Facing the Footlights
The big five-seater car came punctually at three and conveyed the young
people and all their belongings to The Warren, where their arrival caused
much satisfaction.
"You've saved us from a most awkward predicament," declared Mrs. Glyn
Williams. "I hardly know how to thank you. Wasn't it clever of Babbie to
think of it?"
"We've never forgotten how you did a scene here once!" said Tudor.
"Couldn't do it myself to save my life! And Gwen says the same. Oh, here
she is! I was looking for you, Gwen! Here are the Ramsays, and Talland."
The Gwen who advanced to shake hands was so different from their old
acquaintance that the girls felt they scarcely would have recognised her.
She did her hair in a new fashion, and was wonderfully grown-up, and even
more patronising than formerly. She said a languid "How d'you do," then
left Babbie to entertain them, which the latter did with enthusiasm, for
she was fond of Mavis and Merle.
"I expect you're thinking of all the improvements you'll make here when
you come of age?" said Mrs. Glyn Williams, trying to be pleasant to Bevis
over the tea-cups. "It's a nice place, and will really look very well
when it's been redecorated. You'll have to do it up for your bride, won't
you?"
At which joke Bevis blushed crimson and dropped his cake on the carpet,
to his own confusion and the delight of the fox-terrier Jim, who thought
it was done for his especial benefit, and promptly swallowed the piece,
icing and all.
"I don't want to hurry you to turn out," protested Bevis shyly.
"Oh, we shall have Bodoran Hall ready by that time. We were there last
week looking at the new building. The workmen are really beginning to get
on with it at last."
"You'll have to build fresh stables here, Talland, if you mean to do any
decent hunting," advised Tudor airily. "If I were you I'd get those
lawyers to start them at once, then they'd be ready when you want them. I
suppose you _will_ hunt?"
"I'm not sure yet what I mean to do," replied Bevis guardedly.
He did not like so much catechism about his future plans. In the old days
of his poverty he had never admired the Glyn Williams' ideals of life,
and he had no wish to mould himself upon their standards. The sporting
landlord, with a horizon bounded by the local meet or a county ball, was
a type that did not appeal to him, and he saw no reason why he should be
forced by a spurious public opinion into lines that were uncongenial.
Though on the surface he and Tudor were friends, at bottom the old
antagonism existed as in the days when they had quarrelled on the cliffs
near Blackthorn Bower.
It was only to please Mavis and Merle that he had accepted this
invitation to The Warren, where he found himself in the peculiar position
of being patronised in his own house.
With Bevis rather gloomy and restrained, Tudor slightly aggressive, and
Gwen too fashionable to trouble to entertain her old friends, matters
were not as exhilarating as they might have been, and everybody seemed
relieved when it was time to walk down to the Institute.
"I suppose I shall have to go!" yawned Gwen. "These village concerts of
Mother's are _such_ a nuisance! Why can't the people get up their
own instead of always expecting her to bother with them! _I_ don't
want to hear Miss Smith and Miss Brown and Miss Robinson! It bores me
stiff."
"Not very polite of her when _we_ are going to act!" whispered
Merle to Mavis as they put on their hats.
"It certainly isn't! But Gwen's always like this. I vote we try not to
mind," returned Mavis heroically.
The entertainment was to be given in the local Institute, which was
fitted with a platform and curtain, but otherwise held no great
facilities for theatricals. A large and very unruly crowd of young people
were outside waiting for admission, and through these our party had to
push their way to a side entrance. At the back of the platform great
confusion raged. The whole of the Castleton family seemed to be trying to
dress one another among a rich jumble of costumes, while Mr. Castleton,
altering the poses in his tableaux at the eleventh hour, kept sending
messengers home to his studio for articles which he had forgotten.
"The pantry's the only place for the Ladies' Dressing-Room, and it's full
of tea-cups!" said Beata, kneeling on the floor to button Lilith into a
mediaeval robe that reached to her toes.
"Tea-cups or no tea-cups, I'll have to use it!" said Merle. "Come with
us, Romola, and mount guard over the door while we change. I'm not going
to have all the parish popping in. How sublime you look!"
"Very hot and uncomfortable!" sighed Romola. "I'd put on the blue costume
and then Dad suddenly altered the whole tableau and made me get into this
instead. Wasn't it tiresome of him? Now he's fussing about and I know we
shall be late! We always are!"
"So shall we be if we don't hurry up. Have you got the right bag, Mavis?
Oh, here are some of Bevis's things! I must rush out and give them to him
before we begin."
Dressing in a pantry full of tea-cups, by the aid of candles and a hand-
mirror, was not at all an easy performance, but the girls did their best
for one another and were pleased with the result. As soon as they were
ready they went to help Bevis and Clive, who needed much assistance, and
were beginning to suffer from stage-fright.
"I was a silly owl to let myself in for it!" groaned the former. "I
expect I'll forget every word I ought to say and disgrace myself!"
"You'll do nothing of the sort!" declared Merle firmly. "If you could act
it last night you can act it to-night, so don't be ridiculous. You've
just _got_ to--there!"
"All right, Soeurette! Don't get baity! I won't let you down if I can
help it!"
The audience by this time had been admitted, and had surged into the room
and struggled for seats, slightly restrained by the boy scouts, who were
acting as stewards, and who vigorously turned out the rank and file if
they invaded the reserved benches. The noise was tremendous, everybody
was talking, and rough lads at the back were indulging in whistling and
an occasional cat-call.
"The tickets have gone well, at any rate," said Nan Colville, who was
helping in one of the tableaux. "It's something to have the room full,
Dad says! But just listen to them! Aren't they rowdy?"
"If everybody's ready we really _must_ begin!" declared the Vicar,
making a hurried visit behind the scenes. "I don't think they'll wait any
longer."
Furious stamping from the audience endorsed his words, so Mr. Castleton,
who had contemplated yet another alteration, was obliged to be content
and allow the curtain to go up. The scene was 'the first meeting of Dante
and Beatrice,' and was a charming presentment of mediaeval Italy.
Constable, robed in pale green velvet with a Florentine cap on his
picturesque curls, made a very glorified representation of the youthful
poet, while Lilith, in the traditional red dress described in the _Vita
Nuova_, looked ethereal enough to inspire a lifelong devotion and
whole volumes of poems.
The rest of the Castleton family, and a few friends, were grouped as
relations and nobles, in some of the richest dresses of the studio, and
made a very brave show, evoking much applause. It was years since the
villagers had seen 'Living Pictures,' and this was superior to anything
of the sort given before. Without the Castletons the entertainment would
have been almost non-existent. They provided the greater half of the
programme. They were so accustomed to posing as models that they took
most graceful positions in the tableaux, and preserved their postures
admirably without moving so much as a finger. They included Babbie in a
scene from _The Vicar of Wakefield_, and she made a dear little
'Sophia' in muslin dress and mob cap, hugely to her mother's
satisfaction.
Morland, who was at home for Christmas, gave two piano solos, and though
his beautiful artistic playing was much above the heads of most of the
audience, there were some who were musical enough to enjoy it. Everybody
appreciated Claudia's songs. Her voice was of a rare quality, and even
the rough lads at the back of the room stopped 'ragging' and listened in
silence. It was very highly trained singing, but held that divine throb
of passion which uses art as the instrument of nature, and united the
correctness of a musician with the spontaneous carolling of a bird. With
youth and so pretty a face added to her talent it was no wonder that
Claudia had an ovation.
"I'm not supposed to sing anywhere in public till I've finished with the
college," she announced behind the scenes. "Signor Arezzo would be simply
furious if he knew. He's a terrible Turk about it. I don't see how he's
going to get to hear about it though! I shan't tell him myself, you may
be sure."
Fay, who had considerable skill at elocution, gave a most amusing
recitation, to which Morland played a very soft and subdued accompaniment
on the piano, and for the encore that followed she repeated some quaint
poems of American child-life, which were such a success that the Vicar
mentally voted her a discovery, and decided to ask her to help the
programme on future occasions.
It was now the turn of our party from Durracombe, who were trying to keep
up one another's spirits behind the scenes. The audience, owing to long
sitting still, was growing a little obstreperous. The chairman had to
keep constantly ringing a bell and reminding people to be quiet. The
noise at the back waxed so violent that his voice could hardly be heard,
and the occupants of the front seats had to turn round and shout,
'Order!' 'You'll be turned out!' before the delinquents preserved a
decent hush. The little piece evolved by Mavis and Merle was entitled:
_A Rich Relation._
The first scene disclosed Mrs. Hardup, a widow lady, lamenting her lack
of means, and regretting that her son, Augustus, should have engaged
himself to Isabella, a charming but utterly impecunious damsel. She
cheered up, however, when the young people came in bearing a letter; for
it was from Uncle Cashbags, their rich relation, announcing that he was
coming that very day to have lunch with them. Mavis, as the diplomatic
widow, with grey hair and tortoise-shell-rimmed spectacles, looked at
least fifty, and preserved her disguise admirably. As for Merle, not a
soul in the audience would have recognised her as Augustus. She wore
Clive's Eton suit and overcoat, had a brown wig and a moustache, and
affected a deep-toned fashionable drawl. Clive, arrayed in some of Mrs.
Ramsay's garments, with a hat and veil and a fur, looked a thorough
member of the smart set and acted the most modern of modern damsels. He
entered, affectionately leaning on the arm of Augustus, and almost
embarrassed that youth by his attentions.
Bevis, as Uncle Cashbags, with white hair, long beard, false eyebrows,
and a gouty foot, came limping on to the stage, and was received with
effusion by the widow and Augustus, and especially by Isabella, who was a
minx, and set herself to captivate the old gentleman. In vain the
luckless Augustus tried to ingratiate himself with his rich relation; he
was unfortunate enough to tumble over the gouty leg and make several
other most exasperating mistakes, which ended in Uncle Cashbags
wrathfully repudiating him as his heir, and announcing his intention of
marrying Isabella himself, finally hobbling away with the fair and
faithless damsel clinging fondly to his arm and blowing a good-bye kiss
to her former fiancé.
Mischievous Clive was in his element, and played the part with such
tremendous zeal that the audience, who had not yet grasped his youth and
his sex, watched his manoeuvres breathlessly, and several old ladies
looked quite scandalised and disapproving. It was only when called before
the curtain that, at a whisper from Mavis, he pulled off hat and veil,
revealing his unmistakably boyish head, whereupon a great shout of
laughter arose from the benches and a perfect storm of applause.
"It has been capital! Capital!" said Mrs. Glyn Williams. "One of the best
entertainments we've ever had at the Institute! Didn't Babbie look sweet
as 'Sophia'? We must have some more tableaux another time. Gwen, you
ought to have been in too! The Castletons were splendid! Such a number of
nice young people here! We ought to have a little dance. They must all
come up to The Warren to-morrow evening, and we'll clear the drawing-room.
I'll telephone to Dr. Tremayne and say I'm keeping you four till
Friday. Your dresses? Oh, we'll send over for them. I'm sure your Mother
won't mind your staying!"
There was no possibility of refusal, for Mrs. Glyn Williams had quite
settled the matter, and invited the Castletons and the Macleods and the
Colvilles and several other people on the spot. The Ramsays, who had made
plans of their own for the following evening, felt a little caught,
especially as Bevis looked glum and reproachful.
"How _could_ you?" he said to Mavis in an agonized whisper.
"How could I help it?"
"We were shot sitting," murmured Merle. "Cheer up, Bevis! A dance is a
dance, anyway. I hope I haven't spoilt Clive's Etons for him!"
Mrs. Glyn Williams really meant to be very kind and to give the young
people pleasure, and if Bevis did not entirely appreciate her hospitality
it was no doubt his own fault. The fact was that the snubs which he had
received as Bevis Hunter still rankled, and though as Bevis Talland he
was on a very different footing, he found it difficult entirely to forget
all that had gone before.
"I was exactly the same as I am now, but no one would notice me till I
came into the estate--except you and Merle!" he said once rather bitterly
to Mavis. "I sometimes feel their friendship is hardly worth having!"
"It's the way of the world, and you have to take people just as they
are," she replied. "It's no use keeping up ill-feeling, Bevis. If they
hold out the olive branch, it's more gracious to accept it, isn't it?"
"Oh, I'll behave myself! But all the same, I discriminate between my old
friends and my new acquaintances; I'd rather not call them by the name of
friends!"
There were great preparations next day at The Warren. The furniture was
carried out of the drawing-room, the parquet floor was polished, and
Chinese lanterns were hung up in the conservatory, and the cook was busy
preparing light refreshments. It was a pretty house for a dance, and
looked very gay and festive with its Christmas decorations of holly and
ivy, and its blazing fire of logs in the hall. Mavis's and Merle's party
dresses duly arrived, and they made careful toilets, coming downstairs
shyly, to feel a little in the shade by the side of Gwen the magnificent,
who, alack! was trying to copy the up-to-date manners of some of her new
school friends, with rather unhappy results. Perhaps kind little Babbie
noticed the Ramsays' embarrassment, for she went to them at once to give
them their programmes.
"How nice you look!" she said. "Isn't it always a horrid time, just when
every one is arriving? It's ever so much nicer when the first dance has
started!"
There were a great many people present whom Mavis and Merle did not know.
Some of these were introduced by Tudor, and asked for dances, and very
soon the sisters were separated and gliding over the polished floor with
partners.
Mrs. Glyn Williams, having welcomed the young guests, retired to a sofa
for a chat with some other dowagers, and left them to fill up their
programmes as they liked. There were far more ladies present than
gentlemen, so it was a case of girls dancing with one another. Merle
readily whisked away with Tattie, or Nan, or Lizzie, but shy Mavis, after
the first two-step, stood in a corner unnoticed. Gwen was enjoying
herself very much with the pick of the partners, Beata and Romola floated
by together, and Clive was carefully performing his steps in company with
a much amused married lady. Mavis acted wallflower for several dances,
feeling considerably out of it, till Bevis's voice sounded suddenly in
her ear.
"Why, here you are! I've been looking for you everywhere! How many dances
can you give me? I've kept my programme as free as I could till I found
you. I thought the pixies must have spirited you away! What did you say?
I ought to ask Gwen? It isn't necessary in the least. You know I'm a
duffer at it, and I should probably tread on her toes and she'd hate me
for evermore. May I have these four?"
"Give half to Merle!"
"Soeurette's perfectly happy with the kids! If you won't let me have them
I won't dance at all. I'll hide in the conservatory, or run away into the
garden. You promised to be my teacher!"
"So I will, but I feel I mustn't monopolise you. Oh, dear! Well, if
you've written them down I suppose it will have to be!"
"May I have the pleasure, Miss Ramsay?" twinkled Bevis, offering his arm.
"Thanks very much! You may!" laughed Mavis.
"I'm always glad when I get my own way!" chuckled Bevis, as they started
a valse.
Three of the dances which Bevis had appropriated on Mavis's programme
came in succession, and as their steps went well together they thoroughly
enjoyed themselves. At the close of the third they were walking into the
hall to get lemonade when Mrs. Glyn Williams smilingly stopped them.
"I want to introduce you to some fresh partners. There are plenty of
people anxious to know you!" she said to Bevis archly. Then, tapping
Mavis with her fan, she continued, laughing, "Naughty girl! You mustn't
keep him _all_ to yourself! I really _can't!_ allow it!"
Poor Mavis blushed magenta, and stood aside while her hostess whisked the
unwilling Bevis away and remorselessly fixed up the rest of his programme
for him. She did not attempt to find a partner for Mavis, who was too
overwhelmed with confusion to care to dance even with Lizzie Colville,
and who backed towards the piano and began to turn over the music.
Inwardly Mavis was raging, though she had sufficient pride to preserve an
outward calm.
"If there's anything here you know I'd be grateful if you could play it
and give me a rest, my hands are so stiff," said Mrs. Colville, who had
volunteered to act as pianist for the evening.
"I'll try with pleasure!" answered Mavis, taking her place.
She was glad to have an excuse for not dancing. She only wished she could
have run away from The Warren and gone straight home and poured out her
troubles to her mother. The Glyn Williams had cut Bevis in the old days
and poured scorn on the Ramsays for knowing him, and it seemed too bad
that their present hospitality to him should still be a subject for
blame. Mavis's pride kept her at the piano all the rest of the evening.
She was a good reader, and assured Mrs. Colville that she liked playing.
She shook her head when Bevis came for his fourth dance.
"_Please_ get another partner! I'm busy here! Mrs. Glyn Williams
will find you somebody!"
Whereupon Bevis, muttering very uncomplimentary remarks about his hostess
under his breath, deliberately passed by several eligible wallflowers,
chose out the youngest child in the room, and led her off in a valse.
Merle, who was still an absolute schoolgirl and revelled in anything in
the nature of a party, enjoyed her evening supremely. Mavis was very glad
when it was all over and she was quiet in bed. Some new element seemed to
have entered to-night into her old happy world and to have rubbed the
bloom off her innocent friendship with Bevis.
"It was so jolly in the old days when we hunted for primroses and had
picnics in Blackthorn Bower!" she thought. "It's not ourselves who have
changed, but other people who won't allow us to be the same. Why couldn't
things go on as they were? If this is society I don't like it! Oh, dear!
I wish we could always stay exactly as we are and never grow up at all!"