This is the tale of two terraces, of two families who lived therein, of
several boys and many girls, and especially of one Darsie, her
education, adventures, and ultimate romance.
Darsie was the second daughter in a family of six, and by reason of her
upsetting nature had won for herself that privilege of priority which by
all approved traditions should have belonged to Clemence, the elder
sister. Clemence was serene and blonde; in virtue of her seventeen
years her pigtail was now worn doubled up, and her skirts had reached
the discreet level of her ankles. She had a soft pink and white face,
and a pretty red mouth, the lips of which permanently fell apart,
disclosing two small white teeth in the centre of the upper gum, because
of which peculiarity her affectionate family had bestowed upon her the
nickname of "Bunnie." Perhaps the cognomen had something to do with her
subordinate position. It was impossible to imagine any one with the
name of "Bunnie" queening it over that will-o'-the-wisp, that electric
flash, that tantalising, audacious creature who is the heroine of these
pages.
Darsie at fifteen! How shall one describe her to the unfortunates who
have never beheld her in the flesh? It is for most girls an awkward
age, an age of angles, of ungainly bulk, of awkward ways, self-conscious
speech, crass ignorance, and sublime conceit. Clemence had passed
through this stage with much suffering of spirits on her own part and
that of her relations; Lavender, the third daughter, showed at thirteen
preliminary symptoms of appalling violence; but Darsie remained as ever
that fascinating combination of a child and a woman of the world, which
had been her characteristic from earliest youth. Always graceful and
alert, she sailed triumphant through the trying years, with straight
back, graceful gait, and eyes a-shine with a happy self-confidence. "I
am here!" announced Darsie's eyes to an admiring world. "Let the band
strike up!"
Some inherent quality in Darsie--some grace, some charm, some spell--
which she wove over the eyes of beholders, caused them to credit her
with a beauty which she did not possess. Even her family shared in this
delusion, and set her up as the superlative in degree, so that "as
pretty as Darsie" had come to be regarded a climax of praise. The glint
of her chestnut hair, the wide, bright eyes, the little oval face set on
a long, slim throat smote the onlooker with instant delight, and so
blinded him that he had no sight left with which to behold the blemishes
which walked hand in hand. Photographs valiantly strove to demonstrate
the truth; pointed out with cruel truth the stretching mouth, the small,
inadequate nose, but even the testimony of sunlight could not convince
the blind. They sniffed, and said: "What a travesty! Never again to
_that_ photographer! Next time we'll try the man in C-- Street," and
Darsie's beauty lived on, an uncontroverted legend.
By a triumph of bad management, which the Garnett girls never ceased to
deplore, their three brothers came at the end instead of the beginning
of the family. Three grown-up brothers would have been a grand asset;
big boys who would have shown a manly tenderness towards the weaknesses
of little sisters; who would have helped and amused; big boys going to
school, young men going to college, coming home in the vacations,
bringing their friends, acting as squires and escorts to the girls at
home. Later on brothers at business, wealthy brothers, generous
brothers; brothers who understood how _long_ quarter-day was in coming
round, and how astonishingly quickly a girl's allowance vanishes into
space! Clemence, Darsie, and Lavender had read of such brothers in
books, and would have gladly welcomed their good offices in the flesh,
but three noisy, quarrelsome, more or less grimy schoolboys, superbly
indifferent to "those girls"--this was another, and a very different
tale! Harry was twelve--a fair, blunt-featured lad with a yawning
cavity in the front of his mouth, the result of one of the many
accidents which had punctuated his life. On the top story of the
Garnett house there ran a narrow passage, halfway along which, for want
of a better site, a swing depended from two great iron hooks. Harry, as
champion swinger, ever striving after fresh flights, had one day in a
frenzy of enthusiasm swung the rings free from their hold, and
descended, swing and all, in a crash on the oil-clothed floor. The
crash, the shrieks of the victim and his attendant sprites, smote upon
Mrs Garnett's ears as she sat wrestling with the "stocking basket" in a
room below, and as she credibly avowed, took years from her life.
Almost the first objects which met her eye, when, in one bound, as it
seemed, she reached the scene of the disaster, was a selection of small
white teeth scattered over the oil-clothed floor. Henceforth for years
Harry pursued his way minus front teeth, and the nursery legend darkly
hinted that so injured had been the gums by his fall that no second
supply could be expected. Harry avowed a sincere aspiration that this
should be the case. "I can eat as much without them," he declared, "and
when I grow up I'll have them false, and be an explorer, and scare
savages like the man in Rider Haggard," so that teeth, or no teeth,
would appear to hold the secret of his destiny.
Russell had adenoids, and snored. His peculiarities included a faculty
for breaking his bones, at frequent and inconvenient occasions, an
insatiable curiosity about matters with which he had no concern, and a
most engaging and delusive silkiness of manner. "Gentleman Russell," a
title bestowed by his elders, had an irritating effect on an elder
brother conscious of being condemned by the contrast, and when quoted
downstairs brought an unfailing echo of thumps in the seclusion of the
playroom.
Tim played on his privileges as "littlest," and his mother's barely
concealed partiality, and was as irritating to his elders as a small
person can be, who is always present when he is not wanted, absent when
he is, in peace adopts the airs of a conqueror, and in warfare promptly
cries, and collapses into a curly-headed baby boy, whom the authorities
declare it is "cr-uel" to bully!
For the rest, the house was of the high and narrow order common to town
terraces, inconveniently crowded by its many inmates, and viewed from
without, of a dark and grimy appearance.
Sandon Terrace had no boast to make either from an architectural or a
luxurious point of view, and was so obviously inferior to its neighbour,
Napier Terrace, that it was lacerating to the Garnett pride to feel that
their sworn friends the Vernons were so much better domiciled than
themselves. Napier Terrace had a strip of garden between itself and the
rough outer world; big gateways stood at either end, and what Vie Vernon
grandiloquently spoke of as "a carriage sweep" curved broadly between.
Divided accurately among the houses in the terrace, the space of ground
apportioned to each was limited to a few square yards, but the Vernons
were chronically superior on the subject of "the grounds," and in
springtime when three hawthorns, a lilac, and one spindly laburnum-tree
struggled into bloom, their airs were beyond endurance.
The Vernons had also a second claim to superiority over the Garnetts,
inasmuch as they were the proud possessors of an elder brother, a remote
and learned person who gained scholarships, and was going to be Prime
Minister when he was grown up. Dan at eighteen, coaching with a tutor
preparatory to going up to Cambridge, was removed by continents of
superiority from day-school juniors. Occasionally in their disguise of
the deadly jealousy which in truth consumed them, the Garnett family
endeavoured to make light of the personality of this envied person. To
begin with, his name! "Dan" was well enough. "Dan" sounded a boy-like
boy, a manly man; of a "Dan" much might be expected in the way of sport
and mischief, but--oh, my goodness--_Daniel_! The Garnetts discussed
the cognomen over the play-room fire.
"It must be so _embarrassing_ to have a Bible name!" Lavender opined.
"Think of church! When they read about me I should be covered with
confusion, and imagine that every one was staring at our pew!"
Clemence stared thoughtfully into space. "I, Clemence, take thee
Daniel," she recited slowly, and shuddered. "No--really, I couldn't!"
"He wouldn't have you!" the three boys piped; even Tim, who plainly was
talking of matters he could not understand, added his note to the
chorus, but Darsie cocked her little head, and added eagerly--
"Couldn't you, really? What _could_ you, do you think?"
Clemence stared again, more rapt than ever.
"Lancelot, perhaps," she opined, "or Sigismund. Everard's nice too, or
Ronald or Guy--"
"Bah! Sugary. _I_ couldn't! Daniel is _ugly_," Darsie admitted, "but
it's strong. Dan Vernon will fight lions like the Bible one; they'll
roar about him, and his enemies will cast him in, but they'll not manage
to kill him. He'll trample them under foot, and leave them behind, like
milestones on the road." Darsie was nothing if not inaccurate, but in
the bosom of one's own family romantic flights are not allowed to atone
for discrepancies, and the elder sister was quick to correct.
"Daniel didn't fight the lions! What's the use of being high falutin'
and making similes that aren't correct?"
"Dear Clemence, you _are_ so literal!" Darsie tilted her head with an
air of superiority which reduced the elder to silence, the while she
cogitated painfully why such a charge should be cast as a reproach. To
be literal was to be correct. Daniel had _not_ fought the lions!
Darsie had muddled up the fact in her usual scatterbrain fashion, and by
good right should have deplored her error. Darsie, however, was seldom
known to do anything so dull; she preferred by a nimble change of front
to put others in the wrong, and keep the honours to herself. Now, after
a momentary pause, she skimmed lightly on to another phase of the
subject. "What should you say was the character and life history of a
woman who could call her eldest child `Daniel,' the second `Viola
Imogen,' and the third and fourth `Hannah' and `John'?"
Clemence had no inspiration on the subject. She said: "Don't be silly!"
sharply, and left it to Lavender to supply the necessary stimulus.
"_Tell_ us, Darsie, tell us! You make it up--"
"My dear, it is evident to the meanest intellect. She was the child of
a simple country household, who, on her marriage, went to live in a
town; and when her first-born son was born, she pined to have him
christened by her father's name in the grey old church beneath the ivy
tower; so they travelled there, and the white-haired sire held the
infant at the font, while the tears furrowed his aged cheeks. _But_--by
slow degrees the insidious effects of the great capital invaded the mind
of the sweet young wife, and the simple tastes of her girlhood turned to
vanity, so that when the second babe was born, and her husband wished to
call her Hannah after her sainted grandmother, she wept, and made an
awful fuss, and would not be consoled until he gave in to Viola Imogen,
and a christening cloak trimmed with plush. And she was christened in a
city church, and the organ pealed, and the godmothers wore rich array,
and the poor old father stayed at home and had a slice of christening
cake sent by the post. But the years passed on. Saddened and sobered
by the discipline of life, aged and worn, her thoughts turned once more
to her quiet youth, and when at last a third child--"
"There's only two years between them!"