The next day the Savilles lost no time in consulting the agent who had
been commissioned to advertise for houses on their behalf, and he in his
turn presented them with a list of a dozen places which were for sale,
eight of which were obviously unsuitable, and none in the very least
like Peggy's ideal abode. This was a bitter disappointment to the
expectant trio, and the disappointment was not softened by the offhand
and independent manner in which they were treated, for the agent hinted
at inordinate expectations, smiled openly at Peggy's inquiry about a
moat, and floated off to attend to another inquirer, as if any other
subject were worth considering when the question of Colonel Saville's
future home was on the _tapis_!
Mrs Saville left the office with a crestfallen air, but her husband and
daughter stalked forth with their most military stride, and exchanged
glances of kindling irritation on the doorstep.
"Insubordinate wretch!" cried the colonel, the ends of his moustache
looking fiercer than ever, and his eyes gleaming with anger, for after
ruling as despot over his regiment for so many years, the lack of
deference shown by a mere civilian was a distinct trial to the flesh.
"There's a good deal to be said for our friends the natives after all,
Peg! If one of them had dared to treat me like that--"
"Just so!" assented Peggy. "I'm with you, father. I _do_ like people
to tremble at my nod, and in this land of freedom no one seems in the
least afraid of us. It's disgraceful. We had better take the train,
and look at this Uplands place. It seems the most likely of any on the
list, so I suppose we ought to see it."
To the Uplands, then, the trio betook themselves, to find disappointment
number two, for the name had evidently been bestowed in a spirit of
satire on a house situated in a valley, and shut in by a network of
trees. The rooms smelt like so many vaults, and presented a cheerful
pattern of mould upon the walls, while even Peggy's ardour could not
face the task of reducing a wilderness into a garden. A drive of three
miles brought the explorers to yet another desirable residence of so
uncompromisingly bleak and hideous an aspect that they drove away from
the gates without examining the interior, and returned to town fatigued
and discouraged.
"But we could not expect to find what we wanted the very first day,"
Peggy reminded herself cheerily. "Besides, Mellicent is coming! That
is quite enough happiness for one day. In two more hours she will be
here. I'll go downstairs at five o'clock, and wait for her in the
hall."
When five o'clock arrived, however, a brother officer came to call upon
Colonel Saville, and Peggy was delayed several minutes longer than she
intended, so that when she repaired downstairs it was a little past the
hour when Mellicent was due. It was quite likely that the train had
been behind time, or that difficulties in getting luggage put on a cab
might have delayed her arrival, and Peggy devoutly hoped that this had
been the case, so that she might still be in time to give a friendly
welcome. The hall was, as usual, crowded with visitors. An American
contingent chatted merrily together in one corner; a French marquise
stared around through a gold-rimmed lorgnette; and the usual array of
family parties lolled on ottomans and sofas, scrutinising the passers-
by, and exchanging whispered criticisms, which were neither so
complimentary nor so subdued as might have been desired. A stout lady
and two slim daughters, looking more like fashion-plates than Peggy
could have believed it possible for any human creatures to do, stood
discussing a knotty point together in the centre of the floor, their
voluminous skirts shutting out the view beyond.
Peggy made a _detour_ to the side, caught sight of a broad, blue serge
back, looking broader than ever from contrast with sylph-like forms, a
coil of yellow hair beneath a sailor hat, and the side of a crimson
cheek. Mellicent! Of course it was Mellicent! There she stood, the
poor dear thing, a statue of misery in the midst of the fashionable
crowd, a roll of shawls clutched in one hand, her dress thick with dust,
and her hair blown into disorder. The critics on the benches sniggered
and whispered to one another, and the French marquise examined her
through the lorgnette with unconcealed amaze; but at the sight of the
familiar figure Peggy's heart leapt within her, for she saw again the
ivy-covered vicarage, and the shabby, sunny schoolroom in which she had
spent such happy days. A hand clutched Mellicent's arm in ecstatic
grasp, and a tremulous voice spoke in her ear.
"Mellicent, _darling_! Is it really you?"
"Oh, my goodness, Peggy, have you come at last? Nobody knew where you
were, and they said they'd send, and it's simply awful the way these
wretches stare!" cried Mellicent in a rush, "They sit round in rows, and
glare as if they had nothing in the world to do but quiz the poor new
arrivals as they come in at the door."
"Which, my dear, is precisely the state of the case. It _is_
disconcerting, especially when you arrive in the evening, after a
tempestuous Channel passage, and step into a hall aglow with diamonds
and eye-glasses; but turn about is fair play!" cried Peggy reassuringly.
"To-morrow you and I will quiz in our turn, and just think how we shall
enjoy it. Father and I have sat together for hours, criticising and
inventing histories, and you have no idea how entertaining it is.
You'll simply love it."
"No, I sha'n't. It's unkind and cruel, and must make people simply
dread coming in. If I were the manager, I wouldn't allow it!" declared
Mellicent in righteous wrath; then her eyes turned to her companion, and
a tardy realisation of the position seemed to dawn upon her. "Oh,
Peggy!" she cried, and again, "Oh, Peggy! I'm _so_ glad to see you
again. It has seemed such a long, long time since you went away, and
there was no one like you--no one who could ever take your place."
Peggy gave an affectionate little grip to the blue serge arm, but made
none of the protests which usually follow such an announcement. Modesty
not being her strong point, she saw no reason to dispute Mellicent's
assertion, so smiled instead, and cried reassuringly:
"Never mind, I'm back again now, and never going away no more! Dear old
Chubs, you look so fresh, and pink-and-white and Englishy, that it does
me good to see you. This is our sitting-room, and you must come in and
say how do you do to father and mother, and have some tea. Father is
going out with a friend presently, and mother will have a rest in her
bedroom, so we shall have a cosy little chat by ourselves. Don't look
alarmed! They are not a bit fierce, I assure you, but a most mild and
agreeable old couple."
As she spoke Peggy threw open the door of the sitting-room, and the mild
and agreeable couple bestowed the kindliest of greetings upon their
young visitor; but the surroundings were all so strange and formal that
country-bred Mellicent was overpowered, and could only blush and stammer
in school-girl fashion. Her own perfect consciousness of the fact added
fuel to her embarrassment, and a full-length mirror at the opposite side
of the room presented such an exasperating contrast of rustic
awkwardness and dainty grace, as she and Peggy stood side by side, that
her heart died down within her. Poor Mellicent! her new coat and skirt
had been made by the very best dressmaker in the village, and had been
considered a miracle of elegance by the admiring home circle; so that
she had looked forward to making quite a triumphant entrance, and now
here she was, looking her very worst, and conscious of a dozen
shortcomings as she looked at her friend's graceful figure. Peggy's
features still retained their miniature-like faultlessness of outline,
her pretty hair was coiled about her head in fantastic fashion, she bore
herself with even more than the old assurance, and rustled about the
room in a gown of Parisian manufacture. A little chill of strangeness
and depression settled down on Mellicent's spirits. For the last month
she had lived in constant expectation of this visit, had built a fairy
edifice of dreams concerning it, and already the foundations were
beginning to totter. The great hotel, with its crowd of critical
inmates, was terrifying to the country-bred girl, the graciousness of
her host and hostess appeared formal, when compared with the warm-
hearted cordiality of her Irish mother, and even Peggy herself seemed
transformed into another person. It was no longer Peggy, it was
Mariquita, and Mariquita a dozen times more self-possessed and imposing
than in the days of old.
When Colonel and Mrs Saville left the room, Mellicent watched with awed
eyes an interview which took place between Miss Peggy and a waiter whom
she had summoned to bring a supply of fresh tea. There were several
other matters to discuss regarding the despatch of letters and parcels,
and the severe though courteous manner in which the young lady conducted
the conversation, reduced the listener to a condition of speechless
amazement. When the door closed behind the man, Peggy met the stare of
the horrified blue eyes, and put a laughing inquiry as to the nature of
her offence.
"I don't know how you _dare_ talk to him like that!" stammered Mellicent
in return. "He is ever so much older than you, and looks so--so
dignified and grand, and you order him about, and tell him to be
careful, and send him running up and downstairs. I don't know how you
can do it. I'm nervous enough about finding fault with the servants at
home, but with a stranger! A man! I could never summon up courage to
find fault, no matter what mistakes he made. And you are so cool about
it!"
"My dear, I'm used to it. Consider the position I have had to fill
these last three years in Indiah!" drawled Miss Peggy, and leant her
head against the cushions of her chair with an exhausted air, which
seemed to imply that she had come straight from the duties of Government
House itself. Then suddenly she straightened herself, and attacked the
teapot.
"I forget if you take sugar in your tea. So few people do nowadays.
And cream? It's rather strong, I'm afraid. Be sure to tell me if it's
exactly as you like."
"Thank you!" murmured Mellicent faintly. She put the cup down on a
table close at hand, and fumbled nervously with her gloves.
"P-Peggy!"
"Yes, dear."
"Peg-gy!"
"Yes, Mellicent, what is it?"
"Oh, Peggy, I feel--I feel so uncomfortable! It's all so strange and
different from what I expected. I thought I should feel at home the
moment I saw you--but I don't, not a bit. You look so grown-up and
proper, and your dress is so grand, and you have done your hair like the
people in the fashion-books, and I never can make out how on earth they
twist it in and out... We are the same age, but you seem ever so much
older, and I don't feel that it is you at all."
"The inference is, that I never _was_ proper, nor tidy, nor well-dressed
in the old days! Not very complimentary to me, I must say," began Peggy
lightly, and then caught sight of a tear-drop glittering on Mellicent's
eyelashes, which sobered her very quickly. Crying? No, surely not; yet
tears were there, undeniable tears, filling the blue eyes, and rolling
slowly down over the pink cheeks. Peggy dropped down on her knees, and
clasped her hands round the plump blue waist.
"Why, Mill, what is it? What grieves you, dear? What have I done, or
said, or looked--horrid thing that I am!--to vex you within ten minutes
of your arrival? I never, never meant it!"
"You haven't done anything! It's my own fault. I'm sorry to be so
silly, Peggy, but all this time I have been longing and longing to see
you, and thinking that it would be just the same as in the old days;
but, oh, Peggy, we've led such different lives, and it's not the same--
oh, it's not the same at all! I have stood still, but you have moved
on, and there's such a big, big difference. I realised it all of a
sudden, and began to cry like a baby, but it's not your fault. It's
only because I am so fond--so fond of you, Peggy, and so sorry to
think--"
"You dear, sweet goose! Stop crying this minute, and listen to me.
There is no difference between us, and it's going to be _exactly_ the
same. You are Mellicent Asplin, and I'm Peggy Saville, and after my
very own people I love the dear old vicaragers more than any one else in
the world. I never change in my affections, and in other respects the
day may yet dawn, my love, when you may wish that I had altered
considerably more than I have. Will it help you to recognise me if I
pull your hair, eli?--or tickle you under the chin, eh?--or give a nice
little jolt to your elbow just as you lift your cup, eh?" cried Peggy,
illustrating each inquiry in practical fashion, while Mellicent giggled
in the midst of tears, and dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief.
"D-o-on't! You'll spoil my dress. Oh, Peggy, it _is_ good of you, and
I did so want to come, and will you really promise not to be ashamed of
me, if I make stupid mistakes, and look dowdy and horrid when we go out
together?"
"I'll be ashamed of you, and furious into the bargain, if you hint at
such a thing again. I'm not a snob, thank goodness! Now sit up, my
dear, and drop sentiment, and attend to tea. Take a cress sandwich, and
don't cry over it, I beseech you! If there is one thing more
objectionable than another, it is wet salad. Tell me all about home,
and every one in it. Are they looking forward to my advent, and is cook
remembering my favourite puddings? I've got a present for every one--
such a beautiful white shawl for Mrs Asplin, a tiger skin for your
father's study, some old manuscripts for Esther, as I could not think of
anything she would like better, and--"
"And what for--How very nice! So kind of you, Peggy, to think of us!"
protested Mellicent, drawing herself up with sudden recollection, but
palpitating with curiosity to hear what her own share might be. "Esther
hopes to get home while you are with us, but she can't tear herself from
her precious pupils for more than a week. She has three little boys
whom she is training for school, and teaching Latin and Greek and
mathematics and all sorts of horrid things. You would hate it, Peggy,
and so would I, but Esther loves it, and grudges every moment she is
away."
Peggy laughed.
"I can imagine it! The little rascals scrawling substantives on their
slates--`O frog--To a frog--By, with, or from a frog!' and Esther's
solemn distress over a wrong termination. Isn't it a blessing that we
are made differently, and that some people are born with such wonderful
patience and forbearance? I pity their poor little knuckles if _I_ were
in charge. But then I was always hastily inclined. Your father used to
say that Esther and Rob had far more of the scholarly spirit than Rex,
though he must have worked hard to get through his examinations so well.
Dear old Rex, how I should love to see him again! It seems so funny to
think of him as a full-fledged doctor, with a practice of his own! How
does he like living in the North, and how does he get on?"
Mellicent shrugged her shoulders uncertainly.
"Pretty well, only it's such a disgustingly bracing place that no one is
ever ill. Rex says it is most depressing to look out of the windows and
see the healthy faces! He gets so tired waiting for patients who never
come. I stayed with him for a week in the winter, and whenever the bell
rang we used to rush out into the hall, and peer over the banisters to
see who was there, and if it was a patient Rex kept him waiting for ten
minutes by his watch, to pretend that he was busy, though he was really
dying to fly downstairs at once. He makes very little money, and father
has to help him a good deal; but last month something happened which he
hopes will help him on. The mayor of the town had a carriage accident
just opposite his house, and was nearly killed. Wasn't it luck for Rex?
He was so pleased! The mayor was carried into the house, and could not
be moved for days, and the papers were full of `Dr Asplin this, and Dr
Asplin that,' as if he was the biggest doctor they had! The mayoress
seems to have taken a fancy to him too, for she begs him to go to their
house as often as he likes, without waiting to be asked. It will be
nice for Rex to have some friends in the town, for he daren't go far
from home. Oswald and his wife live within an hour's rail, and often
invite him there, but he is afraid to go, in case a patient _should_
appear!"
"Oswald's wife! How strange it sounds! I have never heard anything
about her, and am so curious to know what she is like! What account did
Rex bring when he came home from the wedding?"
"He said he couldn't attempt to describe her, but that you could meet
seventy-six girls exactly like her any day of the week. Rather pretty,
rather fair, rather nice, rather musical! Everything _rather_, and
nothing _very_! and thinks Oswald the most wonderful man in the world.
She can't be very clever herself, if she thinks that, can she? Oswald
was always a regular dunce!"
"Oh, `dunce' is too strong a word, Chubby! He was not brilliant, but
you must remember that he suffered from contrast with his companions.
Rex was very bright, if he was not exactly clever, and it is not often
that you come across such a really scholarly boy as Rob Darcy!"
Peggy busied herself with the arrangement of the tea-tray without
glancing in her friend's direction, and with an air of studied
carelessness. She herself knew that she had dragged Rob's name into the
discussion for no other object than to set Mellicent's ready tongue to
work on a subject about which she was longing for information, and she
was alarmed lest her intention might be suspected. Mellicent, however,
had retained her comfortable obtuseness, and rose to the bait with
innocent alacrity.
"Well, I don't know if _you_ call it scholarly to think of nothing in
the world but beetles, and grubby little plants that no one ever heard
of before; but _I_ call it idiotic. He is worse than Esther, because,
after all, schoolboys are human creatures, and sometimes you can't help
liking them, though they are so tiresome, but nobody could love a
beetle! I said so once to Rob, and he snubbed me dreadfully, and talked
at me for half an hour. I didn't understand half he said--for it was
all in technical beetley language, but it was meant to prove that it was
wrong to say anything of the sort, or refuse to see the beauty hidden
away in the meanest created thing."
"Quite true! I agree with Rob. He was perfectly right."
"But, Peggy, a beetle! And to care for nothing else! You have no idea
what a regular old hermit Rob has become. He is perfectly wrapped up in
beetles!" cried Mellicent, with a descriptive elegance of diction, at
which her hearer shuddered visibly. "He takes no interest in anything
else!"
Peggy smiled, and her head took a complacent tilt.
"That's bad! That will have to be altered. He'll take interest in
_me_, my dear, or there'll be trouble! I believe in a man devoting
himself to his work, but Rob is too nice to be allowed to bury himself
completely. I must rouse him up! A fortnight from now we will meet
again, and the treatment will begin. Meanest creatures are all very
well in their way, but superior ones demand their own share of
attention. Rob always did as I told him, and he will not disappoint me
now."
Mellicent gazed at her friend in reflective fashion. She called up
before her a picture of Rob's great stooping form, his shaggy head, and
overhanging brows, and contrasted it mentally with that of the slim
little, neat little, prettiest of elf-like figures before her. No, it
was not in the least likely that Rob would disappoint Peggy Saville.
"Those dreadful Savilles" had now, as ever, the power of enforcing
obedience from their vassals.
"But all the same," she repeated obstinately, "but all the same he would
have liked you better if you had been a beetle!"