys. It was so very good of you to remember my wish."
That Lady Campion was _still_ remembering it she felt doubtful, as other
guests came crowding round her, and she showed signs of moving away.
"I must say it right out, or she will forget to introduce me," thought
Winifred, with her customary determination.
But Lady Campion was not quite so flighty and unreliable as she got the
credit of being. And she was really good-natured; she rather liked
Winifred's downrightness. With a hand on her arm, she gently drew the
girl forward towards the couch where sat Miss Norreys, a not
uninterested spectator of the little drama.
"Lady Campion _is_ a kind woman," she said to herself. For there had
been times when she was inclined to judge the lady in question too
severely. With all her gifts, Hertha did not possess the capricious
power so often found where one could least expect it, so even more
frequently absent where one would have made sure of it--of correct,
almost unfailing discernment of character. She was often mistaken, and
being by nature much more enthusiastic than she allowed to appear, she
had often been disappointed. And this had resulted in a certain
hardening of her sympathies, which one felt to be perplexing.
_Sometimes_, too, she had found herself obliged to reverse an
unfavourable impression--a demand of honesty which brings with it some
sting of mortification, interfering with the softening effect of what
should be a gratifying discovery.
But hers was a character to mellow as she grew older. And with her a
spark of pity was at all times, enough to ensure a glow of kindly
interest.
This was what happened just now. She rose from her seat as Lady Campion
and Winifred approached, and held out her hand with ready graciousness
to the--as she imagined--somewhat shrinking girl, who was feeling
herself, no doubt, strange and out of her element.
"It would have been kinder to have asked her by herself--or at least not
among quite such a crowd," she thought.
And to any one knowing Winifred, there would have been something almost
amusing in the half-protecting tone with which Miss Norreys at once
addressed her. But if love is blind, so is youthful enthusiasm, and
Winifred was truly enthusiastic about the young singer. More than this,
that any one could by any possibility look upon _her_ as an object of
protection or pity had never dawned upon the girl, whose self-confidence
and matter-of-fact preoccupation with her own ideas often dulled her
perceptions. If she noticed any special warmth in Miss Norreys'
greeting, she put it down, though perhaps scarcely in so many words, to
the favourable impression she herself made on her new acquaintance.
"We took to each other from the first moment," she said to Celia
afterwards in describing the meeting.
"Will you come and sit down by me for a little--there is plenty of room
on the sofa?" said Hertha, and Winifred delightedly obeyed. "Lady
Campion tells me," she went on, "that this is, practically, almost your
first visit to London. I think I envy you."
"Do you?" said Winifred, not quite sure of her meaning. "I--I really
don't know. We live quite, _quite_ in the country, you see. It is, of
course, very interesting to see London for the first time when one is
old enough to take it in better, but--"
"That is what I meant," interrupted Miss Norreys, pleased at being
understood. "I did not mean--at least I was not just then thinking of
the other side--the delights of true country life, of `quite, _quite_ in
the country' life," with a little smile.
"Oh!" said Winifred with a sigh. "If you knew what it was--all the year
round--so monotonous, so _narrow_. I feel, since coming here, as if all
my time hitherto had been wasted."
"Poor child!" thought Miss Norreys, "a country parson's daughter, I
think Helena Campion said and, _of course_, poor. I can fancy the life
must be rather terrible--grinding away to make both ends meet. Probably
a lot of younger brothers and sisters. And she is evidently a clever
girl--a girl of ideas."
"It is never too late to mend," she said, cheerfully. "You will go home
enriched by a store of new thoughts and knowledge. I doubt if you would
have benefited in the same way had you seen more of this wonderful--yes,
it is wonderful--modern London life when you were younger. Though you
are very young still."
"No," said Winifred, quaintly, with a little shake of her head, "I am
not very young. And--I have come up to London with an object. I have
waited so long, and I have tried to be patient! But now, at last, I do
trust I am to find an opening. I _must_ get something to do--a career.
It was surely a good omen that I should have seen you, Miss Norreys, the
very first day, for I feel you will sympathise with me--you who have
risen above the stupid old-fashioned trammels so grandly. Of course I
know there can be no comparison--you are a genius, _I_ have only very
ordinary powers very imperfectly trained. But I have determination and
courage. I feel it is in me to do _something_--not to be condemned to
the terribly narrow life, which is all I have to look to unless I
succeed."
She spoke so rapidly, and yet so earnestly, that Hertha could not
attempt to stop her. Yet it was hardly the place or time for a personal
discussion of the kind. Miss Norreys felt touched, and yet a trifle
annoyed. It was scarcely fair of Lady Campion, who must have known all
about this girl, to have encouraged her to thus appeal to her, a
stranger, for advice and assistance. For, in plain English, these, no
doubt, were what she was in want of.
"And what can I do for her?" thought Hertha. "My world is the musical
world. She does not speak of any special gifts in that direction. Yet,
poor girl, evidently she is in the right about doing _something_. I do
sympathise with that. If I had had no music in me, no voice, or no
distinct talent, still I could have done _something_, rather than drag
on, striving to make both ends meet, with no energy left for better
things, as some poor women do."
These reflections passed through her mind, softening her momentary
irritation. But for a few minutes she sat silent.
Winifred watched her intently.
"You will advise me?" she said at last, in a half-whisper. "You do
sympathise with me?"
Miss Norreys roused herself.
"My dear Miss Maryon," she said, "of course I sympathise with you; I
understand the position only too well, and I feel for you very much.
But what can I do? You have no marked musical talent, I suppose; the
only advice of mine really worth anything, for it is backed by my own
experience, would refer to a musical career."
Winifred shook her head.
"No," she said. "I am not musical. I wish I were--at least--no, I am
not sure that that is the gift I covet most. Yet, do not misunderstand
me," she added hastily; "I _love_ music. When listening to some music,
when listening to your voice, I feel as if my soul were awakening, as if
it had found itself."
She was in earnest--her eyes glowed, her really fine features seemed
full of emotion; yet, was it her extreme, though unconscious, egotism
that slightly repelled Miss Norreys?
"I wish she were not so high-flown," she thought. "Still, she is not
affected: she does not mean to be so, at any rate. And she is candid.
But I do love simplicity. I don't think she would ever do to be a
governess, but probably she has no thought of so commonplace a career."
"Then what--in what direction do you mean to turn?" she asked aloud.
"You have thought too much about it not to have some definite ideas?"
"I have several," Winifred replied eagerly. "I ask nothing better than
to tell you all. And what I thought you would advise me about was as to
living in London: I must arrange that almost first of anything. Don't
you think I am quite old enough to live alone?"
"Certainly not," Miss Norreys replied, with a smile. "Besides, you
would find it very expensive if you care about any sort of comfort."
"I don't," said Winifred, confidently. "But--well, yes, I suppose I
must consider it to some extent, for the sake of my people, you see--
and--if you really think I can't live alone--"
But at that moment Hertha saw approaching her a great friend of hers--a
man to whom she was bound by long-standing ties of affection and
gratitude, but whom, owing to his and her own busy lives, she met less
frequently than she would have wished. She turned to Winifred--
"I must speak to Mr--to the man who had just come in," she said,
half-rising from her seat.
"Some other time, perhaps, Miss Maryon--"
"How tiresome!" said Winifred. "Just when we were getting into a really
nice talk. Cannot you just say a word or two to him, and come back
again, Miss Norreys?"
But Hertha was on her feet by this time.
"We must arrange some other day. I will write to you," she said,
hurriedly, eager not to miss the pleasant chance before her.
And Winifred remained alone on the sofa. She was satisfied on the
whole; she had made a beginning. Miss Norreys was appreciative, and she
felt sure of her ground with her.
"If such a thing could be as my living with _her_!" thought Winifred.
"That would be ideal. Whatever work I take up, I could manage to fit it
in to such an arrangement. And if I decide on writing as my principal
occupation, of course I shall be very independent--pen and ink can do
their work anywhere."
She watched Miss Norreys and the tall stranger--a man of forty or
thereabouts--slightly grey, and with a somewhat peculiar stoop.
"How good she is!" thought Winifred; "I can see he is boring her. I
wonder what they are talking about."
Better, perhaps, for her that she could not hear. "I did not interrupt
you, I hope," the new-comer was saying. "You seemed rather engrossed
with that little person on the sofa. But I came here on purpose to see
you."
"I hoped, too, I should see _you_," she replied. "No, the girl over
there is a stranger to me, Helena Campion introduced us--rather rashly,
for the poor thing imagines I can help her, and I really can't. She has
to make her way in the world, and wants advice. I am sorry for her,
but--I am really so busy."
"My dear, you must not take any more burdens upon you. You really must
_not_," said her old friend, decidedly. "What does the girl want? She
is a lady, I suppose--well educated? I might introduce her to the
`Reasonable Help Society.' They are increasing their staff, and she
might get a small salary."
Miss Norreys looked and felt grateful.
"It would be most good of you," she said. "I _should_ be glad to help
her, or, indeed, any one so placed, but the little I can do is in my own
line, and I am overwhelmed with applications for assistance and advice
in that direction."
Mr Montague nodded sympathisingly.
"No one would believe it," continued Hertha, with a half-rueful smile,
"I could easily spend all my time in answering letters, trying songs,
listening to would-be vocalists, and where would my own work be then?
Yet the service which each asks--the individual service--seems so small.
But how they mount up!"
"It is the same in every department," her friend replied. "Once your
name gets before the world, people seem to think you are common
property, and have no right to your own time and strength. Literary
people are even more bothered than you, if that is any comfort to you.
For it is not every one that can deceive him or herself into imagining
they possess musical gifts, whereas _everybody_ nowadays has a try at
authorship."
And if Hertha's smile had been rueful, Mr Montague's was grim.
"This girl is _not_ musical, Heaven be praised!" Miss Norreys replied.
"I rejoice to hear it--for your sake," he answered, fervently. "Tell me
her name," and he drew out a tiny note-book.
"Maryon--Miss Maryon--that is all I know," said Hertha.
"Miss Marion," he wrote, "Marion _what_?"
"Oh, it is her surname--M-a-r-y, not `i'," she corrected. "Lady Campion
mentioned it in her note. A Miss Maryon who was dying to meet me, or
some nonsense."
"It is too bad," Mr Montague repeated. "But I will see what I can do,
and she must call at the office to be examined as to her capabilities.
`Maryon,' an uncommon name. There are some rich people--a very old
family--Maryons down in Brakeshire."
"Ah, she can't belong to them, poor girl," said Hertha.
And then, feeling she had done her duty, she and Mr Montague turned to
other things.