back ten minutes later, proudly complacent, to seat herself in the most
comfortable stool and eat roast apple with elegant enjoyment. She was
evidently quite ready to enlarge upon her latest feat, but the sisters
had exhausted the subject during her absence, and had, moreover, a piece
of news to communicate which was of even greater interest.
"Oh, Peggy, what y'think?" cried Mellicent, running her words into each
other in breathless fashion, as her habit was when excited; "I've got
something beautiful to tell you. S'afternoon Bob got a letter from his
mother to say that they were all coming down next week to stay at the
Larches for the winter. They come almost every year, and have
shooting-parties, and come to church and sit in the big square pew,
where you can just see their heads over the side. They look so funny,
sitting in a row without their bodies. Last year there was a young lady
with them who wore a big grey hat--the loveliest hat you ever saw--with
roses under the brim, and stick-up things all glittering with jewels,
and she got married at Christmas. I saw her photograph in a magazine,
and knew her again in a moment. I used to stare at her, and once she
smiled back at me. She looked sweet when she smiled. Lady Darcy always
comes to call on mother, and she and father go there to dinner ever so
many times, and we are asked to play with Rosalind--the Honourable
Rosalind. I expect they will ask you to go too. Isn't it exciting?"
"I can bear it," said Peggy coldly. "If I try very hard, I think I can
support the strain."
The Larches, the country house of Lord Darcy, had already been pointed
out to her notice; but the information that the family was coming down
for the yearly visit was unwelcome to her, for a double reason. She
feared, in the first place, lest it should mean a separation from Bob,
who was her faithful companion, and fulfilled his promise of friendship
in a silent, undemonstrative fashion, much to her fancy. In the second
place, she was conscious of a rankling feeling of jealousy towards the
young lady who was distinguished by the name of the Honourable Rosalind,
and who seemed to occupy an exalted position in the estimation of the
vicar's daughters. Her name was frequently introduced into
conversation, and always in the most laudatory fashion. When a heroine
was of a superlatively fascinating description, she was "Just like
Rosalind"; when an article of dress was unusually fine and dainty, it
would "do for Rosalind." Rosalind was spoken of with bated breath, as
if she were a princess in a fairy tale, rather than an ordinary
flesh-and-blood damsel. And Peggy did not like it; she did not like it
at all, for, in her own quiet way, she was accustomed to queen it among
her associates, and could ill brook the idea of a rival. She had not
been happy at school, but she had been complacently conscious that of
all the thirty girls she was the most discussed, the most observed, and
also, among the pupils themselves, the most beloved. At the vicarage
she was an easy first. When the three girls went out walking, she was
always in the middle, with Esther and Mellicent hanging on an arm at
either side. Robert was her sworn vassal, and Max and Oswald her
respectful and, on the whole, obedient servants. Altogether, the
prospect of playing second fiddle to this strange girl was by no means
pleasant. Peggy tilted her chin, and spoke in a cool, cynical tone.
"What is she like, this wonderful Rosalind? Bob does not seem to think
her extraordinary. I cannot imagine a `Miss Robert' being very
beautiful, and as she is his sister, I suppose they are alike."
Instantly there arose a duet of protests.
"Not in the least. Not a single bit. Rosalind is lovely! Blue eyes,
golden hair--"
"Down past her waist--"
"The sweetest little hands--"
"A real diamond ring--"
"Pink cheeks--"
"Drives a pony-carriage, with long-tailed ponies--"
"Speaks French all day long with her governess--jabber, jabber, jabber,
as quick as that--just like a native--"
"Plays the violin--"
"Has a lovely little sitting-room of her own, simply crammed with the
most exquisite presents and books, and goes travelling abroad to France
and Italy and hot places in winter. Lord and Lady Darcy simply worship
her, and so does everyone, for she is as beautiful as a picture. Don't
you think it would be lovely to have a lord and lady for your father and
mother?"
Peggy sniffed the air in scornful superiority.
"I am very glad I've not! Titles are so ostentatious! Vulgar, I call
them! The very best families will have nothing to do with them. My
father's people were all at the Crusades, and the Wars of the Roses, and
the Field of the Cloth of Gold. There is no older family in England,
and they are called `Fighting Savilles,' because they are always in the
front of every battle, winning honours and distinctions. I expect they
have been offered titles over and over again, but they would not have
them. They refused them with scorn, and so would I if one were offered
to me. Nothing would induce me to accept it!"
Esther rolled her eyes in a comical, sideway fashion, and gave a little
chuckle of unbelief; but Mellicent looked quite depressed by this
reception of her grand news, and said anxiously--
"But, Peggy, think of it! The Honourable Mariquita! It would be too
lovely! Wouldn't you feel proud writing it in visitors' books, and
seeing it printed in newspapers when you grow up? `The Honourable
Mariquita wore a robe of white satin, trimmed with gold!'"
"Peggy Saville is good enough for me, thank you," said that young lady,
with a sudden access of humility. "I have no wish to have my clothes
discussed in the public prints. But if you are invited to the Larches
to play with your Rosalind, pray don't consider me! I can stay at home
alone. I don't mind being dull. I can turn my time to good account.
Not for the world would I interfere with your pleasure?"
"But P-P-Peggy, dar-ling Peggy, we would not leave you alone!"
Mellicent's eyes were wide with horror, she stretched out entreating
hands towards the unresponsive figure. To see Peggy cross and snappish
like--any other ordinary mortal was an extraordinary event, and quite
alarming to her placid mind. "They will ask you, too, dear! I am sure
they will--we will all be asked together!" she cried; but Peggy tossed
her head, refusing to be conciliated.
"I shall have a previous engagement. I am not at all sure that they are
the sort of people I ought to know," she said. "My parents are so
exclusive! They might not approve of the acquaintance!"
CHAPTER TEN.
AMBITIONS!
Although Fraulein had charge over the girls' education, Mr Asplin
reserved to himself the right of superintending their studies and
dictating their particular direction. He was so accustomed to training
boys for a definite end that he had no patience with the ordinary
aimless routine of a girl's school course, and in the case of his
daughters had carefully provided for their different abilities and
tastes. Esther was a born student, a clear-headed, hard-thinking girl,
who took a delight in wrestling with Latin verbs and in solving problems
in Euclid, while she had little or no artistic faculty. He put her
through much the same course as his own boys, gave her half an hour's
private lesson on unoccupied afternoons, and cut down the two hours'
practising on the piano to a bare thirty minutes. Esther had pleaded to
give up music altogether, on the ground that she had neither love nor
skill for this accomplishment, but to this the vicar would not agree.
"You have already spent much time over it, and have passed the worst of
the drudgery; it would be folly to lose all you have learnt," he said.
"You may not wish to perform in public, but there are many other ways in
which your music may be useful. In time to come you would be sorry if
you could not read an accompaniment to a song, play bright airs to amuse
children, or hymn tunes to help in a service. Half an hour a day will
keep up what you have learned, and so much time you must manage to
spare."
With Mellicent the case was almost exactly opposite. It was a waste of
time trying to teach her mathematics, she had not sufficient brain power
to grasp them, and if she succeeded in learning a proposition by heart
like a parrot, it was only to collapse into helpless tears and
protestations when the letters were altered, and, as it seemed to her,
the whole argument changed thereby.
Fraulein protested that it was impossible to teach Mellicent to reason;
but the vicar was loath to give up his pet theory that girls should
receive the same hard mental training as their brothers. He declared
that if the girl were weak in this direction, it was all the more
necessary that she should be trained, and volunteered to take her in
hand for half an hour daily, to see what could be done. Fraulein
accepted this offer with a chuckle of satisfaction, and the vicar went
on with the lessons several weeks, patiently plodding over the same
ground without making the least impression on poor Mellicent's brain,
until there came one happy never-to-be-forgotten morning when Algebra
and Euclid went spinning up to the ceiling, and he jumped from the table
with a roar of helpless laughter.
"Oh, baby! baby! this is past all bearing! We might try for a century,
and never get any further. I cannot waste any more time." Then, seeing
the large tears gathering, he framed the pretty face in his hands, and
looked at it with a tender smile. "Never mind, darling! there are
better things in this world than being clever and learned. You will be
our little house-daughter; help mother with her work, and play and sing
to father when he is tired in the evening. Work hard at your music,
learn how to manage a house, to sew and mend and cook, and you will have
nothing to regret. A woman who can make a home, has done more than many
scholars."
So it came to pass that Mellicent added the violin to her
accomplishments, and was despatched to her own room to practise
exercises, while her elder sister wrestled with problems and equations.
When Peggy Saville arrived, here was a fresh problem, for Fraulein
reported that the good child could not add five and six together without
tapping them over on her finger; was as ignorant of geography as a
little heathen, and had so little ear for music that she could not sing
"Rule Britannia" without branching off into "God save the Queen." But
when it came to poetry!--Fraulein held up her hands in admiration. It
was absolutely no effort to that child to remember, her eyes seemed to
flash down the page, and the lines were her own, and as she repeated
them her face shone, and her voice thrilled with such passionate delight
that Esther and Mellicent had been known to shed tears at the sound of
words which had fallen dead and lifeless from their own lips. And at
composition, how original she was! What a relief it was to find so
great a contrast to other children! When it was the life of a great man
which should be written, Esther and Mellicent began their essays as
ninety-nine out of a hundred schoolgirls would do, with a flat and
obvious statement of birth, birthplace, and parentage; but Peggy
disdained such commonplace methods, and dashed headlong into the heart
of her subject with a high-flown sentiment, or a stirring assertion
which at once arrested the reader's interest. And it was the same with
whatever she wrote; she had the power of investing the dullest subject
with charm and brightness. Fraulein could not say too much of Peggy's
powers in this direction, and the vicar's eye brightened as he listened.
He asked eagerly to be allowed to see the girl's manuscript book, and
summoned his wife from pastry-making in the kitchen to hear the three or
four essays which it contained.
"What do you think of those for a girl of fourteen? There's a pupil for
you! If she were only a boy! Such dash--such spirit--such a gift of
words! Do you notice her adjectives? Exaggerated, no doubt, and
over-abundant, but so apt, so true, so strong! That child can write:
she has the gift. She ought to turn out an author of no mean rank."
"Oh, dear me! I hope not. I hope she will marry a nice, kind man who
will be good to her, and have too much to do looking after her children
to waste her time writing stories," cried Mrs Asplin, who adored a good
novel when she could get hold of one, but harboured a prejudice against
all women-authors as strong-minded creatures, who lived in lodgings, and
sported short hair, inky fingers, and a pen behind the ear. Mariquita
Saville was surely destined for a happier fate. "When a woman can live
her _own_ romance, why need she trouble her head about inventing
others?"
Her husband looked at her with a quizzical smile.
"Even the happiest life is not all romance, dear. It sometimes seems
unbearably prosaic, and then it is a relief to lose oneself in fiction.
You can't deny that! I seem to have a remembrance of seeing someone I
know seated in a big chair before this very fire devouring a novel and a
Newton pippin together on more Saturday afternoons than I could number."
"Tuts!" said his wife, and blushed a rosy red, which made her look
ridiculously young and pretty. Saturday afternoon was her holiday-time
of the week, and she had not yet outgrown her schoolgirl love of eating
apples as an accompaniment to an interesting book; but how aggravating
to be reminded of her weakness just at this moment of all others! "What
an inconvenient memory you have!" she said complainingly. "Can't a poor
body indulge in a little innocent recreation without having it brought
up against her in argument ever afterwards? And I thought we were
talking about Peggy! What is at the bottom of this excitement? I know
you have some plan in your head."
"I mean to see that she reads good books, and only books that will help,
and not hinder, her progress. The rest will come in time. She must
learn before she can teach, have some experience of her own before she
can imagine the experiences of others; but writing is Peggy's gift, and
she has been put in my charge. I must try to give her the right
training."
From that time forward Mr Asplin studied Peggy with a special interest,
and a few evenings later a conversation took place among the young
people which confirmed him in his conclusion as to her possibilities.
Lessons were over for the day, and girls and boys were amusing
themselves in the drawing-room, while Mr Asplin read the _Spectator_,
and his wife knitted stockings by the fire. Mellicent was embroidering
a prospective Christmas present, an occupation which engaged her leisure
hours from March to December; Esther was reading, and Peggy was supposed
to be writing a letter, but was, in reality, talking incessantly, with
her elbows planted on the table, and her face supported on her clasped
hands. She wore a bright pink frock, which gave a tinge of colour to
the pale face, her hair was unbound from the tight pigtail and tied with
a ribbon on the nape of her neck, from which it fell in smooth heavy
waves to her waist. It was one of the moments when her companions
realised with surprise that Peggy could look astonishingly pretty upon
occasion; and Oswald, from the sofa, and Max and Bob, from the opposite
side of the table, listened to her words with all the more attention on
that account.
She was discussing the heroine of a book which they had been reading in
turns, pointing out the inconsistencies in her behaviour, and
expatiating on the superior manner in which she--Mariquita--would have
behaved, had positions been reversed. Then the boys had described their
own imaginary conduct under the trying circumstances, drawing forth
peals of derisive laughter from the feminine audience; and the question
had finally drifted from "What would you do?" to "What would you be?"
with the result that each one was eager to expatiate on his own pet
schemes and ambitions.
"I should like to come out first in all England in the Local
Examinations, get my degree of M.A., and be a teacher in a large High
School," said Esther solemnly. "At Christmas and Easter I would come
home and see my friends, and in summer-time I'd go abroad and travel,
and rub up my languages. Of course, what I should like best would be to
be headmistress of Girton, but I could not expect that to come for a
good many years. I must be content to work my way up, and I shall be
quite happy wherever I am, so long as I am teaching."
"Poor old Esther! and she will wear spectacles, and black alpaca
dresses, and woollen mittens on her hands! Can't I see her!" cried Max,
throwing back his head with one of the cheery bursts of laughter which
brought his mother's eyes upon him with a flash of adoring pride. "Now
there's none of that overweening ambition about me. I could bear up if
I never saw an improving book again. What _I_ would like would be for
some benevolent old millionaire to take a fancy to me, and adopt me as
his heir. I feel cut out to be a country gentleman, and march about in
gaiters and knickerbockers, looking after the property, don't you know,
and interviewing my tenants. I'd be strict with them, but kind at the
same time; look into all their grievances, and put them right whenever I
could. I'd make it a model place before I'd done with it, and all the
people would adore me. That's my ambition, and a very good one it is
too; I defy anyone to have a better."
"I should like to marry a very rich man with a big moustache, and a
beautiful house in London with a fireplace in the hall," cried Mellicent
fervently. "I should have carriages and horses, and a diamond necklace
and three children: Valentine Roy--that should be the boy--and
Hildegarde and Ermyntrude, the girls, and they should have golden hair
like Rosalind, and blue eyes, and never wear anything but white, and big
silk sashes. I'd have a housekeeper to look after the dinners and
things, and a governess for the children, and never do anything myself
except give orders and go out to parties. I'd be the happiest woman
that ever lived."
Lazy Oswald smiled in complacent fashion.
"And the fattest! Dearie me, wouldn't you be a tub! I don't know that
I have any special ambition. I mean to get my degree if I can, and then
persuade the governor to send me a tour round the world. I like moving
about, and change and excitement, and travelling is good fun if you
avoid the fag, and provide yourself with introductions to the right
people. I know a fellow who went off for a year, and had no end of a
time; people put him up at their houses, and got up balls and dinners
for his benefit, and he never had to rough it a bit. I could put in a
year or two in that way uncommonly well."
Rob had been wriggling on his chair and scowling in his wild-bear
fashion all the while Oswald was speaking, and at the conclusion he
relieved his feelings by kicking out recklessly beneath the table, with
the result that Peggy sat up suddenly with a "My foot, my friend! Curb
your enthusiasm!" which made him laugh, despite his annoyance.
"But it's such bosh!" he cried scornfully. "It makes me sick to hear a
fellow talk such nonsense. Balls and dinners--faugh! If that's your
idea of happiness, why not settle down in London and be done with it!
That's the place for you! I'd give my ears to go round the world, but I
wouldn't thank you to go with a dress suit and a valet; I'd want to
rough it, to get right out of the track of civilisation and taste a new
life; to live with the Bedouin in their tents as some of those artist
fellows have done, or make friends with a tribe of savages.
Magnificent! I'd keep a notebook with an account of all I did, and all
the strange plants and flowers and insects I came across, and write a
book when I came home. I'd a lot rather rough it in Africa than lounge
about Piccadilly in a frock coat and tall hat." Robert sighed at the
hard prospect which lay before him as the son of a noble house, then
looked across the table with a smile: "And what says the fair Mariquita?
What _role_ in life is she going to patronise when she comes to years
of discretion?"
Peggy nibbled the end of her pen and stared into space.
"I've not quite decided," she said slowly. "I should like to be either
an author or an orator, but I'm not sure which. I think, on the whole,
an orator, because then you could watch the effect of your words. It is
not possible, of course, but what I should like best would be to be the
Archbishop of Canterbury, or some great dignitary of the Church. Oh,
just imagine it! To stand up in the pulpit and see the dim cathedral
before one, and the faces of the people looking up, white and solemn.--
I'd stand waiting until the roll of the organ died away, and there was a
great silence; then I would look at them, and say to myself--`A thousand
people, two thousand people, and for half an hour they are in my power.
I can make them think as I will, see as I will, feel as I will. They
are mine! I am their leader.'--I cannot imagine anything in the world
more splendid than that! I should choose to be the most wonderful
orator that was ever known, and people would come from all over the
world to hear me, and I would say beautiful things in beautiful words,
and see the answer in their faces, and meet the flash in the eyes
looking up into mine. Oh-h! if it could only--only be true; but it
can't, you see. I am a girl, and if I try to do anything in public I am
as nervous as a rabbit, and can only squeak, squeak, squeak in a tiny
little voice that would not reach across the room. I had to recite at a
prize-giving at school once, and, my dears, it was a lamentable failure!
I was only audible to the first three rows, and when it was over I
simply sat down and howled, and my knees shook. Oh dear, the very
recollection unpowers me! So I think, on the whole, I shall be an
authoress, and let my pen be my sceptre. From my quiet fireside," cried
Peggy, with a sudden assumption of the Mariquita manner, and a swing of
the arms which upset a vase of chrysanthemums, and sent a stream of
water flowing over the table--"from my quiet fireside I will sway the
hearts of men--"
"My plush cloth! Oh, bad girl--my new plush cloth! You dreadful Peggy,
what will I do with you?" Mrs Asplin rushed forward to mop with her
handkerchief and lift the dripping flowers to a place of safety, while
Peggy rolled up her eyes with an expression of roguish impenitence.
"Dear Mrs Asplin, it was not I, it was that authoress. She was
evolving her plots... Pity the eccentricities of the great!"
CHAPTER ELEVEN.
A SHAKESPEARE READING.
Esther was preparing for the Cambridge Local Examination at Christmas,
and making a special study of _The Merchant of Venice_, as the play
chosen for the year.
Fraulein explained the notes, and expatiated on the Venice of the past
and the manners and customs of its inhabitants; but it was Mr Asplin
who had the brilliant idea of holding a Shakespeare reading which should
make the play live in the imagination of the young people, as no amount
of study could do. The suggestion was made one day at dinner, and was
received with acclamation by everyone present.
"Oh, how lovely, father! It will help me ever so much!" said Esther.
"And Peggy must be Portia."
"I'd like to be that funny little man Launcelot--what do you call it?--
only I know I couldn't do it," said Mellicent humbly. "I'll be the
servants and people who come in and give messages. But, of course,
Peggy must be Portia."
"Peggy shall be Portia, and I'll be the Jew, and snarl at her across the
court," said Rob, with an assurance which was not at all appreciated by
his companions.
"I've rather a fancy to try Shylock myself," Max declared. "Oswald
would make a capital Bassanio, and you could manage Antonio all right if
you tried, for he has not so much to do. Let me see: Peggy--Portia;
Esther--Nerissa; Mellicent--Jessica (she's so like a Jewess, you see!);
you and Oswald--Bassanio and Antonio; Shylock--my noble self. Father
and mother to help out with the smaller characters. There you are! A
capital cast, and everyone satisfied. I'm game to be Shylock, but I
can't do the sentimental business. You two fellows will have to take
them, and we'll divide the smaller fry among us."
"Indeed we will do nothing of the kind. I'm not going to take Bassanio;
I couldn't do it, and I won't try. I'll have a shot at Shylock if you
like, but I can't do anything else. The cast is all wrong, except so
far as Peggy is concerned. Of course she is Portia."