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MY LITTLE SISTER
_BY THE SAME AUTHOR_
GEORGE MANDEVILLE'S HUSBAND
THE NEW MOON
THE OPEN QUESTION
BELOW THE SALT
THE MAGNETIC NORTH
THE DARK LANTERN
COME AND FIND ME
(PUBLISHED BY WILLIAM HEINEMANN)
THE CONVERT (METHUEN)
VOTES FOR WOMEN: A Play in Three Acts
(MILLS & BOON)
THE FLORENTINE FRAME
(JOHN MURRAY)
WOMEN'S SECRET
(WOMAN'S PRESS, LINCOLN'S INN HOUSE, KINGSWAY)
WHY?
(WOMAN'S PRESS, LINCOLN'S INN HOUSE, KINGSWAY)
UNDER HIS ROOF
(WOMAN WRITER'S LEAGUE, 12 HENRIETTA ST.)
MY LITTLE SISTER
BY
ELIZABETH ROBINS
[Decoration]
NEW YORK
DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY
1913
COPYRIGHT, 1912, 1913
BY DODD, MEAD & COMPANY
PUBLISHED, JANUARY, 1913
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I FIRST IMPRESSIONS 1
II LESSONS 6
III A THUNDER-STORM 13
IV NIMBUS 16
V THE MOTHER'S VOW 24
VI MARTHA'S GOING--YET REMAINING 33
VII A SHOCK 45
VIII ANNAN 51
IX ERIC 59
X THE BUNGALOW 68
XI AWAKENING 83
XII OUR FIRST BALL 94
XIII THE CLOUD AGAIN 108
XIV "WHERE IS BETTINA?" 120
XV MY SECRET 137
XVI THE YACHTING PARTY 150
XVII THE EMERALD PENDANT 161
XVIII RANNY 169
XIX ANOTHER GIRL 178
XX TWO INVITATIONS AND A CRISIS 186
XXI AUNT JOSEPHINE'S LETTER 198
XXII PLANTING THYME 209
XXIII ERIC'S SECRET 215
XXIV MADAME AURORE 224
XXV GOING TO LONDON 244
XXVI AUNT JOSEPHINE 253
XXVII THE DINNER PARTY 266
XXVIII THE GREY HAWK 287
XXIX WHERE? 303
XXX THE BLUNT LEAD-PENCIL 310
XXXI THE MAN WITH THE SWORD 322
XXXII DARKNESS 329
XXXIII A STRANGE STEP 336
XXXIV THE END WHICH WAS THE BEGINNING 341
MY LITTLE SISTER
CHAPTER I
FIRST IMPRESSIONS
She is very fair, my little sister.
I mean, not only she is good to look upon. I mean that she is white and
golden, and always seemed to bring a shining where she went.
* * * * *
I have not been able, I see, to set down these few sentences without
touching the quick.
I have used the present and then fallen to the past. I say "is" and
then, she "seemed." And I do not know whether I should have written
"was" or "seems."
And that, in sum, is my story.
* * * * *
We were both so young when we went to Duncombe that even I cannot
clearly remember what life was like before.
Whether there was really some image left upon my mind of India, or my
father in a cocked hat, looking very grand on a horse, or whether these
were a child's idea of what a cavalry officer's daughter must have seen,
I cannot tell. I do not think I imagined the confused picture of dark
faces and a ship.
My first clear impression of the world is the same as Bettina's. A
house, which we did not yet know as small, set in a place which still is
wide and green.
As far back as we remember it at all, we remember roaming this expanse;
always, in the beginning, with our mother. A region where we played with
the infinite possibilities of existence--from the discovery of a
wheat-ear's hidden nest, to the apparition of a pack of hounds on the
horizon, followed by men in red coats and ladies in sober habit, on
horses that came galloping out of the vague, up over the green rim of
the world, jumping the five-barred gate into Little Klaus's meadow, and
vanishing in a pleasant fanfare of horn, of baying and hallooing,
leaving us standing there in a stirred and wonderful stillness.
We seldom met anyone afoot in those days except, now and then, the
cottager who lived in a thatched hut down in one of the multitude of
hollows. We called him "Kleiner Klaus," because he had one horse of his
own, and because sometimes in the paddock four others grazed and kicked
their heels. And he was little and shrewd-looking, and used to smile at
Bettina.
To be sure, everyone smiled at Bettina.
And Bettina would show her dimple, and nod her shining curls, and pass
by like a small Princess, scattering gold of gladness and goodwill.
Though we children looked on Kleiner Klaus as a friend, years went by
before we dared so much as say good-morning to him. Anyone else found at
large in our green dominions was an enemy.
So much we learned before we learned to speak our mother tongue, and all
in that first lesson, so far as I was concerned. A lesson typified in
the figure hurrying to the rescue down the flagged path toward the gate.
My mother!... who had moved through all our days with changeless calm.
And now she was running so fast that her thick hair was loosened. A lock
blew across her face.
Melanie, our nurse, stood inside the gate with Bettina in her arms. A
lady leaned over, asking the way to the Dew Pond. Melanie could not even
understand the question. But I knew all about the Dew Pond. I had been
there with my mother to look for caddis flies. So I pointed to the
knoll against the sky, and stammered a direction. Bettina was of no use
to anyone looking for the Dew Pond. But she quickly took her place as
the centre of interest. All that she did to make good her Divine Right
was to show her dimple, and point a meaning finger at the jewelled watch
pinned to the stranger's gown. The lady held out her hands to our baby.
Bettina consented to be taken nearer to the sparkling toy.
Then our mother, as I say, hurrying out of the house as though it were
on fire, taking the baby and the nurse and me away in such haste, I had
no time to finish telling the lady how to find the Dew Pond.
I heard my mother, who was commonly so gentle, telling the nurse in
stern staccato French if ever it happened again she would be sent away.
Never, never was she to allow anyone to touch our baby. Had the strange
woman kissed Bettina?
The new nurse lied.
And I said no word.
But the impression was stamped deep. No one outside the family at
Duncombe was ever to kiss Bettina. Or even to kiss me--which I remember
thinking a pity.
Moreover, I perceived that if, through the ignorance or the wickedness
of stranger-folk, this thing were to happen again, one would never dare
confess it.
For such a catastrophe the far-sighted Bon Dieu had provided the refuge
of the lie.