No sooner did the news of Lavender's illness, and Darsie's consequent
absence from home, reach the Percival household than three separate
letters were dispatched, insisting that at least a part of the remaining
holidays should be spent at the Manor.
Pray why, the girls demanded, should Hannah Vernon be allowed to engross
Darsie, when she enjoyed her society practically the whole year round?
It was unjust, mean, contemptible. They were so dull and sad this
Christmas-time. Wouldn't Darsie come?
Pray why, inquired Ralph ingenuously, did Darsie not come when she had
the chance? She knew that he would be glad to see her. It was quite
horribly dull. The parents were absurdly humped--
Mrs Percival's words were few but disturbing: "I want to consult with
you about Ralph. You have more influence over him than any one else.
Do come, dear child, if you possibly can."
In face of the last letter it was impossible to say no. Darsie was not
sure that she wanted to say no; on the other hand, she was aggravatingly
uncertain if she wanted to say yes. At college and at home alike the
atmosphere was at once austere and bracing; it would be agreeable to
live for a time in the lap of luxury--to be regarded as a miracle of
cleverness and beauty; which treatment was invariably bestowed upon her
during her visits to The Manor. She would enjoy staying with the
Percivals, but she would be sad to miss the cosy hours when Dan and his
friend, Percy Lister, joined the little party in the old study, and they
all talked together round the fire. What talks they had; what themes
they discussed! What animated discussions sprang from a casual word,
and were pursued with a go and a spirit which seem to exist only on such
informal occasions. Sometimes they laughed and quipped, and beheld
everything from the comic point of view; anon, a sudden spirit of
earnestness would pass from one to the other, and as the fading light
hid their faces from view, tongues were set free, so that they talked of
the things which mattered, the towering realities which lay at the heart
of life! During these discussions Dan invariably seated himself in the
darkest corner, and Darsie, looking across, had again and again the
impression of deep eyes staring--staring! Vie Vernon considered the
Percivals "grasping creatures," and didn't care who knew it; Hannah was
placidly unconcerned; Dan made no remark; Percy Lister was leaving
himself, and considered that things "fitted in well." Altogether, in
comparison with the enthusiasm of the invitation, the opposition was
blightingly resigned. Darsie tossed her head, packed her boxes, and
prepared to depart a whole three days sooner than she had originally
intended.
On the afternoon before her departure a party was made up for the rink,
but at the last moment Darsie excused herself, and declared a wish to
stay at home. There were several pieces of sewing and mending which
were necessary, there was a letter to be written to Margaret France, and
a farewell ode to cheer poor Lavender. A gas fire in her bedroom
allowed her to perform these tasks in solitude, but as soon as they were
satisfactorily accomplished she made her way downstairs to the study,
prepared to enjoy an hour over an interesting book.
The gas was unlit, the usual large fire blazed in the grate; an arm-
chair was drawn up to the side, and within it sat Dan, head leaning on
hand, in an attitude which spoke of weariness and dejection.
He raised his eyes and looked at her, and Darsie shut the door and came
forward eagerly.
"Dan! Back again so soon? Is anything wrong?"
"No!"
"But you look strange. You--you didn't hurt yourself at the rink?"
"No."
"Quite, quite sure?"
"Quite."
Darsie subsided on to her favourite seat--the hearthrug--with a little
sigh of relief.
"That's all right. You're very monosyllabic, Dan. Shall I disturb you
if I sit here for a time?"
"No."
"A hundred thanks! You are _too_ gracious. I can be quiet if you like.
I like staring into the fire and dreaming myself."
Dan did not answer. Darsie peered at him, moving her little head from
side to side so as to get the clearest view. He looked very large--a
great shapeless mass of dark in the old red chair.
She liked the bigness of him, felt the old satisfaction at sight of the
strong, rugged face, the old craving for confidence and approval.
Strange how different one felt in company with different people. _Tete-
a-tete_ with Ralph Percival, Darsie felt a giant of strength and
resource--assured, self-confident, a bulwark against which others might
lean. With Dan, well, with Dan she was just a slip of a girl, conscious
of nothing so much as her own weaknesses, mental and physical; her
difficult gropings, compared with his clear vision; her tiny hands and
wrists, compared with his big sinewy paw; her slim form, compared to the
bulk of the square-cut shoulders. Never--Darsie realised it with a
smile--never did she feel so humble and diffident as when in Dan's
society; yet, strangely enough, the sensation was far from disagreeable.
"Dan!"
"Darsie!"
"Is anything the matter? Between you and me! You don't happen to be
snarkey, do you, about anything I've done?"
"Why should you think I am `snarkey'?"
"Because--you _are_! You're not a bit sociable and friendly--even
_your_ sort of sociability. I'm a guest in your mother's house if I'm
nothing else and it's your duty to be civil."
"Haven't I always been civil to you, Darsie?"
Darsie drew a quick breath of impatience and, seizing upon the poker,
beat at the unoffending coal as the best method of letting off steam.
"You are so painfully literal. I can _feel_ what other people are
thinking, however much they try to disguise it."
"How do _I_ feel, for example?"
Darsie turned her head and stared curiously into Dan's face. The hand
on which it leaned shielded it somewhat from view, but, even so, there
was something in the intent gaze which filled her with a strange new
discomfort. She turned back to her poking once more.
"I think--there's something that I don't understand--I think--there's
something you disapprove! I'm a very good girl, and I work very hard,
and I'm fond of my friends, and I expect them to be fond of me in
return. I don't _like_ you to disapprove, Dan!"
"I can't help it, Darsie. I've hated that friendship from the
beginning, and I hate it more with every month that passes."
"Oh! _that_ old story." Darsie's voice took a tone of impatience; for
it was annoying to find that Dan was harking back on the well-known
subject of dispute. "Well, I'm sorry to distress you, but I am
conceited enough to believe that I have taken no harm from my friendship
with Ralph Percival, and that he has reaped some little good from mine.
While that state of thing continues, I shall certainly refuse to give
him up--even to please you!"