MAUD MIDDLETON'S PARTY
'Methinks, good friend, to-day I scarce do know thee,
The fashion of thy manner hath so changed.'
'Oh, Aunt Helen!' cried Peggy, bursting into the dining-room one
afternoon, where her aunt was busy adding up accounts, 'can't we all go
to Maud Middleton's party?'
'And who is Maud Middleton, I should like to know?' inquired Aunt Helen,
pausing in the midst of her butcher's bill. 'I have not heard you
mention her before. Is she one of your schoolfellows?'
'Oh no, she's the _dearest_ girl! They have a French governess, but they
go to the dancing-class on Fridays, and Maud and I always dance
together, and I simply _love_ her!' said Peggy, who was apt to take up
friendships with enthusiasm.
'But, my dear child, you have not yet told me who she is. I cannot have
you making friends with any shopkeeper's daughter from Warford.'
'Oh, they're not at all like that!' declared Peggy. 'Maud's just lovely,
with long yellow curls right down to her waist, and Muriel's almost
grown up, though she's only as old as Lilian. She wears combs in her
hair, and has the sweetest blue dress, trimmed with pearl trimmings!'
'That is no patent of good breeding, I am afraid,' said Aunt Helen,
smiling. 'Lilian, can't you tell me something more about this latest
idol of Peggy's?'
'They really seem very nice girls, Auntie,' said Lilian. 'I think you
would like them. They have taken Redlands--that pretty house just beyond
the toll-bridge on the other side of Warford. Major Middleton has been
appointed Adjutant to the volunteers. They lived in India for a long
time, and then in London before they came here. Muriel plays the violin,
and they know ever so many musical people, and go to the concerts every
week at the Assembly Rooms. It is Maud's birthday on the thirteenth, and
they have invited us all three. Mrs. Middleton was at the dancing-class
to-day, and spoke to us herself. She said she "hoped so much that our
Aunt would allow us to accept." We should like to go immensely,' added
Lilian with a wistful sigh, as she remembered Muriel's accounts of the
grand piano, and the Stradivarius violin which was her latest
acquisition.
'Go and ask Father, then,' said Aunt Helen. 'And if he says "Yes," I
suppose it will be all right.'
'Oh, thank you!' cried Peggy, who knew that Father would not be likely
to resist the combined coaxings of the trio. 'We must write to Maud
to-night. She'll be as pleased as we are!'
And she executed a little war-dance of delight out in the hall. Such a
thing as a party was a great event in the children's calendar. They had
few invitations, for there was little visiting now at the Abbey; the
anomaly of a country gentleman who ploughed his own fields was felt to
be too much for the neighbouring squires, and one by one the 'county'
had ceased to call. Truly adversity is a great winnower of friendships.
It is but the staunchest who will stick to us through our troubles,
while those who love us for what we have, instead of what we are, fall
away like chaff at the first breath of ill-fortune.
Poor Lilian's anticipations, however, were doomed to sad disappointment,
for when the much-talked-of day arrived, it brought her such a bad
headache that she readily agreed with Aunt Helen's decree that she was
better at home. She took it very patiently, poor child! and came
downstairs to see the others start off in the little pony-trap, Bobby
resplendent in a clean white sailor suit, and Peggy in a pale-blue
sprigged muslin dress, which Aunt Helen had toiled hard to finish in
time. To be sure, it was only made out of the last summer's frock which
Lilian had outgrown, but it looked as good as new, and the colour suited
her.
'How nice you look!' said Lilian, gazing with admiration at the gray
eyes and pretty brown curls under the little white hat, and thinking
that Peggy grew more and more like the Romney portrait which hung on the
drawing-room wall.
'Mind you behave yourselves!' said Aunt Helen. 'And don't forget to
thank Mrs. Middleton when you say good-bye.'
'Bless 'em!' said Nancy. 'There won't be any other folk's children there
that can beat 'em, to my mind!'
Father was waving a good-bye from the stackyard. Joe held the gate open
with a grin of broadest appreciation, and even old David peeped out of
the stable door to witness the departure. So they started off in great
style, and in the very highest of spirits. It was a perfect day for a
party--warm enough to make it pleasant to be out of doors, yet not too
hot for comfort, and a blue sky without a hint of rain clouds. Pixie
was fresh, and kept up a fine pace, scarcely slacking for the hills, so
they soon got over the ground. They were within a mile of Warford, and
were going along at a quick trot, when, without any warning, a carriage
and pair came suddenly dashing up behind from a side road, and passed
them, giving such scant room that if Peggy had not been a clever little
driver, and turned Pixie smartly into the hedge, an accident could
scarcely have been avoided. Two little girls, the only occupants of the
carriage, turned round to stare, but neither the grand cockaded coachman
nor the tall footman on the box even looked back to see how the children
had fared.
'How rude!' cried Peggy in great indignation. 'I should like to call
them back, and teach them good manners. They nearly grazed our wheel. I
don't think they were more than half an inch off!'
'I wish they had,' declared Bobby, 'and then they would have spoilt
their own varnish. It would just have served them right!'
'I wonder who they are?' said Peggy. 'I never remember seeing that
carriage before; but they seem to think the road belongs to them,
anyhow. If David had been with us I don't believe they would have done
it; but most people are so nice when they see children driving alone.
Never mind, we're nearly in Warford now.'
It was exactly three o'clock when the children drove up the drive at
Redlands. A number of guests were already assembled on the lawn, both
grown-ups and children, a very smart company indeed, holding up such gay
parasols that they looked like a flock of bright butterflies.
Maud came forward as Peggy drew up with a little prim company manner.
'How d'you do, Peggy? How d'you do, Bobby?' she said. 'Lilian not come?
Oh, _so_ sorry! You've not brought your groom? George, just run into the
house, will you, and ring for Withers to take this trap to the stables.
Now, won't you come and speak to mother?'
Mrs. Middleton was standing chatting with a number of elegantly-dressed
ladies, and for a moment she gazed at the children with blank
unrecognition.
'Margaret Vaughan, Mother,' prompted Maud.
'Of course--of course!' said Mrs. Middleton. 'I hope you have brought
your sisters, my dear. We were charmed with them at the dancing-class.
And your brother? Oh yes; the sweet little boy who looks exactly like a
Christmas-card!'
Inwardly hugely indignant at such a description of his manly charms,
Bobby came forward politely to shake hands, and was marched off
afterwards by good-natured George Middleton to make up a cricket eleven.
'Perhaps you will find somebody here you know, dear,' said Mrs.
Middleton to Peggy, as Maud turned away to welcome new guests. 'There
are several of your little friends from the dancing-class here this
afternoon.'
Peggy walked slowly towards the group of children upon the lawn. There
were a few girls whom she knew, but they only nodded, and did not come
forward to speak to her. A sudden wave of shyness came over her, and she
stood apart, feeling somehow very much out of it, and longing for the
support of Lilian's presence.
There were two little girls in charming lace frocks and white Tuscan
hats, with ostrich plumes, standing close by, whom Peggy recognised at
once as the occupants of the carriage which had nearly upset them on
the road. The recognition seemed to be mutual, for the elder child
nudged the younger, and Peggy could see that they were looking her up
and down, and evidently taking in all the details of her costume. The
Vaughans had not been brought up to think much about clothes, but Peggy
felt suddenly, with a little pang, that the muslin frock, which they had
all thought so pretty when she started off, looked hopelessly homemade
and unfashionable compared with the elaborate toilets of most of the
other guests.
Somehow Maud, too, seemed quite a different person this afternoon to
what she had done before. She had put on a languid, affected manner, and
sailed about, shaking back her long curls, and trying to be very
grown-up and stylish, and she did not take any more notice of Peggy, nor
come up to introduce her to other people, and make her feel happy and at
home. There were a great many elder people present, but they all stood
laughing and talking together, and nobody seemed to think of amusing the
children, except Mademoiselle, the French governess, who was
endeavouring to make the young people talk to each other, instead of
standing about shyly on the grass.
'Would you like a game of croquet, Margaret?' said Muriel, noticing at
last that Peggy stood unfriended and alone. 'Some of the others are
going to play. Do you know Phyllis and Marjorie Norton?' indicating the
owners of the lace frocks. 'Perhaps you will excuse my coming; I have so
many people to see to. Mademoiselle will act as umpire.'
Marjorie gave Peggy a limp hand, but Phyllis only stared. Mademoiselle
was dealing out the mallets and arranging the sides with much energy,
estimating the players with a keen eye to their possible capacities.
Peggy knew it was unreasonable of her to feel so bitterly disappointed.
It was all so different, somehow, to what she had expected. Accustomed
to little quiet schoolgirl parties, she had not thought there would be
such a large and fashionable assembly of guests, and had hoped that she
would have her dear Maud to herself for a short time, at any rate, and
be shown the doves, and the white pony, and the Indian cabinet, and the
other treasures which her friend had so often described to her during
the dancing-class. She tried to banish the rather chilled feeling.
'Of course, I can't expect Maud to attend only to me,' she thought.
'There are such heaps of people here to-day. I wish they would let me
play with the boys. I should have liked it far better.'
But the croquet had already begun, so Peggy threw her whole energy into
the game. She excelled in all outdoor sports, having a keen eye and a
true stroke, and was soon absorbed in making her hoops and helping on
her partners, two quiet little girls considerably younger than herself,
who seemed never to have played before, to judge by their absolute lack
of skill. Peggy was standing waiting for her turn, while the others
clustered round a rather difficult stroke of Marjorie Norton's, when she
saw Phyllis, whose ball had been left distinctly wired, hurriedly push
it with her foot into a better position. Peggy had been accustomed from
her babyhood to 'play fair,' so she opened her eyes wide to see such
deliberate cheating. Phyllis, who had thought herself unobserved,
happened at that moment to look up, and met Peggy's glance, which was
certainly not a flattering one. She flushed scarlet, and kicked the ball
back to its former place.
'I only moved it by accident,' she said haughtily. 'You have no need to
glare at me like that!'
Peggy dropped her eyes and strolled away. It was a little incident, and
she had not spoken a word, yet she had an unpleasant feeling that the
mere fact of having noticed the act had made her an enemy.
'Ver' good!' Mademoiselle was saying. 'A splendide stroke! You shall
take two hoops, and send ze black ball avay. Tiens! You have missed! It
is zen ze turn of Mees Marguerite.'
Peggy's next piece of play was so brilliant that it decided the game,
and, to the great delight of her little partners, they all pegged out,
amid the cold applause of their opponents and the ecstatic admiration of
Mademoiselle.
All the guests were now summoned to tea, which was set out on little
tables under the trees, and showed a tempting display of cakes and
strawberries and cream, while attentive servants bustled about with cups
and plates. Much against her inclinations, Peggy found herself sitting
side by side with Phyllis Norton. Bobby was a long way off, among a
jolly set of boys, whose shouts of laughter Peggy listened to with
wistful ears, and her small partners had been borne away by an elder
sister. Phyllis sat for some time stealing glances at Peggy from under
her lashes.
'I believe we passed you this afternoon, coming here,' she remarked at
last. 'Weren't you driving that queer little pony-cart?'
'Yes; your coachman nearly ran over us. I don't think he's a very good
driver,' replied Peggy.
'Oh, Wilkins always takes the middle of the road, and makes everyone
else get out of the way,' said Phyllis calmly. 'Do you live at this side
of Warford? I don't remember seeing you before.'
'We live at Gorswen Abbey,' answered Peggy.
'Oh, I know; that old farmhouse by the river. We've often passed it on
our way to Wyngates. Why, you're quite in the country! Do you go to
school, or have you a governess?'
'I go to Warford High School. We drive in every day.'
'To the _High_ School!' said Phyllis, with uplifted eyebrows. 'Well, I
suppose it's all right for farmer's daughters. Marjorie and I go to a
London boarding school.'
Peggy was furious. If she could only have thought of a suitable retort,
she would have said something stinging; but usually our smartest remarks
occur to us when the occasion has long passed by, and perhaps it is all
the better, for we are saved from bitter words, which, once spoken, are
not easily forgotten by the hearers, however keenly we may regret them
ourselves. As it was, she could only walk away with what dignity she
could summon; for tea was over, the boys were rushing back to cricket,
and the girls collecting in little groups to arrange tennis sets.
'Come and look round the garden, Peggy,' said Maud, at last taking some
notice of her friend. 'We've scarcely seen anything of you all the
afternoon!'
Peggy forebore to remark that it was not her fault, and, cheering up a
little, she joined the select circle whom Maud was conducting through
the greenhouses and conservatories. The Middletons had a fine collection
of orchids and rare plants, which were much admired by the young
visitors, though simple Peggy could not help thinking they were not half
so pretty as the roses and lilies in the old garden at home, and
certainly the grand Scotch gardener was not nearly so nice as David or
Joe, for he seemed quite to resent their presence and followed them
about grimly, for fear they should disturb anything, or pluck any of
the fruit or flowers.
'We're going to London next week,' drawled Maud, in her most grown-up
manner. 'We've taken a house in Mayfair. Mother always likes to go up
for a while during the season. We've so many friends, don't you know. I
expect we shall have a lovely time. We drive in the Park every day, and
father has promised to take us to "Lohengrin." Have you seen it, Linda?'
Linda had not seen it, but she had been to other operas, and was only
too pleased to air her knowledge, so the conversation turned upon plays
and actors, and Peggy, who had never been inside a theatre in her life,
could only stand and listen. She felt so shy and stupid, and so apart
from the other girls, that she began to wish heartily that she had never
come, and long for the hour when it would be time to go home, and even
to wonder how she could ever have thought she liked Maud so
much--'though she was quite different to this at the dancing-lessons,'
she reflected.
A welcome diversion came outside, however, in the shape of a beautiful
white Persian kitten, who submitted to pettings with gracious
condescension, arching her back and purring loudly.
'I'll fetch Carlo,' said Maud, who was genuinely fond of her pets, and
liked to show them to an appreciative audience.
And she returned in a moment, leading a fine St. Bernard by the collar.
But Carlo's mistress had not calculated upon his love of sport, for no
sooner did the naughty dog see the white kitten than he simply went for
it, and puss only saved her life by springing up a yew-tree close by.
The poor little creature was so terrified that she leaped from bough to
bough, till suddenly losing her foothold, she fell with a crash, and
hung suspended by her neck in the fork of a branch.
'Oh, look at her! She'll be hanged! Whatever shall I do?' shrieked Maud,
wringing her hands helplessly in an agony of alarm.
'Call the gardener, or somebody,' suggested Linda.
But an animal in trouble was a sight which flung Peggy's shyness to the
winds, and she sprang like a knight-errant to the rescue. She was up the
yew-tree in two leaps and a bound, and by crawling along an overhanging
bough, clinging to a branch, and making a long arm, she managed to seize
puss by the scruff of her neck, and release her from her dangerous
position.
'Oh, thank you!' said Maud, as Peggy came down from the tree, with
grazed hands and rumpled frock. 'You're really too good! Withers might
have fetched her with a ladder. Look how you've torn your dress!'
'Never mind my dress. She'd have been dead if I'd waited another
moment,' remarked Peggy dryly, feeling rather snubbed; for several of
the girls were smiling, as if they thought she had been a little too
enthusiastic.
'Well done!' cried a voice from the background, and a tall,
brown-bearded man, who had been a silent spectator of the whole scene,
came forward to join the group.
'Mr. Neville!' exclaimed Maud. 'Where did you spring from?'
'Only arrived ten minutes ago, just in time to witness a most gallant
act. Please introduce me to the heroine, who, I think, is a true friend
in need. What, Miss Peggy Vaughan? Any relation to the Vaughans of
Gorswen Abbey? Then, my dear, I am very pleased to make your
acquaintance, for I knew your father long ago, and your grandfather
too.'
[Illustration: "MAKING A LONG ARM, SHE MANAGED TO SEIZE PUSS BY THE
SCRUFF OF HER NECK."]
Peggy liked her new friend at once; his twinkling blue eyes, his bronzed
face, his jovial voice, and rather unconventional dress, seemed to mark
him as distinct and different to other people. His arrival seemed to
alter the whole atmosphere. Maud's supercilious manner slipped away from
her like magic, and she became once more the pleasant Maud of the
dancing-class, and her friends, feeling the change, soon left off trying
to be poor little imitations of grown-up people, and began at last to
enjoy themselves; for true enjoyment does not consist in showing off,
but in being our simple, natural selves, if people would only believe
it.
'Now then, what are you all doing?' cried Mr. Neville. 'The boys playing
cricket by themselves, and the girls mooning about, keeping their frocks
nice? Scandalous! Come along, all of you, and we'll get up some mixed
sports. I stopped in the town, and filled my pockets with prizes, when I
heard you were having a party. I am sure a young lady who can climb a
tree looks capable of doing a high jump!'
After that the rest of the afternoon simply flew. Mr. Neville was a
capital organizer, and had such a delightful way with children that they
all made friends with him in five minutes. He impounded the grown-ups in
the sports, and his jolly, hearty good spirits seemed so infectious that
almost before they realized what they were doing, elegant ladies were
holding up skipping-ropes, and smart young gentlemen flung off their
coats, and forgot their high collars in the enthusiasm of the contests.
Even Phyllis Norton was shrieking in a potato-race, and only laughed
when she fell and soiled her immaculate lace frock.
As for Peggy, she was quite in her element. Long jumps, high jumps,
handicaps, sack-races, three-legged races--she was ready to compete in
all, and, to her delight, won several prizes, while Bobby, too, gained
his share of laurels.
The unfashionable muslin dress, with its long rent, was forgotten, and
several people asked who that charming little girl was, with the sweet
gray eyes and the pretty hair, who could run so splendidly.
'Vaughan? I remember a Vaughan up at Brazenose in my first year at
Oxford. A fine-looking fellow he was, too!' said a heavily-moustached
officer, regarding Peggy with a critical eye.
'Her father, no doubt. They're a very old family--quite one of the
county, in fact,' said Mrs. Middleton, gushing over her small guest, now
she found she was a success.
Maud hugged Peggy when she said good-bye in quite her old affectionate
manner, and Muriel remembered to send her love to Lilian, and say she
was sorry for her absence, a fact she had scarcely seemed to notice
before.
As for Mr. Neville, Peggy confided to Aunt Helen, when she got home,
that she liked him the best of any gentleman she had ever seen, next to
Father.
'He's been out in India for ten years, Auntie--that's where he knew the
Middletons--but he says he lived in England once, and used to come to
Gorswen when grandfather was alive. Do you remember him?'
'I think I do,' replied Aunt Helen shortly, with a flush on the cheek
that was still so smooth and pretty.
'Then don't you think,' persisted Peggy, 'that he is _quite_ the nicest
man you've ever met?'
'Go to bed, children,' said Aunt Helen. 'Here's Bobby so sleepy he can
scarcely keep his eyes open. You shall tell me all about the party
to-morrow.'