It was a very subdued, a very humble, a touchingly affectionate
Etheldreda who made her appearance at The Meads a few days later, and
her mother and sisters regarded her demeanour with anxious curiosity.
"Poor darling, poor darling! She is so sweet and quiet--I'm glad, of
course; _very_ glad," repeated Mrs Saxon, with a forced emphasis, which
seemed to show that she needed to convince herself of her own sincerity,
"but it seems so short a time to have brought about such a change. I'm
afraid she has been unhappy!"
Rowena stared thoughtfully at the fire. Her face looked older, the
cheeks less rounded, the red lips dropping at the corner. She was a
beautiful girl, but the old sparkle had given place to an air of weary
endurance sad to see on a young face. At the moment when she had
expected most of life, she had been obliged to give up her dreams, and
to accept in their place a monotonous, uneventful existence, which left
too much time for the indulgence of her own thoughts. The weather was
depressing, visitors few and far between, and, from a girl's point of
view, lacking in interest when they did arrive. Maud was stupid and
obstinate, Dreda and the boys at school, and the parents depressed.
Lessons, walking, and practising occupied the days until four o'clock,
then the curtains were drawn, the lamps lit, and each afternoon afresh
Rowena counted up the long hours which must elapse before bedtime, and
asked herself how she could get through the time. Poor Rowena! She had
counted the days until Dreda's return, and now felt yet another pang of
depression at meeting this subdued edition of her lively sister. She
sighed in melancholy, long-drawn fashion, while Maud wriggled and
grimaced.
"I expect she's _misunderstood_. There's lots of people are, besides
the book. I know One who is. She's misunderstood by people who think
they know best, and are always scolding and finding fault. `'Tis better
far to rule by love than fear.' _I_ shall, when I'm big. You could do
something then, but when people are always grumbling, it's no use
trying. I expect Dreda has some one like that, and it's broken her
spirit. If you don't let her leave, she'll pine away and die!"
"Is that what you contemplate doing yourself beneath the persecution of
the people, or person, to whom you so eloquently refer? I must give you
a lesson in nominatives to-morrow, my dear. They are evidently another
point which is misunderstood," retorted Rowena with cutting composure.
It was one of the little encounters which was daily, almost hourly,
taking place between the two sisters, whose widely differing
dispositions seemed to jar more than ever in the close relationship of
teacher and pupil. Mrs Saxon was greatly troubled by the continual
friction, and she, like her daughter, had been anxiously looking forward
to Dreda's visit as a healthful enlivening influence which could not
fail to do good. And now Dreda was so mysteriously subdued and silent!
What had happened to change the child so strangely in six short weeks?
As for Miss Dreda herself, she was not only conscious of, but felt an
acute enjoyment in observing the anxiety of her relatives on her behalf,
and, like a true actress, warmed to her part under the consciousness of
an audience. The more intently did her mother's eyes regard her, the
more meek and downcast became her air; she figuratively turned the other
cheek to Maud's tactless sallies, and played humble handmaid to Rowena's
lightest wish. For one whole day--and then of a sudden weariness fell
upon her. She reflected with horror that only two more days of the
exeat remained, and determined to waste not another moment in repining.
Within five minutes' time from the forming of this decision Maud was
dumbfounded to find herself brutally snubbed, while a request from
Rowena was received with a callous exhortation to "Do it yourself!"
"I was wondering how long it would last," said Rowena, with a smile.
"It was really an admirable impersonation, but what was the idea, Dreda?
I can't quite see what you were driving at, but I suppose there was
some reason behind!"
"Yes, there was; several reasons! I've recovered, Rowena, because I am
young and elastic, and time is a wonderful healer--but I've been through
awful difficulties! Treachery and humiliation, and things turning to
dust and ashes when you expected to enjoy them most. Talk of
martyrdoms!"--Dreda rolled her eyes to the ceiling--"I look back, my
dear, to the time when I lived quietly at home, and I can't believe it
was the same person!"
"Rubbish! Bunkum! Bosh! What high-falutin' you talk, Dreda! You're
not changed a bit, and I'm glad of it, for, oh, my dear, I _have_ missed
you! I've been _so_ dull! Come down from your stilts and talk
sensibly. I'm aching for a good old talk."
Dreda beamed with delight. Here was appreciation! No sign of
superiority, no condescension from a young lady in long frocks and done-
up hair towards a schoolgirl fledgling, but an open avowal of need, an
invitation to a heart-to-heart talk on a basis of affectionate equality.
She clasped her hands together in the intensity of her delight, and
hitched her chair nearer her sister.
"Yes, yes, let's talk, let's--let's _grumble_! We're both in the dumps,
and it's so cheering to grumble and get it off your mind. Go on, you're
the eldest--you've the first turn. Is it Maud?"
"Oh, Maud! Maud is enough to drive anyone crazy; but she's only a
part."
"What's the rest?"
Rowena leant her head on her hand and stared out of the window. The
garden was dank and deserted, the country beyond showed no sign of
habitation; the wind moaned among the tall, bare trees.
"Dreda," she asked unexpectedly, "am I pretty?"
Dreda's grey eyes widened with surprise.
"What in the world has that to do with it?" she asked curiously.
"Pretty? Yes, of course. Awfully, when you're in a good temper. We
all are. It's in the family. Do you know what Susan calls us?--the
youngest Currant Bun, you know--`The Story-Book Saxons.' Isn't it a
jolly name? Because, she says, we look as if things would happen to us
like they do to people in a book."
"Well, they don't to me, anyway. That's just it! What's the use of
being pretty if one is buried alive? Think of it, Dreda! nothing has
happened all these six long weeks, except old ladies coming to call, and
going to tea with mother at the vicarage. I should think there never
was such a dull place. We didn't notice before, because it was holiday
time, and the house was full, but it's awful for a permanency. The
nearest interesting girl lives four miles off, the others are too boring
for words. I asked one of them if there were ever any dances, and she
laughed and asked whom we should dance with. There are only three young
men within a radius of miles. There might perhaps be a Hunt Ball at C--
next autumn. ... And I thought I should have a London season!"
Dreda meditated, hunched up in her chair, her chin resting upon her
hand. For the moment the scarcity of dances did not affect herself, but
she loyally endeavoured to regard the situation from her sister's point
of view.
"Are the three young men _nice_?"
"Oh, my dear, what does it matter? There aren't enough of them to
count. Bob Ainslie is one; he used to come over to umpire for the boys'
cricket matches. You remember him--freckles and stick-out ears. He has
a moustache now. I expect he's quite nice, but he is _not_ exciting.
Another is Frank Ross, at the Manor House--I believe he is generally in
town. And that nice old Mrs Seton has a son, too. He's handsome; I've
seen him riding along the lanes; but, of course, he doesn't pay
afternoon calls. What are you to do in a neighbourhood where there are
no nice girls, and two and a half young men?"
"Improve your mind!" returned Dreda glibly. "Providence evidently
doesn't mean you to move in the social round. Perhaps if you had, you'd
have grown proud and worldly. I think myself you _would_, for I saw
symptoms of it before we left town. Perhaps you've got to be
chastened--" Dreda stopped short with a hasty remembrance that she had
promised to sympathise, not exhort, and added hurriedly: "Maud's enough
to chasten anyone! It's sickening for you, dear, for you would have had
lots of fun, and been the belle wherever you went. Let's pretend the
Hunt Ball is to-night, and you are going to make your _debut_, a radiant
vision in white satin--no, satin's too stiff!--silver tissue. Yes, yes!
Silver tissue--how perfectly lovely!--and a parure of matchless
diamonds flashing like a river of light upon your snowy neck."
"_Debutantes_ don't wear diamonds, and it's not snowy. These boned
collar bands leave horrid red marks. An antique medallion of crystal
and pearl swung on a silver chain--"
Dreda pranced up and down on her chair in delighted appreciation.
"Yes! Yes! You're splendid, Ro; you know just what to say! And a
feather fan, with a tiny mirror let into the sticks; dear little silver
shoes with buckles, and a single white rosebud tucked in your hair below
your ear. That's the place they always put it in books. It would fall
out before the first waltz was over, but no matter! Then your opera
cloak. That must be white, too--ermine, I think, or perhaps white fox,
worth hundreds and hundreds, that a Russian prince had sent you in token
of his devotion. Oh, my dear, my dear; what an _angel_ you would look!"
Rowena laughed gaily. Her cheeks had grown pink, and her blue eyes
sparkled with enjoyment.
"Dreda, Dreda! What a mad hatter you are! Where _did_ you get such
ridiculous ideas?"
But it was evident that the ideas, ridiculous though they might be, were
by no means unpleasing, and Dreda was about to venture forth on a fresh
flight of imagination when, to the annoyance of the sisters, the door
opened and Maud, the stolid and unimaginative, stood on the threshold.
"No admittance, Maud. Go away! We're having a private talk."
"I can't go away. It's business. Something awful's happened!"
announced Maud calmly. "A man's called, and Mason said mother was in,
and she's out, and he's in the drawing-room, and it's rude to send him
away. I came to tell you."
"A _man_! What man?"
"The Seton man. The young one with the nose."
The two elder girls exchanged quick, eloquent glances.
"Are you _sure_ mother is out? She was in half an hour ago."
"She's out now. She went across the fields to bandage the hand of the
baby that the kettle scalded in the white cottage in the dip. You'll
have to see him instead."
Rowena turned a face of despairing resignation upon her sister.
"In this blouse! A flannel blouse. Oh, Dreda--the contrast. Think of
the silver tissue!"
Dreda looked, and her face was eloquent. Truth to tell, the flannel
blouse, though neat and tidy, as were all Rowena's garments, could by no
manner of means be called becoming. It did seem tragic to appear to an
interesting stranger under such disadvantageous circumstances.
"You must change it!" she cried hastily. "Put on your blue dress; you
look ripping in that. I'll go in for a minute, and tell him to stay
while I run for mother; by that time you'll be ready, and can talk till
she gets back. I'll tell Mason to get tea. Fly! You are so quick, you
can be ready in five minutes."
Rowena flew, and Dreda smoothed her hair with her hands and prepared to
leave the room in her wake, but Maud's square figure blocked the way,
and Maud's voice demanded instantly:
"And what shall _I_ do?"
"You? Nothing! It's not your affair. Go up to the nursery and keep
quiet."
Maud gurgled with indignation. Not her business, indeed! She who had
been first on the scene, and had carried the message! Dreda was
hateful! Simply hateful! After pretending to be so good, too.
"Nursery, indeed! _I'll_ show her!" growled Maud eloquently.
Guy Seton was standing before the fire as the door opened in
Etheldreda's impetuous hand, and the man and the girl stared at each
other in mutual admiration and approval. "Fair hair, clean shaven,
twinkly eyes, big shoulders, Norfolk suit, gaiters. I do _love_ men in
country clothes," decided Dreda in a mental flash. "Halloa! whom have
we here? A schoolgirl daughter. What a pretty, bright-looking girl!"
thought the young man almost as quickly. Then they shook hands and
Dreda plunged into explanations.
"How do you do? It's so stupid. Mother's out! The maid didn't know,
but she has gone across the fields to see a little boy who upset the
kettle. Burnt, you know! Mother dresses it. If you will sit down and
wait a few minutes, I'll run and bring her back."
Mr Seton smiled, a delightful twinkly smile.
"Oh, please don't hurry her. I should be so sorry. You mustn't trouble
about me. I can call another day."
But this was not at all what Dreda desired, and her voice took a tone of
keen personal entreaty as she replied:
"Oh, please don't go away! Mother can finish the dressing and be back
in ten minutes from now, and I've ordered tea, and my sister will give
it to you while you wait. We have so few callers, and it's such a dull,
wet day. Do _please_ stay and have tea!"
At that the smile gave place to a laugh. Mr Seton found it altogether
delightful to be welcomed in so appreciative a fashion, and told himself
that it was a treat, indeed, to meet a girl so natural and unaffected.
He made no further demur, but when Dreda left the room sat down in a
comfortable chair and stretched his long legs towards the fire, smiling
to himself with obvious enjoyment of his recollections. It was indeed a
grey wintry afternoon, and he was by no means averse to sitting by this
cheery fire, looking forward to tea and further conversation with "Miss
Golden-locks."
And the sister who was to entertain him meantime--that must be Miss
Saxon, the grown-up daughter of whom he had heard, though he did not
know her by sight. He did not care for grown-up girls as a rule, they
were too self-conscious and self-engrossed--schoolgirls were far more
fun. Then the door creaked once more, and he started to his feet to
behold a square, stolid form advancing towards him, and to receive a
pompous greeting from Maud, who had waited only until Dreda was safely
out of the house, and had then hurried into the drawing-room determined
to enjoy "her turn" before Rowena arrived.
"How do you do? My mother will soon be here. My sister has gone to
fetch her. I hope you are quite well."
"Perfectly so, thank you. I hope you are the same. To whom have I the
pleasure of speaking?" inquired Mr Seton, with a sudden change of
demeanour which said much for his powers of adaptability. With Dreda he
had been all candour and friendliness; confronted with Maud he became at
once a solemn model of decorum.
"I am Maud--Maud Saxon. We are all named to match, because we are
Saxons by name as well as appearance. You are the Mr Seton who lives
in the grey house at Fenley. I have seen you on the roads riding a grey
cob with a white nose."
"Very probably. He is a great treasure. Are you interested in horses?
Perhaps you ride yourself!"
"I did once, but I don't now. We're _rejuiced_!" announced Maud,
rolling out the new word with an enjoyment at which the hearer had much
ado to retain his composure. "We used to keep five horses, and ride in
the Row, but horses cost too much now. Stables and grooms, and things
to eat, and, of course, they may die. We've got nothing now except the
car, and that saves money, for you can bring home the stores from the
station, and drive Dreda to school, and save the fares."
"Just so," said Mr Seton dryly. "Gars are most useful. Especially in
the country." Maud had taken possession of a chair at the opposite side
of the fireplace, and as he looked at her square, solemn face, he prayed
that it would not be long before Mrs Saxon and her elder daughter
returned. "Do you also go to school?"
"No," Maud pursed her lips with an injured air. "Dreda was going to a
finishing school in Paris this term, and I had a resident governess.
Then--we were `rejuiced,' and she had to go to a cheaper one at Horsham.
That was her _trial_. There are horrid girls there, and she's
misunderstood, and when she came home she was so quenched you wouldn't
know her, but after a day she was just as bad as ever. And our
governess went away, and Rowena teaches me, to save expenses. She hates
it, and so do I. She hasn't enough patience for training the young."
Guy Seton privately thought that quite a large stock of patience would
be required to train this particular specimen of the young. He was
embarrassed by the personal note of Maud's confessions, and cast about
in his mind for a means of changing the conversation. The elder sister!
Was she in the house? Could she be expected to appear?
"Is Miss Saxon at home? I should like to see her before I go."
Maud nodded solemnly.
"She's coming! She's changing her dress. She had on a flannel blouse,
and rushed upstairs to put on her best frock when she heard you were
here."
"You little wretch!" cried Guy Seton, mentally. The colour mounted to
his face in mingled anger against the offender, and sympathy for the
absent sister whose efforts on his behalf had been so ruthlessly
betrayed, but before he had time to reply in words a sudden sound from
behind attracted his attention, and he turned, to behold the blue-robed
figure of Rowena standing in the doorway, her face white and set, her
wide reproachful eyes fixed on her sister's face!