"I don't mind having some singing lessons," said Ella, twisting round on
the piano stool, where she had established herself for the sake of
conveniently examining her sisters' music, "but as for playing--it would
be money thrown away, and however rich we are I don't see any sense in
that. I wouldn't practise, for that would be waste of time too."
"But if papa wishes it--makes a point of it, in fact," said Madelene.
Ella was silent.
"If it's a duty--as obedience to papa--well, in that case I suppose I
must give in," she answered. "But I think it's rather hard lines--at my
age. Were _you_ forced to go on with lessons when you thought you had
done with them--you and Ermine?" she asked abruptly.
"There would have been no `forcing' required if we had known it was
papa's wish, even if we had disliked it," said Miss St Quentin. "But
the circumstances were quite different--"
"I don't see it," muttered Ella.
"And the present question is the thing to consider," Madelene went on,
taking no notice of Ella's interruption. "All the same, I may tell you
that at your age Ermine did not consider herself by any means grown-up
or `out.'"
Ella pricked up her ears.
"But you do count me `out,'" she said eagerly. "I should by rights have
been presented this year. Aunt Phillis said so, it was one of the
things she regretted--this stupid marriage of hers coming in the way, I
mean--for she could not bear the idea of my leaving her till--till I had
to."
"You would not have been presented this year in any case," said Miss St
Quentin. "Seventeen is, with very rare exceptions, too young to come
out."
"That means," said Ella, "that I am still to be considered in the
schoolroom, no, in the nursery, figuratively and literally."
"You will be with us at home--we are not thinking of getting a governess
for you," Madelene answered, smiling a little--she was full of
determination not to let herself be put out by Ella--"but as for going
out--to parties I mean--I don't think papa will wish that for you at
present. He is very anxious for you to have these lessons--French and
German as well as music. And I think it would be a good thing for you
to take some little charge in the house."
"I should like to take my share with you and Ermine now that I am here
altogether," said Ella, with dignity. "Do you mean taking week about of
the housekeeping? Some sisters do that, I know."
Miss St Quentin had some difficulty in keeping her gravity.
"No," she said quietly. "I do not mean charge of that kind. You forget
that to look after a large house like this, even with very good
servants, takes a great deal of experience. I have had it to do more or
less ever since I was younger than you, but it was not easy, I can
assure you."
"Then why shouldn't I begin now? If you and Ermine were married I might
have to keep house for papa here. Why shouldn't I begin to learn?"
asked Ella.
"It isn't likely you would ever have to do that," began Madelene. Then
she hesitated. "I shall be glad to teach you what I can--but I think
you should have some definite work in the house too. I was thinking you
might take charge of the books in the library, dusting them and seeing
that they are kept in order, for papa doesn't like the servants to touch
them. And I think he wants an addition to the catalogue made. And
then, it would be a great help to Ermine if you looked after the flowers
in the drawing-room every morning."
"Can't the gardeners do that?" said Ella.
"We have always superintended it ourselves," said Madelene simply.
Her reply rather disconcerted Ella. She wanted to be able to say to
herself that the disagreeable work was to be put upon her; the things
her sisters did not like doing themselves--but in the face of Madelene's
remark she could scarcely hint at anything of this kind. So, she said
nothing, but sat vaguely turning over the leaves of the music-book
before her. Suddenly the door opened--
"Lady Cheynes," said the servant.
Madelene hastened to meet the new-comer, her face lighting up with
pleasure.
"Oh, Aunt Anna," she exclaimed, "how nice of you! You have come to stay
all day, I hope, at least to luncheon?"
"To luncheon, well perhaps, but I must leave immediately after," said
the old lady, kissing her niece as she spoke. "And now--where is the
child?" and she glanced round.
"Ella," said Madelene, "she was here an instant ago--can she have run
off?"
"Shy?" asked Lady Cheynes. Madelene smiled.
"I don't think so," she said. "Ah, there you are," she went on, as Ella
appeared from the other side of a screen, where she had momentarily
hidden herself. "Ella, Lady Cheynes remembers you, though I don't think
you remember her."
Ella raised her lovely eyes to the old lady's face with a softer
expression than Madelene had yet seen in them.
"I am not quite sure of that," she said very gently, "things are
beginning to come back to me a little. I almost think I _do_ remember
my--Lady Cheynes a very little."
The old lady laid her two hands on Ella's shoulders and drew her forward
a little.
"Is she like her dear mother at all?" speaking half to herself and half
to her niece.
"I scarcely think so," said Miss St Quentin softly.
"Her voice is like Ellen's," Lady Cheynes went on, "and--yes, her eyes
are like hers too. You must see it," she added to Madelene.
"I do," Madelene replied, honestly, though truth to tell she had not
before perceived it; "I quite see it now," for the gentleness was still
in Ella's eyes.
"God bless you, my child," Lady Cheynes murmured, and she kissed Ella on
the forehead; "I could not wish anything better for you than that you
should be like your mother in every way, except that I hope you are
stronger. And she looks so, does she not, Maddie?"
"I don't think she could possibly look better," said Madelene. Ella
glanced at her with a less amiable expression than that with which she
had been favouring Lady Cheynes, but the visitor was loosening her
mantle at that moment, and did not see it.
"Of course they will make out that I am as strong as a horse," the girl
was saying to herself.
"Where have you located her?" the old lady went on to ask. "The rooms
you were intending for her can't be ready."
"No," said Madelene, "that is the worst of Ella's unexpected arrival,
and we couldn't--papa did not wish her to be in the north side--so--"
"I am in the nursery," said Ella, meekly. "I am quite comfortable
there."
"In the nursery," repeated Lady Cheynes with a comical expression, "but
I don't expect you will stay there long, do you?"
Ella looked down.
"I don't know," she said. "It is quite a nice little room. Would Lady
Cheynes like to see it, perhaps?" she asked demurely.
Miss St Quentin felt at that moment more inclined to shake Ella than at
any time since her arrival.
"Why should my aunt wish to see it?" she said sharply. "You forget
Ella, that she knew this house long before any of us were heard of. It
was her own old home."
Ella's eyes opened in genuine astonishment.
"I didn't know--I can't understand," she said. "Was your unmarried name
St Quentin, then, god--Lady Cheynes I mean?"
"No, for in that case I should be _your_ aunt, my dear, which I am not.
All the same this was my home, for Coombesthorpe at that time belonged
to my father. But why do you call me Lady Cheynes? Why not godmother,
as in your letters?"
Ella's eyes sparkled. "That's one for Madelene," she would have said
had she been acquainted with schoolboy language. "I wasn't sure," she
began.
"Don't be afraid of putting the blame on me," interrupted Madelene. "It
was I, Aunt Anna, that told Ella it was better to call you by your name
unless you wished her to do otherwise."
Lady Cheynes smiled.
"Call me godmother then," she said, "though I warn you, Ella, I mean to
take all a godmother's privileges. I shall--well--pet you if you are a
good girl, but--I can scold too," and she knitted her brows, without
much effect however, as her bright eyes had plenty of fun in them.
"I'm not afraid, godmother--not a bit," said Ella laughing.
"Why can she not be like that to _us_?" thought Madelene regretfully.
"How did you know of Ella's arrival?" she asked her aunt suddenly.
"Through Philip, of course. And oh, by the by, I was to ask you if you
will be at home this afternoon, if so, he will come over, but he is
rather busy, and prefers not to chance it."
"I don't think we can possibly be at home," said Madelene. "I have to
go to Weevilscoombe, and Ermine is going to drive over to Waire, to get
the addresses of some masters for Ella. Papa is anxious that she should
begin some regular occupation at once. But I do want to see Philip.
May I drive back with you, Aunt Anna? and then I could easily walk to
Weevilscoombe, and papa can meet me there--he has to go there too."
"By all means," Lady Cheynes replied.
Then there fell a little silence, which was broken by Madelene.
"Ella," she said, "I think you should not put off writing to your aunt,
as papa said. You will be out all the afternoon."
Ella rose at once.
"Shall I--may I write in the library?" she said meekly.
"Of course," Miss St Quentin replied.
Lady Cheynes kept silence till Ella had closed the door behind her--then
she turned quickly to her niece.
"Now tell me all about it, Maddie," she said. "Of course Philip didn't
know more than the mere fact. But I can see you are put out--I was
anxious to hear all; that was why I hurried over. There can't be much
amiss however--the sight of the child has reassured me. She has quite
won my heart already, and she seems most anxious to please you--ready to
take your least hint."
Madelene hesitated before replying. She was unselfishly anxious for
Ella to propitiate her godmother and really glad that the first
impression had been so favourable. Yet--all things considered--it was a
little hard upon her! It took some self-control to listen to Ella's
praises with perfect good temper.
"I am sorry if I have seemed `put out,' Aunt Anna," she replied at last.
"I am very glad indeed you are pleased with Ella, and I hope you will
make papa a little happier about her. He is _rather_ hard upon her
perhaps--about her coming off as she did," and Miss St Quentin went on
to tell the story of Ella's taking the law into her own hands, as she
had done.
Lady Cheynes listened attentively, smiling a little now and then.
"Ah," she said, "I understand. Yes, just the sort of thing to annoy
Marcus. For my part, I don't like the child the less for it. And she
knows nothing of the real position of things. Philip and I were talking
it all over last night, and he told me what he had said to you, and I
agreed with it. Yes--the first thing to do is thoroughly to gain her
confidence and affection--but that surely will not be difficult."
"It seems as if it should not be so, certainly," said Madelene. "But
you see, aunt, papa has taken up some ideas about Ella, very strongly.
And we cannot oppose him, and yet I am so afraid of her thinking that it
is we, not papa. Just as you came in I was trying to get her to agree
to, or rather to like the idea of, these lessons. She has got some
absurd notion in her head that Ermie and I are wanting to keep her
down."
"She has been spoilt," said the old lady decidedly. "But I am sure she
has a good heart. It is to be hoped," she added, "that Philip and she
won't see much of each other while she has these ideas about you and
Ermine. He would be so angry that he would take a prejudice to her, and
I should regret that."
"So should I," said Madelene. "Perhaps," she went on, after a little
pause, "it will be as well if we just go on quietly by ourselves for a
little. There are no gaieties in prospect at present, so the question
of Ella's `grown-up-ness' need not be discussed, and if she is sensible
and pleases papa about these lessons, he may perhaps relax a little
after a while. I am not even altogether sorry," she added, "much as we
shall miss him, that Philip is to be away. In Ella's present mood it
would have been--a little difficult."
"He will be leaving very soon," said Lady Cheynes, "but I must have him
home by Christmas. You will let the child come over to me now and then,
won't you? I will undertake to do no harm, and I may be able to help
you."
"Of course," said Madelene heartily, "and if she shows her best side to
you as I think she will, you will find her very charming. I think--I
fancy she has a much more cordial feeling to you, aunt, than to us," and
Miss St Quentin could not help sighing a little.
"All the better--in one sense, that is to say," replied the old lady
briskly. "If she were prejudiced against me too, it would be a bad
look-out I can influence her far more if she fancies me impartial."
"Or partial--to her," suggested Madelene smiling.
"What does Mrs Robertson say to this escapade of Ella's? You have
heard from her?" asked Lady Cheynes.
"Yes, there is a letter to papa this morning. She is very distressed
about it of course, but her principal anxiety seems to be to exonerate
Ella. She is dreadfully afraid, evidently, of its vexing papa with her,
just at the first."
"Just what it has done," said Lady Cheynes; and then they went on to
talk of other matters.
At luncheon Ella maintained the same quiet demure tone which amused even
while it irritated Madelene. And though Lady Cheynes appeared to take
it quite naturally, and even now and then rather acted the part of
drawing out the timid little stranger, the twinkle in her bright old
eyes from time to time convinced Miss St Quentin that Ella's godmother
knew what she was about.
"And perhaps of us all," thought Madelene, "she gauges Ella's character
the most correctly."
The thought in itself was a relief. Madelene no longer felt so
perplexed and dispirited. She even could afford to smile, inwardly, at
the sight of Ella's preternaturally resigned expression and meek tone of
voice when Ermine told her, rather sharply perhaps, to get ready for
their drive, the pony-carriage being already at the door.
"I beg your pardon," Ella replied. "I did not know, at least not
clearly, that you were going to be so kind as to take me a drive."
"I shall shake her well before long," said Ermine, as she stood in the
hall with her aunt and sister, waiting for the little delinquent. "I
can stand her temper and impertinence," laughing as she used the word.
"It's so absurd and comical. But I can't stand her suffering-saint-ism.
I really can't."
"For my part I should think it's the more amusing of the two," said Lady
Cheynes, "but then to be sure I have not yet been favoured with a sight
of the little volcano's explosions. When I have done so I'll give you
my opinion."
At that moment Ella made her appearance. She was dressed as on her
arrival the day before, and as she bade the girl good-bye, kissing her
as she did so, her godmother "took her in" from head to foot.
"I think I have scarcely perhaps estimated the difficulties seriously
enough," said Lady Cheynes, when she and Madelene were installed in her
carriage. "There is any amount of determination, not to say obstinacy,
about that small personage. And she has certainly been spoilt. I see
it more clearly. The style of her dress is far too old, even though one
cannot call it showy, but it is a degree too _soigne_, I hardly know how
to express it, for a girl of seventeen. I like neatness of course, but
that is quite a different thing."
"I fancy Ella has been allowed to give a great deal of time and thought
to her appearance," said Madelene. "But after all, there must come a
stage of that kind, I suppose, in every girl's life."
"Perhaps," said her aunt. "But for my part I prefer it later. I do
love a good honest tom-boy girl of fifteen or so."
"But Ella is seventeen past," said Madelene; "that makes all the
difference."
"Umph," grunted the old lady. "I am quite sure she never was a tom-boy.
Just think of Ermine at seventeen."
And Madelene could not help smiling.
"Yes," she agreed. "Ermine was very different, certainly. I remember
how she cried at having her skirts lengthened, and tried privately to
shorten them again. Still we must remember that Ella's life has been
quite different."
"You must make her dress more simply," said Lady Cheynes. "Those
tight-fitting garments without a crease or wrinkle, and perfect gloves,
and pointed boots may be all very well in town, though for my part I
don't like _that_ sort of particularity carried too far; it takes off
the thoroughbred look. But in the country it is absurd. Get her a
brown holland frock or two, or a homespun with a nice little Norfolk
jacket and a belt, and see that the skirts are shorter and that she has
sensible boots." Then an amused look stole over the old lady's face.
"What is it, Aunt Anna?" asked Madelene, without, it must be confessed,
much amusement in her tone. Indeed she was looking and feeling
decidedly lugubrious, the prospect of such a transformation of Ella's
wardrobe was appalling!
"I was only thinking what fun Philip would make of her if he saw her
setting off for a country ramble like a little figure out of the _Revue
de la Mode_. That hat of hers, and the little veil, fastened just at
the proper height, or depth, and the parasol, held so daintily, and--"
"Oh, please stop, aunt," said Madelene. "I don't want Philip to make
fun of her, I'm sure, but how to transform her, as you calmly propose,
_I_ don't see." And poor Miss St Quentin really looked as if she were
ready to cry.
Lady Cheynes began to laugh, and her laugh gathered strength and soon
became a hearty one.
"My dear Maddie," she said, "you have met your match. You, who are
never put out or disturbed in your regal calm by anything or anybody!
It is very wicked of me, but I can't help laughing."
Madelene herself by this time could not help joining in it. They were
both still somewhat hilarious therefore when, at the lodge gates of
Cheynesacre they came upon Sir Philip. He threw away his cigar and got
into the carriage beside them.
"My dear friends," he began. "My very much respected grandmamma, my
admired cousin--I am enchanted, but at the same time, slightly, very
slightly, surprised to see you indulging in such mirth. May I--dare I
venture to inquire its cause?"
Madelene only laughed the more, especially when Lady Cheynes turned upon
Philip. "Don't be so silly, Philip," she said sharply; "why can't you
say plainly, `what are you laughing at'? Not that I am going to tell
you, for I am not."
Philip turned his eyes plaintively on his cousin.
"Nor you? Is it useless to appeal to you?"
"Quite," Madelene replied. "It is a private joke of auntie's and mine.
I have come round this way on purpose to see you, Philip, as you would
not have found any of us at home to-day. I suppose it will be to say
good-bye, as you are leaving so soon, I hear."
"I am leaving very soon, certainly," he replied. "The day after
to-morrow, probably. But I quite intend to come over to Coombesthorpe
first. I want to say good-bye to Uncle Marcus and Ermine too."
"They are coming here to luncheon to-morrow," said his grandmother
promptly.
"Oh, indeed," said Sir Philip. "Well then if Maddie will invite me I
will drive back with them to afternoon tea."
"I shall not be at home," said Madelene.
"Maddie," said Philip reproachfully, "it is mean, it is unkind of you to
force me to avow my real motive. The fact is--I am dying to see the
third Miss St Quentin. Why is she not with you to-day? You might have
some regard for my feelings."
"She has gone to Waire with Ermine," said Lady Cheynes. "Madelene is
arranging about her having lessons from the same masters as the little
Hewitts at the rectory. And," she went on, "they are nicely brought-up
girls--they will be pleasant companions for Ella."
"Those gawky Hewitt children!" said Philip, with a complete change of
tone. "Why I thought Ella was seventeen and quite a grown-up sort of
person!"
"She is seventeen," said Lady Cheynes, calmly, "but some girls are
grown-up at seventeen and others are children."
"Oh," said Philip. "Well for my part, I don't care about girls of the
Hewitt type. I suppose then, that Mrs Robertson has kept her back--
that she is what you call `quite in the schoolroom' still."
"If you had heard what she said to me, you would suppose her still in
the _nursery_, even," replied his grandmother.
"Then," Philip remarked, "I think I will defer for the present my
introduction to your sister, Madelene."
"Just as you please," Miss St Quentin replied indifferently.
But as they got out of the carriage, "I did not know," she whispered,
"that you could be so naughty, Aunt Anna."