[Frontispiece: MOLLY READS A LETTER FROM HUGH.]
Three Bright Girls
A Story of Chance and Mischance
BY
ANNIE E. ARMSTRONG
Author of "Madge's Mistake" "A Very Odd Girl"
"Violet Yereker's Vanity" &c.
_WITH SIX PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS BY W. PARKINSON_
BLACKIE AND SON LIMITED
LONDON GLASGOW AND DUBLIN
CONTENTS.
CHAP.
I. Hot Chestnuts
II. Doris's First Dinner-party
III. Shopping and a Rehearsal
IV. Hugh's Mentor
V. Husband and Wife
VI. Tableaux Vivants
VII. Startling News
VIII. Gone!
IX. A House of Mourning
X. Facing the Future
XI. The Brothers Talboys
XII. A New Home
XIII. The Horton Boys distinguish Themselves
XIV. A Council of War
XV. Doris makes a Pudding
XVI. Trying to make both Ends meet
XVII. Daisy's Birthday
XVIII. Dr. John Sinclair
XIX. A Visit from Aunt Sophia and the Horton Boys
XX. Becky
XXI. A Disastrous Visit to a Frog Pond
XXII. Daisy's Illness
XXIII. Dick's Good News
XXIV. Doris's "Knight of the Woods"
XXV. Honor answers an Advertisement
XXVI. The Mr. Talboys resort to Strategy
XXVII. Two Departures
XXVIII. Brighter Days
XXIX. "What a Tease you are, Molly!"
XXX. Hugh's Parting Gift
XXXI. Preparations for a Ball
XXXII. John Sinclair's Fairy Tale
XXXIII. The Wood-Cutter and the Princess
XXXIV. "I am Lancelot," says Sir Edward
XXXV. Doris's Wedding
XXXVI. The End of a Fairy Tale
ILLUSTRATIONS.
Molly reads a Letter from Hugh .... _Frontis._
Honor assists Doris to dress for Dinner
Doris sings "The Sands of Dee"
"Listen!" said Molly, "there is the Ghost again"
Daisy and the Mr. Talboys visit Whitestar
"You are not going to disappoint me, Honor?"
THREE BRIGHT GIRLS:
A STORY OF CHANCE AND MISCHANCE.
CHAPTER I.
HOT CHESTNUTS.
Pop!
"There's one!" cries an excited voice.
Pop! bang!
"There's another! look, two! and both on my side," exclaims an
equally eager though older voice.
"Here, Doris, you just sheer off to your own side and pick up your
own, if you've got the pluck to risk burning those white fingers of
yours;" and casting contemptuous glances at the hands in question,
the speaker, a bright, handsome boy of about thirteen, dives down
upon the rug and commences making sundry ineffectual snatches at
several chestnuts which are lying smoking and gleaming amongst the
cinders.
"Not so fast, good sir," cries the owner of the white hands,
following her brother's example and, despite her seventeen years,
prostrating herself beside him. "White or black, I bet you twopence
I pick them up quicker than you. Here, Molly, hold the plate. Now,
Dick, start fair, you know. Oh! there's another!" And thereupon
commences a hot skirmish, in every sense, over the nuts, which by
this time are besprinkling the hearth pretty freely: so hot and
energetic, in fact, that the other occupants of the room wisely
retire from the contest, contenting themselves with looking on, and
exploding with laughter now and again at the suppressed exclamations
indicative of the warm nature of the undertaking.
A breathless silence for at least two minutes, then, flushed with
victory, Doris rises from the floor and is about to lay her plate on
the table, when, lo! another loud pop. Whereupon Dick rushes over
with great violence to the spot where his sister is standing, and
knocking against her in his efforts to reach the prize first, Doris
loses her balance, and clutching wildly at the back of a chair which
Daisy is sitting on and tilting back comfortably, down come Daisy,
chair, Doris, and nuts, all in an indiscriminate heap on the floor.
Loud exclamations arise on all sides, and a pitiful howl is wrung
from Daisy, who has planted her hand, in falling, on an almost
red-hot chestnut. Doris does not attempt to get up, but, still
sitting where she has arrived in such summary fashion, she rates Dick
soundly for his ungallant behaviour, her voice subsiding into a sort
of wail as she concludes with the remark, "And now I suppose I shall
have to do my hair again, you _wretched_ boy. I can't appear before
every one like this. Look here!" and giving her head a shake
forward, down comes the pretty erection of golden curls which half an
hour ago had crowned so becomingly the small neat head.
"Bless me!" exclaims the incorrigible boy, "I quite forgot my lady is
to grace the festive board downstairs to-night. But don't you tell
me, Miss Doris, that you wouldn't have done your hair again anyhow!
_I_ know what a time girls take dressing, and my name is not Dick
Merivale if you don't spend a good hour this evening pranking and
prinking before the glass."
"Help me up, Dick, and don't talk so much," says Doris, quietly
ignoring this tirade; "and now, if you have _quite_ finished and will
be kind enough to let Honor speak, I shall be glad. To my certain
knowledge she has been trying to make herself heard for the last five
minutes."
The noise having now subsided, a clear, gentle voice is heard from
the neighbourhood of the fireplace, where Honor is kneeling beside
the afflicted Daisy and examining the small burn caused by the hot
chestnut.
"I was only saying, Doris, that if Lane is too busy with mother to
help you I will turn lady's-maid and do your hair and dress you.
Molly, do put down that poker."
"You're a dear!" exclaims impetuous Doris throwing her arms round
Honor's neck. "I would ever so much rather you helped me than Lane.
She's so prim and fussy. Where is Lucy, though?--mother will not
want them both."
"O, I meant to tell you. Her sister is worse again, so mother let
her go home to see her. Now let us have these chestnuts if we're
going to. Pull your chairs up to the fire again and let us be cosy.
Good gracious, what an untidy rug you've made! What would Miss
Denison say if she saw it? Dick, my boy, you will have to mend your
manners before she returns, or she will be looking every hour of the
day in that quiet way of hers which speaks such volumes. Really I am
glad she is coming back to-morrow, for I have had about enough of
keeping order, or trying to, since she left."
"Why didn't she appoint _me_ commander-in-chief?" says Doris, pouting
over the skinning of a still-hot nut. "I am the eldest, though no
one ever seems to think so."
"Because you are such a scatter-brained piece of goods," puts in her
polite brother. "No one with a grain of sense would ever credit your
being the elder by twelve, nay, thirteen months. Why, Honor looks a
hundred compared to you!"
"Thanks, Dick. You are monstrously polite this afternoon," said
Honor quietly. "In what consists my antiquity, pray?--has my hair
turned white? or have I lost all my front teeth?"
"O, I meant nothing about your appearance," replies the boy, looking
rather sheepish; "I mean as to sense and cleverness and--and all that
sort of thing, you know. Of course Doris is considered the beauty of
the family, with her light fluffy hair and her great blue eyes, but
to my thinking old Honor is every bit as good-looking. What say you,
Molly?"
"She's a dear old Honor, that's what she is," says Molly, looking up
and patting her elder sister's hand affectionately. To be sure the
effect of this statement is somewhat marred by the fact of the
speaker's mouth being full of chestnuts. The sentiment is the same,
however, and Dick, banging his hand down on the table, cries
triumphantly, "There you are, you see--_old_ again! _Now_ what have
you got to say, Miss Honor?"
"That you are a goose and that Molly is another, for if she will
persist in tilting her chair like that she will follow Daisy's
example and come to the ground."
Molly brings her chair on to its fore-legs with a bang, then proceeds
to announce solemnly, "We don't seem to be getting a bit nearer to
settling these theatricals. Here's Miss Denison coming back
to-morrow expecting us to have arranged everything and to have been
rehearsing our parts, and--"
"_Parts!_" echoes Dick; "how can you call it a part when you have
nothing to do but to sit or stand still?"
"Well, it _is_ a part all the same," cries Molly, not to be put down.
"Each one is a part of the whole picture, I suppose; so if you can't
allow it in one sense you can in another."
"Hum, especially when there is only one person in the picture!"
mutters Dick. But here Honor's voice is heard saying, "Well,
children, no disputing or we shall never settle anything. Now, who
has got the list of the subjects that we made out last night?"
"Here it is," says Doris, who has had it spread out on her knees
studying for some time. "Now, first of all, is it quite settled that
we are only to have nursery rhymes; or do you think people will think
it silly?"
"We _might_ have one or two historical scenes, perhaps," says Honor
reflectively.
"Or one or two Shakespearian or Tennysonian," suggests Dick, who has
rather high-flown ideas. "Let us do the 'play scene' in Hamlet.
_I'll_ be Hamlet, and--I--suppose Doris would have to be Ophelia."
"How absurd you are, Dick!" exclaims that damsel satirically. "Where
would you get all the people from? Do for goodness' sake bring the
picture before your mind's eye for a moment. Why, besides Hamlet and
Ophelia there are the king and queen, all their ladies and gentlemen,
and then all the players. Why, we couldn't do it, not with _all_ the
boys next door even; and just think what a bother the scene would be
to arrange. We should want a double stage, and all sorts of regal
appendages which I am sure we could not find anywhere. You Hamlet,
too!" she finishes up with scorn.
"All right! Don't excite yourself," says Dick calmly.
"I think," says Honor, "we shall be wiser to keep to the nursery
rhymes, because we can take any amount of license with them, and use
our own discretion about the dressing of them. But if we take a
scene that everybody knows we _must be_ careful to have everything
perfectly correct; and though I should be sorry to underrate the
talent of such celebrities in the art of acting as ourselves, I
_don't think_ we are up to it. Now, Doris, read your list."
"Mother Hubbard," reads Doris; "verse where she looks in the
cupboard. Vic will do the dog capitally. Molly will coach her up in
her part and--"
"There, you hear!" exclaims that young lady. "Doris calls them parts
too, and so they are, of course!" and looking at her brother
defiantly she attacks the chestnuts with renewed ardour.
"What shall we do for the cupboard?" inquires Daisy with wide-open
eyes.
"We can get Mrs. Mason to let us have one of her portable safes up,
and if there are a few plates and dishes left inside, with anything
in the eatable way on them, Vic is sure to sit up and beg."
"Well, that one will do," says Molly, getting up and hanging over her
sister's shoulder; "but read on, Doris. Look! the time is going on
awfully fast; in another hour you'll have to dress."
So Doris reads the list, which gives general satisfaction. Then
laying it down, she says, "If only father helps us, we shall _do_.
He only wants a little petting and coaxing, and I am sure he will.
Hark! that's the carriage now, isn't it? Run and look, Dick; is it
father?"
"Yes, and it's snowing like anything. I declare he has got quite
white while standing a minute to speak to Rawlings. We must give him
time to get off his coat and speak to mother, and then we'll fetch
him up here, and not let him go until he promises all we want."
"Hey! what's that I hear?" cries a cheery voice at the door. "Come
now, that is what one might call a very moderate request, ladies and
gentlemen. Why, where is Bobby? Oh, gone to tea next door; a common
occurrence, eh? Now, come and kiss me, girls. Bless my heart, one
at a time, one at a time; there are plenty of kisses for all. And
here's mother, looking jealous, I declare!"
"I shouldn't wonder," says Mrs. Merivale, who, almost unobserved in
the midst of all the tumult, has quietly entered the room behind her
husband. "Enough to make anyone jealous, I should think. Honor,
dear," her tone changing to one of anxiety, "I hope you haven't been
letting Daisy eat many of those nasty indigestible nuts."
"O, no, mother!" replies Daisy herself promptly, "I wanted heaps
more, but Honor said 'No.'"
"Yes, and with a capital N too," remarks Molly.
"I came up with your father because I want to speak to you two
girls," resumes Mrs. Merivale. "Lucy has not come back yet, so I
don't think she will now, that is in time to dress Doris. So I
thought you would help her, Honor, for I want her to look nice. You
know what dress; the new plain white silk. And, mind, not a single
ornament, not one!"
"O, mother!" exclaims Doris, pouting; "not my pearl cross that father
gave me on my last birthday?"
"Tut, my dear!" puts in Mr. Merivale, who has overheard this touching
appeal, "let her wear it. What's the use of having things if they
are never to see the light?"
"Well, as it is only pearl, I don't mind. I will send Lane to see
that all is right," continues Mrs. Merivale, "and to give any
finishing touches that may be wanted; and now I must go downstairs
again. There are several things I want to see to before I dress.
Don't be late in the drawing-room, Doris, that is all I beg. And,
James, don't stay long up here. They will be trapping and inveigling
you into all sorts of rash promises if you do;" and Mrs. Merivale
leaves the room, putting her head in again, however, to say to Honor,
"Let Jane come up and sit with the children whilst you are with
Doris, and _don't_ let them be up late. If Lucy is not back, Jane
can call for Bobby; William will be too busy to-night. _Please_ see,
Honor, that Daisy and Bobby go up to nurse punctually at half-past
seven. Molly and Dick, I trust to you both to go up at nine."
There is a chorus of "All right, mother!" and as the door closes they
all five flock round their father; questioning, demanding, coaxing
and wheedling, until, becoming confused amongst them all, he begs to
be allowed to sit down and take the questions in turn.
"Have I been to the carpenter's?--Yes, I have, and he is going to
look in to-morrow morning to take a look at the room. Have I been to
the costumier's?--No, I haven't, for I don't know what you do want
and what you don't. Moreover, I think if you can do without anything
from there, all the better. I can't say I like the idea of your
wearing hired costumes. Anything like swords, sceptres, helmets, or
such like you may order, or I will for you; but anything in the way
of gowns, I'd rather you bought the stuff for them and have them
made. You will then be better able to please your own tastes. Get
your mother to let you have Mrs. Needles-and-pins, or whatever her
name may be, here for a day or two, and if you like to put down all
that you are likely to want, I will undertake that you have the money
for it. Now, I can't say more than that, can I?"
General approbation of this plan is expressed, and Mr. Merivale is
about to escape, muttering something about "Mother fidgeting herself
into fiddle-strings," when he is once more seized upon, and Molly,
who is generally to the fore where speaking is concerned, asks in a
stage-whisper, "What about the music for the dancing, father?"
"Why, bless my soul, there's plenty of time for that, surely! Now,
let me see, what evening is fixed?--the 27th, isn't it? Very well,
then, this is only the 13th; so you have a clear fortnight before
you."
"Yes, father, I know," says persevering Molly; "but you see, dear old
Dad, we want to feel that it is _all_ settled, and nothing left on
our minds, you know!"
"O, _do_ you, now?" says Mr. Merivale, pinching his daughter's rosy
cheek. "Well, I wish _I_ could get everything in my business settled
off so satisfactorily, and nothing left on _my_ mind. Well, well, we
will see; I will go and look up someone to play in a few days--don't
you fuss about it, I won't forget. Now, really, children, I _must_
go down. Let me go, there's good girls."
"And make mother promise to give us a real _good_ supper, not
sandwiches and sweets only!" they scream after him down the passage.
"Yes, yes, I'll see to it all," calls back the victimized parent,
only too thankful to escape at any price, and never stopping to
consider what extra responsibilities he is taking upon himself.
Having settled down quietly once more, there is an animated
consultation on the important subject of the dresses, and the
respective prices of chintz, velveteen, silk, lace, &c. &c., are
discussed with interest.
"It is so difficult to tell what sum we really shall want," says
Doris, leaning her chin on her hand and staring absently into the
fire. "However, I propose that you and I, Honor, go to Miss Renny
to-morrow morning and just consult her as to quantities and so on,
and then we could arrange about her coming to work at the same time."
"Yes, I think that will be the best plan. Good gracious, Doris! look
at the clock! What time is dinner to-night?"
"Eight," replied Doris, "and mother said I was to be in the
drawing-room not a moment later than half-past seven;" and starting
up, the girls dart out of the room and up the stairs like a lightning
flash into Doris's room, where, on the bed, is carefully arranged the
toilette she is to wear on this the occasion of her first
dinner-party.
"And now come and help me with my hair, there's a good girl," cries
Doris presently; "and _do_ you think you could curl it at the back
without burning me _very_ terribly? You did horribly last time you
undertook it, you know. My gracious! there's the second gong! Why,
Lane will be up in a moment, and sha'n't I catch it if I am not
nearly ready!"
"My dear Doris, if you would only sit down in this chair and not fuss
so, we should get on much faster. Now give me the hair-pins as I
want them, and keep quiet for a few minutes if you can."
[Illustration: HONOR ASSISTS DORIS TO DRESS FOR DINNER.]
After having brushed the long silky hair through, Honor with a few
skilful twirls and twists raises a becoming erection which (as Doris
says) would do credit to a court hair-dresser.
"And now for the awful moment!" exclaims Honor, grasping the
curling-tongs and thrusting them ferociously into the fire. "Now sit
still, dear, if you can, and it shall not be _my_ fault if you are
burnt. There, I think I have really made you look lovely!" and she
steps back gazing admiringly at her sister, who, with cheeks slightly
flushed, and eyes almost preternaturally bright, looks in her soft
white dressing-gown as pretty a picture as one would wish to see.
"Now tell me who is coming to-night, and all about it? Anyone from
next door?"
"Why, there is only one of them old enough--Hugh; and he is only
nineteen," says Doris with all the conscious superiority of a
seventeen-and-a-half-year-old girl. "I believe he _is_ coming,
though; with his mother, of course. I wish mother would let me go in
to dinner with him; it will be so dreadfully slow and dull if I have
to sit through two whole mortal hours with some stupid old fogy who
thinks of nothing but his dinner. Well, then, let me see if I can
remember the rest. Oh, _Honor_, don't squeeze so; I can't bear that
hook. Good gracious! how tight Madame Cecile has made the waist!"
"You'll _have_ to bear it," says Honor, gasping, and remorselessly
pulling and tugging at the refractory hooks and eyes. "I heard
Madame Cecile mutter to herself the other day that she must make your
waist smaller, so I suppose she means to systematically pull in an
inch or so every time she makes you a new dress. Ah--there it is at
last! How do you feel?"
"O dreadfully tight and wretched. Now if I have any breath left I
will go on telling you who is asked for to-night. Aunt is coming for
one, with the Pagets, you know. That means a party of three at once.
Then the rector and Mrs. Benson. Now, let me see, with father,
mother, and myself that is eight; and I am sure we are to be
fourteen. O, I know--Colonel and Mrs. Danvers, Captain Hall, that's
eleven: Mrs. Horton and Hugh, thirteen--now _who_ is fourteen?"
"Why, Molly's old friend, Sir Peter Beresford," chimes in Honor. "I
know he is coming, because I heard mother telling Rankin that he must
be put up near the end of the table out of all the draughts. O, here
comes Lane. I wonder what she will have to say to the capabilities
of the new maid."
"Now, young ladies, sharp's the word. Turn yourself round, Miss
Doris, and let me see if all's right;" and the woman proceeds to turn
and twist her young mistress about with the scant ceremony of an old
and privileged servant who, as she is fond of saying, "dressed and
waited on your ma before ever you were born or thought of, my dears."
Giving a pull here, and a twist there, Lane at length is pleased to
announce that all is satisfactory.
At this moment Mrs. Merivale glides into the room, a floating
ensemble of velvet, silk, lace, bugles, feathers, and what not; one
of those costumes in which you can accuse nothing of being
predominant, and as a whole is perfect.
"Mother!" gasp both the girls. "What a _lovely_ dress, and how
nicely Lane has done your hair!"
Lane sniffs gracious approval of this compliment, and turning to her
mistress says, "I think Miss Doris will do, ma'am?"
Holding her double eye-glass up by its beautiful mother-of-pearl
handle, the mother makes a critical survey of her daughter from head
to foot, then dropping it languidly to her side she nods
encouragingly. "Yes, very nice. Nothing like white _silk_ for very
young girls. Satin is too old looking. Honor, your dressing does
you credit, dear; you have done her hair charmingly. Now you may as
well come down at once with me, Doris. Have you everything--fan,
handkerchief, gloves? Oh, I see you have those on! wise girl to get
them nicely arranged before you leave your room."
"O! that was Honor's doing, not mine," says Doris promptly. "She
would have me rigged out all complete, as Dick would say."
"_Doris!_" exclaims Mrs. Merivale as she sails out of the room
followed by that young lady, "_pray_ do not always be using those
expressions which Dick seems to delight in,--troublesome boy! You
are always down upon him for these Americanisms which he has picked
up (at school, I suppose), but it seems to me you are ready enough to
make use of them too. I do hope you will be careful to behave nicely
altogether to-night, and not like a hoydenish school-girl as you do
more often, I fear, especially when Miss Denison is not by."
"O don't be anxious about me, mother; _I_ shall pull through somehow,
and conduct myself with such propriety as even to satisfy Aunt
Sophia. If you _should_ see me doing anything dreadful at the
dinner-table, and I am too far away for a stage-whisper, you might
'hail' like Mary Ann the scholar in _Our Mutual Friend_, you know,
then I shall understand and pull myself together."
"You incorrigible girl," says Mrs. Merivale with something between a
laugh and a sigh; "but now run back, dear, and get my fan off the
dressing-table in my room. O, and look in and tell Honor that she
can come down for an hour or so to-night if she likes. Tell her to
wear her white nun's veiling with the moiré sash and ribbons."
Charmed with this message Doris is soon back in her own room, where
she finds Honor still helping Lane to put things a little straight,
in Lucy's prolonged absence, which is irritating the older maid not a
little.
"Honor, my girl, you are to come down into the drawing-room to-night;
mother says so. O, and you are to wear your nun's veiling, &c. Now
_don't_ say you don't want to!"
"I don't, truly," says Honor, looking from Doris to Lane and back
again. "I am tired and sleepy now, and it is a bother to have to
change one's dress just for an hour, when I'd _far_ rather be in bed."
"Well, I call it downright spiteful of you, Honor. Just the evening
of all others that I want you. I was looking forward to telling you
all about the dinner, and we could have had a jolly time in a
secluded corner with Hugh. And oh, I forgot, Regy is coming in after
dinner; so we four might have some rare fun. _Do_ come, there's a
dear!" And Doris looks at Honor so beseechingly that she sacrifices
her own feelings in the matter and says, "Very well, dear, I'll come.
Now run away, there's mother calling you."