EVERY visit to the cottage seems prefaced with a scramble. Either the
work at the office suddenly does itself up in a tangle, or the domestic
arrangements show signs of incipient paralysis, which it takes all my
available energy to avert, or else it is people who inflict themselves
upon me when I’m at my final gasp without a moment, or a single company
smile, to spare for anybody. And of all the three forms of irritation,
the uninvited people are the worst; for they always seem to absorb the
last bit of vitality left me, which I had hoped would just carry me
over the journey.
There is Miss Quirker, for instance. You don’t know Miss Quirker? How I
envy you!
I can best describe her as a lady well over forty (or more), who
apparently hasn’t anything at all to do, and who does it thoroughly
well. She has a couple of very decided and conspicuous gifts—one is the
ability to waste the time and dissipate the amiable qualities of every
individual whose path she crosses; and the other is a positive genius
for saying the wrong thing.
I was near the window writing for all I was worth, when she knocked at
the door and inquired for me, adding, “I see she is busy writing, but
if you tell her who it is, I know she’ll see _me_.” Of course I had to
see her.
She entered the room with a kittenish little rush and scuffle, that is
by no means the happiest form of affectation for a tall, largely-built
woman, well over forty (or more).
“Ah! I’ve found you in at last” (with a roguish wag of a stiff finger
in a size too small glove). “I was determined to see you, dear, though
Abigail always looks so forbidding at the door. I met Miss Virginia
shopping just now, and I asked if you were at home. She said you were
_frightfully_ busy, nearly off your head with work, as you were leaving
town the first thing in the morning. So I said at once: Then of course
I must go round and call on her this very afternoon.
“She said she wasn’t sure that you’d be in if I did, but I said I
should chance it—it’s such an age since we’ve met—why, not since your
engagement was announced! Now, just give me an account of yourself, and
tell me all about everything.
“I would have asked Miss Virginia, but I never think she is at all
cordial, or perhaps I should say—sympathetic. Indeed, I don’t think she
really knew me at first. I was right in her path, yet she seemed to
look through me! But I took a seat next to her at the lace counter,
and spoke to her. By the way, is she deaf? It was so strange that she
didn’t seem to hear a quarter of the questions I asked her about you,
so I really got next to _no_ information from her. It was so funny
sometimes that I almost laughed—I’ve _such_ a sense of humour, you
know. For instance, when I asked her what she thought of your _fiancé_
(you know you’ve never introduced me to him yet!) and was it her idea
of a suitable match, and was he tall or short, she replied: ‘I think
it wonderful value considering, and it should wear well; the size is
five yards round, so I had better have six yards to allow for corners.’
And, do you know, I was some minutes before I realised that she wasn’t
talking about his waist measure, but an afternoon tea-cloth for which
she was buying the lace. She evidently hadn’t heard a word I had said.
And so I raised my voice and asked her what part he had come from, as I
knew he didn’t go to _our_ church. She just looked at me and replied:
‘Cluny; I always think Cluny lace washes so well, don’t you?’
“You see, I got absolutely _nothing_ out of her. In fact, I wondered,
dear, whether—of course, I know you don’t mind me speaking quite
frankly—whether there had been any little rift—er—you understand; of
course I know you’ve a wonderful fund of patience, only those two girls
always seem to be with you, and though I’m sure you wouldn’t tell them
so, yet anyone with the very _slightest_ tact might see that they
aren’t wanted. And of course....
“Oh, well, I’m glad to hear you _do_ think as much of them as ever. I
shouldn’t have thought it; but you needn’t mind telling _me_ if there
_had_ been a little coolness. I’m fairly sharp at seeing through a
stone wall. And I always have said that—personally, mind you—I never
knew two girls less....
“Of course, we won’t discuss them if you’d rather not. As you know, I
am the very last one to want to introduce a disagreeable topic. We’ll
talk about you. Turn round to the light, and let me see how you are
looking. My _dear_! but you do look ill!! I don’t know _when_ I’ve seen
you look so utterly washed out and anæmic....
“You never felt better in your life? Well, I’m glad to hear it, I’m
sure. Oh, I see what it is, it’s that blue dress you are wearing that
gives you that aged and sallow look—a very trying colour, isn’t it? I
don’t think anyone ought to wear that colour, but those with very clear
young-looking complexions, and then it looks charming. It always suited
me. By the way, did Madame Delphine make that dress?... I thought so, I
knew it the minute I saw you. It’s a queer thing, but I have never yet
seen anyone look even passable in a dress that she has made. You can’t
exactly say that it doesn’t fit, can you? It’s a something—I don’t
know how to express it—about her gowns that always strikes me as—well,
you know what I mean, don’t you? And that dress you’ve got on looks
just like that! I know you won’t mind _me_ speaking quite plainly;
you see, I’ve known you for so long, and I’m not one to flatter, I
never was. What we need in this world is absolute sincerity; don’t you
agree with me? And I always think it’s the kindest thing when you see
a friend in anything that makes her look plainer than ever, to tell
her so at once, then she knows just exactly what she looks like. And,
after all, other people are the best judges as to what suits us. We
can’t see ourselves. Mrs. Ridley was saying at the Guild ‘At Home’ at
the Archdeacon’s the other day, she thought you were so wise to stick
to that way you do your hair; she said she thought it suited you,
considering that....”
Here I did manage to interpolate a sarcastic regret that they couldn’t
find a more interesting topic of conversation!
“Oh, yes, we _had_ other more interesting things to talk about, dear,
but Mrs. Archdeacon had your photo on the table, and the Archdeacon
said something about you, I forget what—nothing of any importance—and
that was the only reason we mentioned you. I said I thought perhaps you
did it that way because it was a little thin just there.... Oh, I know
you used to have a lot of hair, dear; but some people’s hair _does_
come out, and a pad doesn’t look so well anywhere else....
“It’s all your own hair? You don’t wear—— Well, I _am_ surprised! I
should _never_ have thought it!! I don’t mean that it looks much in any
case, but I always concluded that you wore——
“Oh, how delightful! I’ll confess I was longing for a cup of tea....
Yes, three lumps and plenty of milk. I always say it makes up for any
deficiencies in the tea, if one has lots of milk.... China tea, is it?
I thought so. I dare say it’s all right for those who like it. And, of
course, if you tell people what it is, they understand why it _looks_
so poor....
“On _no_ account; don’t _think_ of having some Indian tea made
specially for me. I can quite well make this do, because I’m going
straight home after I leave you, and tea will be waiting for me, and I
shall have a _good_ cup first thing....
“Yes, I think I will have another sandwich, even though it is the third
time of asking. These make me think of the Guild ‘At Home’ last week.
You ought to have been there. The Archdeacon makes such a delightful
host _and_ the sandwiches!—well, I can’t _tell_ you what they were
like; literally hundreds and hundreds of them, and such delicious
filling; all cut in their own kitchen, too. You really should get Mrs.
Archdeacon to tell you what her cook put in them; you’d never touch one
of these ordinary ones again, once you had tasted hers.
“But what I _would_ like to know is, what does she do with all the
crusts? Mrs. Ridley thought that perhaps they made them up into savoury
puddings; only, as I said to her: How about those with fish in them?
She said that perhaps they kept them separate when cutting; but I know
the shuffling ways of cooks better than that! I never kept one, and I
never will....
“I must certainly try the cake if you made it yourself. I seldom get
time to do any cooking myself, though I’m a very good hand at cakes.
But you’ve secretaries to take everything off your hands; you must have
lots of spare time.”
(A moment’s pause while she tries the cake.)
“Have you ever used the Busy Bee Flour Sifter? No? Then I should
strongly advise you to get one. I should think _that_ might help you to
make a lighter cake; or do you think you put in enough baking powder?
But there, some people have a light hand with cakes, and some haven’t.
I don’t think anything makes any difference if you haven’t. It’s just
like plants, isn’t it—they always grow well for those who love them.
_Your_ ferns aren’t looking very bright, are they?...
“Oh, don’t you like the ends of the fronds rubbed?... I see, they
were given you by your _fiancé_, and naturally they are the apple of
your eye. That reminds me, you haven’t shown me his portrait yet. I’m
longing to see it....
“Is _that_ the gentleman! Well! he’s the very last man in the world I
should have chosen for you! Not a bit like what I pictured....
“No, I don’t mean that there’s anything _wrong_ with him, only—er—he
doesn’t look a scrap like the man _you_ would become engaged to....
“Well, I don’t know that I can exactly describe the type of man I
expected. I thought he would be tall and——
“He is? Over six feet? Well, he doesn’t look it from his photo, does
he?...
“That’s true; a vignetted head doesn’t show the full height. But apart
from that, I expected an artistic sort of man....
“He is? Really! And then I should have pictured him rather—er—well,
Napoleonic, and with that far-away poetic fire in his eyes that carries
you off your feet to untold heights....
“No, of course I don’t mean an aviator! I mean a—but it isn’t easy to
put it into words; only you can’t think how disap—how surprised I am to
see a little man....
“Of course, I remember you did say he was tall and well made. But
there, handsome is as handsome does; and, after all, I’ve heard that
it is often the plainest and most uninteresting-looking men that turn
out the best in the end. I can only hope that it will be so in your——
“Why, I declare! Here’s Miss Virginia! How d’y’do? We’ve been talking
about you all the afternoon. Well, I really _must_ be going, and I
simply won’t listen to any of your persuasions to stay longer. I’ve
brightened her up nicely, Miss Virginia; she was looking ever so gloomy
when I called. Good-bye, dear. _Good_-bye, Miss Virginia.”
_Exit Miss Quirker._
What we said after she had gone had better not be recorded! My own
remarks may not have been _quite_ cordial; but I know that Virginia’s
were even worse—if that were possible.
* * * * *
But though visitations such as these, when bestowed upon me at the
eleventh hour, always reduce me mentally to a sort of bran-mash (and
Virginia says she can’t see why anybody need bother a government to
_import_ pulp nowadays, considering the state of her brain, to say
nothing of those of other people who shall be nameless), the sight of
the garden makes me human once more, and by sunset the silence of the
hills has so restored my soul, that the sun seldom, if ever, goes down
upon my wrath.
After tea, there will probably be two hours of daylight for watering
the garden. Even though the sun has dropped behind the opposite hills,
it is light up here on the hill-top long after the valley has gone to
sleep; and when the sun has really set, there is a long and lovely
twilight.
Indoors and out there is absolute peace. The grandfather’s clock ticks
with that slow deliberation that is so soothing; even the preliminary
rumble it gives before striking is never irritating—you feel it is a
concession due to advanced age.
Through the open window float in the scents of thousands of flowers
that are feeling unspeakably grateful for the liberal watering the
girls have been giving them; you cannot distinguish any one in
particular; one moment you think it is the sweet briar, then you are
sure it is the white lilies, then the breeze brings the breath of the
honeysuckles that are climbing trees and hedges, till the whole air is
laden with perfume.
Up the garden white dresses are seen among the borders.
“There, I believe we’ve done everything but that upper bed of
hollyhocks, and they won’t hurt for to-night.” Virginia sounds as
though she had been working hard.
“Now the tent,” calls out Ursula. And we all make a stampede to the
bottom of the lower orchard, and with a few dexterous turns the tent
is down and folded up; for though the trees may be motionless now,
the wind springs up at any moment on these hills, and once you hear
it soughing in the tops of the big fir-trees in the garden you will
realise the advantage of having the tent indoors!
As you saunter up the garden, back to the house, crushing the
sweet-odoured black peppermint in the grass underfoot, the stars
seem very near. The cottage looks like a toy, with the light shining
from each little window. And as you cross the threshold into the
living-room, the log fire flashes and gleams (a fire is acceptable up
here after sundown, even in the summer), and everything smiles with
such a cosy welcome, till brass candlesticks and cups and jugs and the
homely willow patterns on the dresser, all seem to say, “We are so glad
you’ve come.”
V