much into society, and of course,"--She checked herself before the
sentence was finished; but Mrs Asplin was quick enough to understand
the imputation that the complexions of a vicar's daughters were but of
small account, but that it was a very different matter when the
Honourable Rosalind Darcy was concerned. She understood, but she was
neither hurt nor annoyed by the inferences, only a little sad and very,
very pitiful. She knew the story of the speaker's life, and the reason
why she looked forward to Rosalind's entrance into society with such
ambition. Lady Darcy had been the daughter of poor but well-born
parents, and had married the widower, Lord Darcy, not because she loved
him or had any motherly feeling for his two orphan boys, but simply and
solely for a title and establishment, and a purse full of money. Given
these, she had fondly imagined that she was going to be perfectly happy.
No more screwing and scraping to keep up appearances; no more living in
dulness and obscurity; she would be Lady Darcy, the beautiful young wife
of a famous man. So, with no thought in her heart but for her own
worldly advancement, Beatrice Fairfax stood before God's altar and vowed
to love, honour, and obey a man for whom she had no scrap of affection,
and whom she would have laughed to scorn if he had been poor and
friendless. She married him, but the life which followed was not by any
means all that she had expected. Lord Darcy had heavy money losses,
which obliged him to curtail expenses almost immediately after his
wedding; her own health broke down, and it was a knife in her heart to
know that her boy was only the third son, and that the two big, handsome
lads at Eton would inherit the lion's share of their father's property.
Hector, the Lifeguardsman, and Oscar, the Dragoon, were for ever running
into debt and making fresh demands on her husband's purse. She and her
children had to suffer for their extravagances; while Robert, her only
son, was growing up a shy, awkward lad, who hated society, and asked
nothing better than to be left in the country alone with his frogs and
his beetles. Ambition after ambition had failed her, until now all her
hopes were centred in Rosalind, the beautiful daughter, in whom she saw
a reproduction of herself in the days of her girlhood. She had had a
dull and obscure youth; Rosalind should be the belle of society. Her
own marriage had been a disappointment; Rosalind should make a brilliant
alliance. She had failed to gain the prize for which she had worked;
she would live again in Rosalind's triumphs, and in them find fullest
satisfaction.
So Lady Darcy gloated over every detail of her daughter's beauty, and
thought day and night of her hair, her complexion, her figure, striving
still to satisfy her poor tired soul with promises of future success,
and never dreaming for a moment that the prize which seemed to elude her
grasp had been gained long ago by the vicar's wife, with her
old-fashioned dress and work-worn hands. But Mrs Asplin knew, and
thanked God in her heart for the sweetness and peace of her dear, shabby
home; for the husband who loved her, and the children whom they were
training to be good servants for Him in the world Yes, and for that
other child too, who had been taken away at the very dawn of his
manhood, and who, they believed, was doing still better work in the
unseen world.
Until Lady Darcy discovered that the only true happiness rose from
something deeper than worldly success, there was nothing in store for
her but fresh disappointments and heart-hunger; while as for Rosalind,
the unfortunate child of such a mother--Mrs Asplin looked at the girl
as she sat leaning back in her chair, craning her throat, and showing
off all her little airs and graces for the benefit of the two admiring
schoolboys, gratified vanity and self-love showing on every line of her
face.
"It seems almost cruel to say so," she sighed to herself, "but it would
be the best thing that could happen to the child if she were to lose
some of her beauty before she grew up. Such a face as that is a
terrible temptation to vanity." But Mrs Asplin did not guess how soon
these unspoken words would come back to her memory, or what bitter cause
she would have to regret their fulfilment.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN.
A PINK LUNCHEON.
For the next week conversation was more strictly centred on Rosalind
than ever, and the gloomy expression deepened on Peggy's face. She was,
in truth, working too hard for her strength, for, as each day passed,
the necessity of hurrying on with the calendar became more apparent; and
as Robert was no longer master of his own time, she was obliged to come
to his aid in writing out the selected quotations.
At every spare moment of the day she was locked in her room, scribbling
away for dear life or searching for appropriate extracts, and, as a
consequence, her brain refused to rest when she wished it to do so. She
tossed wakefully on her pillow, and was often most inclined for sleep
when six o'clock struck, and she dragged herself up, a white-cheeked,
weary little mortal, to sit blinking over the fire, wishing feebly that
it was time to go to bed again, instead of getting up to face the long,
long day.
Robert was not more observant than most boys of his age, and Peggy would
have worked herself to death before she had complained to him. She was
proud to feel that he depended on her more than ever, that without her
help he could not possibly have finished his task, while his words of
gratitude helped to comfort a heart which was feeling sore and empty.
In truth, these last few weeks had been harder for Peggy than those
immediately following her mother's departure. Then each one in the
house had vied with the other in trying to comfort her, whereas now,
without any intention of unkindness, her companions often appeared to be
neglectful.
When Rosalind was present Esther hung on one arm and Mellicent on the
other, without so much as a glance over the shoulder to see if Peggy
were following. Instead of a constant "Peggy, what would you like?"
"What does Peggy say?" her opinion was never even asked, while
Rosalind's lightest word was treated as law.
It would have been hard for any girl under the circumstances, but it was
doubly hard when that girl was so dependent on her friends, and so
sensitive and reserved in disposition as Peggy Saville. She would not
deign to complain or to ask for signs of affection which were not
voluntarily given, but her merry ways disappeared, and she became so
silent and subdued that she was hardly recognisable as the audacious
Peggy of a few weeks earlier.
"Peggy's so grumpy," Mellicent complained to her mother. "She never
laughs now, nor makes jokes, nor flies about as she used to do! She's
just as glum and mum as can be, and she never sits with us! She is
always in her bedroom with the door locked, so that we can't get in!
She's there now! I think she might stay with us sometimes! It's mean,
always running away!"
Mrs Asplin drew her brows together and looked worried. She had not
been satisfied about Peggy lately, and this news did not tend to
reassure her. Her kind heart could not endure that anyone beneath her
roof should be ill or unhappy, and the girl had looked both during the
last few days. She went upstairs at once and tapped at the door, when
Peggy's voice was raised in impatient answer.
"I can't come! Go away! I'm engaged!"
"But I want to speak to you, dear! Please let me in!" she replied in
her clear, pleasant tones; whereupon there was a hasty scamper inside,
and the door was thrown open.
"Oh-h! I didn't know it was you; I thought it was one of the girls.
I'm sorry I kept you waiting."
Mrs Asplin gave a glance around. The gas-fire was lit, but the chair
beside it stood stiffly in the corner, and the cushion was uncrushed.
Evidently, the girl had not been sitting there. The work-basket was in
its accustomed place, and there were no cottons or silks lying about--
Peggy had not been sewing at Christmas presents, as she had half hoped
to find her. A towel was thrown over the writing-table, and a piece of
blotting-paper lay on the floor. A chair was pushed to one side, as if
it had been lately used. That looked as if she had been writing
letters.
"Peggy dear, what are you doing all by yourself in this chilly room?"
"I'm busy, Mrs Asplin. I lit the fire as soon as I came in."
"But a room does not get warm in five minutes. I don't want you to
catch cold and be laid up with a sore throat. Can't you bring your
writing downstairs and do it beside the others?"
"I would rather not. I can get on so much better by myself."
"Are you writing to India--to your mother?"
"N-no, not just now."
"Then really, dear, you must come downstairs! This won't do! Your
mother wished you to have a fire in your room, so that you might be able
to sit here when you wanted to be alone, but she never meant you to make
it a habit, or to spend all your spare time alone. It isn't healthy to
use a room night and day, and to burn so much gas, and it isn't
sociable, Peggy dear. Mellicent has just been complaining that you are
hardly ever with them nowadays. Come along, like a good girl; put the
writing away and amuse yourself downstairs. You have done enough work
for one day. You don't do me credit with those white cheeks."
Peggy stood with her eyes fixed on the carpet without uttering a word.
It would have been the easiest thing in the world to say, "Oh, do let me
stay upstairs as much as I like for a day or two longer. I have a piece
of work on hand which I am anxious to finish. It is a secret, but I
hope to tell you all about it soon, and I am sure you will be pleased."
If she had done so, she knew perfectly well how hearty and pleasant
would have been Mrs Asplin's consent; but there are some states of mind
in which it is a positive pleasure to be a martyr, and to feel oneself
misunderstood, and this was just the mood in which Peggy found herself
at present. She heard Mrs Asplin sigh, as if with anxiety and
disappointment, as she left the room, and shrugged her shoulders in
wilful indifference.
"She thinks I like sitting shivering here! I slave, and slave, from
morning till night, and then people think I am sulky! I am not working
for myself. I don't want the wretched old ten pounds; I could have ten
pounds to-morrow if I needed it. Mother said I could. I am working to
help Rob, and now I shall have to sit up later, and get up earlier than
ever, as I mayn't work during the day. Mellicent said I was never with
them, did she! I don't see that it matters whether I am there or not!
They don't want me; nobody wants me, now that Rosalind has come! I hate
Rosalind--nasty, smirking, conceited thing!" and Peggy jerked the towel
off the writing-table and flicked it violently to and fro in the air,
just as a little relief to her overcharged feelings.
She was crossing the hall with unwilling steps when the postman's knock
sounded at the door, and three letters in long, narrow envelopes fell to
the ground. Each envelope was of a pale pink tint, with a crest and
monogram in white relief; one was addressed to the Misses Asplin,
another to Oswald Elliston, and a third to Miss Mariquita Saville.
"Invitations!" cried Peggy, with a caper of delight. "Invitations! How
scrumptious!" Her face clouded for a moment as the sight of the letters
"R.D." suggested the sender of the letters; but the natural girlish
delight in an unexpected festivity was stronger even than her
prejudices, and it was the old, bright Peggy who bounced into the
schoolroom holding up the three letters, and crying gleefully, "_Quis,
Quis_, something nice for somebody! An invitation!"
"_Ego, Ego_!" came the eager replies, and the envelopes were seized and
torn open in breathless haste.
"From Rosalind! Oh, how funny! `Requests the pleasure--company--to a
pink luncheon.' What in the world is a `pink luncheon'?--`on Tuesday
next, the 20th inst.'"
"A p-p-pink luncheon? How wewwy stwange!" echoed Mellicent, who had
been suddenly affected with an incapacity to pronounce the letter "r"
since the arrival of Rosalind Darcy on the scene--a peculiarity which
happened regularly every autumn, and passed off again with the advent of
spring. "How can a luncheon possibly be pink?"
"That's more than I can tell you, my dear! Ask Rob. What does it mean,
Rob?" asked Peggy curiously; and Robert scowled, and shook back his
shock of hair.
"Some American fad, I believe. The idea is to have everything of one
colour--flowers, drapery, and food, china--everything that is on the
table. It's a fag and an awful handicap, for you can't have half the
things you want. But let us be modern or die--that's the motto
nowadays. Mother is always trying to get hold of new-fangled notions."
"`Peggy Saville requests the pleasure of Jane Smith's company to a
magenta supper.'--`Peggy Saville requests the pleasure of Mr Jones's
company to a purple tea.' It's a splendid idea! I like it immensely,"
said Peggy, pursing her lips, and staring in the fire in meditative
fashion. "Pink--pink--what can we eat that is pink? P-prawns,
p-pickles, p-p-pomegranates, P-aysandu tongues (you would call those
pink, wouldn't you--pinky red?) Humph! I don't think it sounds very
nice. Perhaps they dye the things with cochineal. I think I shall have
a sensible brown and green meal before I go, and then I can nibble
elegantly at the pinkies. Would it be considered a delicate mark of
attention if I wore a pink frock?"
"Certainly it would. Wear that nice one that you put on in the
evenings. Rosalind will be in pink from head to foot, you may depend on
it," said Robert confidently; whereupon Mellicent rushed headlong from
the room to find her mother, and plead eagerly that summer crepon
dresses of the desired tint should be brought forth from their
hiding-place and freshened up for the occasion. To accede to this
request meant an extra call upon time already fully occupied, but
mothers have a way of not grudging trouble where their children are
concerned. Mrs Asplin said, "Yes, darling, of course I will!" and set
to work with such goodwill that all three girls sported pink dresses
beneath their ulsters when they set off to partake of the mysterious
luncheon, a few days later.
Rosalind came to the bedroom to receive them, and looked on from an
arm-chair, while Lady Darcy's maid helped the visitors to take off their
wraps. She herself looked like a rose in her dainty pink draperies, and
Peggy had an impression that she was not altogether pleased to see that
her guests were as appropriately dressed as herself. She eyed them up
and down, and made remarks to the maid in that fluent French of hers
which was so unintelligible to the schoolgirls' ears. The maid smirked
and pursed up her lips, and then, meeting Peggy's steady gaze, dropped
her eyes in confusion. Peggy knew, as well as if she had understood
every word, that the remarks exchanged between mistress and maid had
been of a depreciatory nature, not as concerned her own attire--that was
as perfect in its way as Rosalind's own--but with reference to the
home-made dresses of the vicar's daughters, which seemed to have
suddenly become clumsy and shapeless when viewed in the mirrors of this
elegant bedroom. She was in arms at once on her friends' behalf, and
when Peggy's dignity was hurt she was a formidable person to tackle. In
this instance she fixed her eyes first on the maid, and then on Rosalind
herself with a steady, disapproving stare which was not a little
disconcerting.
"I am sorry," she said, "but we really don't know French well enough to
follow your conversation! You were talking about us, I think. Perhaps
you would be kind enough to repeat your remarks in English?"
"Oh-h, it doesn't matter! It was nothing at all important!" Rosalind
flushed, and had the grace to look a trifle ashamed of her own
ill-breeding, but she did not by any means appreciate the reproof. The
girls had not been ten minutes in the house, and already that
aggravating Peggy Saville had succeeded in making her feel humiliated
and uncomfortable. The same thing happened whenever they met. The
respect and awe and adoring admiration which she was accustomed to
receive from other girls of her own age seemed altogether wanting in
Peggy's case; and yet, strange to say, the very fact that she refused to
fall down and worship invested Peggy with a peculiar importance in
Rosalind's eyes. She longed to overcome her prejudices and add her name
to the list of her adorers, and to this end she considered her tastes in
a way which would never have occurred to her in connection with Mrs
Asplin's daughters. In planning the pink luncheon Peggy had been
continually in her mind, and it is doubtful whether she would have taken
the trouble to arrange so difficult an entertainment had not the party
from the vicarage included that important personage, Miss Mariquita
Saville.
From the bedroom the girls adjourned to the morning-room, where Lady
Darcy sat waiting; but almost as soon as they had exchanged greetings,
the gong sounded to announce luncheon, and they walked across the hall
aglow with expectation.
The table looked exquisite, and the guests stood still in the doorway
and gasped with admiration. The weather outside was grey and murky, but
tall standard lamps were placed here and there, and the light which
streamed from beneath the pink silk shades gave an air of warmth and
comfort to the room. Down the centre of the table lay a slip of
looking-glass, on which graceful long-necked swans seemed to float to
and fro, while troughs filled with soft pink blossoms formed a
bordering. Garlands of pink flowers fell from the chandelier and were
attached to the silver candelabra, in which pink candles burned with
clear and steady flare. Glass, china, ornaments, were all of the same
dainty colour, and beside each plate was a dainty little buttonhole
nosegay, with a coral-headed pin, all ready to be attached to the dress
or coat of the owner.
"It's--it's beautiful!" cried Mellicent ecstatically; while Peggy's
beauty-loving eye turned from one detail to another with delighted
approbation. "Really," she said to herself in astonishment, "I couldn't
have done it better myself! It's quite admirable!" and as Rosalind's
face peered inquiringly at her beneath the canopy of flowers, she nodded
her head, and smiled generous approval.
"Beautiful! Charming! I congratulate you! Did you design it and
arrange everything yourself?"
"Mother and I made it up between us. We didn't do the actual work, but
we told the servants what to do, and saw that it was all right. The
flowers and bonbons are easy enough to manage; it's the things to eat
that are the greatest trouble."
"It seems to be too horribly prosaic to eat anything at such a table,
except crumpled rose-leaves, like the princess in the fairy tale," said
Peggy gushingly; but at this Mellicent gave an exclamation of dismay,
and the three big lads turned their eyes simultaneously towards the soup
tureen, as if anxious to assure themselves that they were not to be put
off with such ethereal rations.
The soup was pink. "Tomato!" murmured Peggy to herself, as she raised
the first creamy spoonful to her lips. The fish was covered with thick
pink sauce; tiny little cutlets lurked behind ruffles of pink paper;
pink baskets held chicken souffles; moulds of pink cream and whipped-up
syllabubs were handed round in turns, and looked so tempting that
Mellicent helped herself at once, and nearly shed tears of mortification
on finding that they were followed by distracting pink ices, which were
carried away again before she could possibly finish what was on her
plate. Then came dessert-plates and finger-glasses, in which
crystallised rose-leaves floated in the scented water, as if in
fulfilment of Peggy's suggestion of an hour before, and the young people
sat in great contentment, eating rosy apples, bananas pared and dipped
in pink sugar, or helping themselves to the delicious bonbons which were
strewed about the table.
While they were thus occupied the door opened, and Lord Darcy came into
the room. He had not appeared before, and he shook hands with the
visitors in turn, and then stood at the head of the table looking about
him with a slow, kindly smile. Peggy watched him from her seat, and
thought what a nice face he had, and wondered at the indifferent manner
in which he was received by his wife and daughter. Lady Darcy leant
back in her chair and played with her fruit, the sleeves of her pink
silk tea-gown falling back from her white arms. Rosalind whispered to
Max, and neither of them troubled to cast so much as a glance of welcome
at the new-comer. Peggy thought of her own father, the gallant soldier
out in India, of the joy and pride with which his comings and goings
were watched; of Mr Asplin in the vicarage, with his wife running to
meet him, and Mellicent resting her curly bead on his shoulder; and the
figure of the old lord standing unnoticed at the head of his own table
assumed a pathetic interest. It seemed, however, as if Lord Darcy were
accustomed to be overlooked, for he showed no signs of annoyance; on the
contrary, his face brightened, and he looked at the pretty scene with
sparkling eyes. The room was full of a soft rosy glow, the shimmer of
silver and crystal was reflected in the sheet of mirror, and beneath the
garlands of flowers the young faces of the guests glowed with pleasure
and excitement. He looked from one to the other--handsome Max, dandy
Oswald, Robert with his look of strength and decision; then to the
girls--Esther, gravely smiling; wide-eyed Mellicent; Peggy, with her
eloquent, sparkling eyes; Rosalind, a queen of beauty among them all;
finally to the head of the table, where sat his wife.
"I must congratulate you, dear," he said heartily. "It is the prettiest
sight I have seen for a long time. You have arranged admirably, but
that's no new thing; you always do. I don't know where you get your
ideas. These wreaths--eh? I've never seen anything like them before.
What made you think of fastening them up there?"
"I have had them like that several times before, but you never notice a
thing until its novelty is over, and I am tired to death of seeing it,"
said his wife, with a frown and an impatient curve of the lip, as if she
had received a rebuke instead of a compliment.
Peggy stared at her plate, felt Robert shuffle on his chair by her side,
and realised that he was as embarrassed and unhappy as herself. The
beautiful room with its luxurious appointments seemed to have suddenly
become oppressive and cheerless, for in it was the spirit of discontent
and discord between those who should have been most in harmony. Esther
was shocked, Mellicent frightened, the boys looked awkward and
uncomfortable. No one ventured to break the silence, and there was
quite a long pause before Lady Darcy spoke again in quick, irritable
tones.
"Have you arranged to get away with me on Thursday, as I asked you?"
"My dear, I cannot. I explained before. I am extremely sorry, but I
have made appointments which I cannot break. I could take you next week
if you would wait."
"I can't wait. I told you I had to go to the dentist's. Do you wish me
to linger on in agony for another week? And I have written to Mrs
Bouverie that I will be at her `At Home' on Saturday. My appointments
are, at least, as binding as yours. It isn't often that I ask you to
take me anywhere, but when it is a matter of health I do think you might
show a little consideration."
Lord Darcy drew his brows together and bit his moustache. Peggy
recalled Robert's description of the "governor looking wretched" when he
found himself compelled to refuse a favour, and did not wonder that the
lad was ready to deny himself a pleasure rather than see that expression
on his father's face. The twinkling light had died out of his eyes, and
he looked old and sad and haggard, far more in need of physical remedies
than his wife, whose "agony" had been so well concealed during the last
two hours as to give her the appearance of a person in very comfortable
health. Rosalind alone looked absolutely unruffled, and lay back in her
chair nibbling at her bonbon, as though such scenes were of too frequent
occurrence between her parents to be deserving of attention.
"If you have made up your mind to go to-morrow, and cannot go alone, you
must take Robert with you, Beatrice, for I cannot leave. It is only for
four days, and Mr Asplin will no doubt excuse him, if you write and
explain the circumstances."
Lord Darcy left the room, and Robert and Peggy exchanged agonised
glances. Go away for nearly a week, when before two days were over the
calendar must be sent to London, and there still remained real hard work
before it was finished! Peggy sat dazed and miserable, seeing the
painful effort of the last month brought to naught, Robert's ambition
defeated, and her own help of no avail. That one glance had shown the
lad's face flushed with emotion; but when his mother spoke to him in
fretful tones, bidding him be ready next morning when she should call in
the carriage on her way to the station, he answered at once with polite
acquiescence--
"Very well, mater, I won't keep you waiting. I shall be ready by
half-past ten if you want me."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN.
AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR.