"My dear," said Mrs Ramsden, solemnly, "this is indeed great news. I
don't wonder that you feel unnerved!"
"I do, indeed. The three o'clock post came in, and I was quite
surprised when Mary came in with the salver. I was not expecting any
letters. I have so few correspondents, and I am mostly in their debt, I
am afraid. Still, of course, there are always the circulars. I looked
for nothing more exciting, and then--_this_ arrived! I really felt that
I could not sit alone and think it out by myself all day long. I hope
you will forgive me for asking you to come over on such short notice."
"Indeed, I am flattered that you should wish to have me. Do tell me all
about this brother. He has lived abroad a long time, I think? It is
the eldest, is it not? The rich one--in America?"
"I believe he is rich for the moment. Goodness knows how long it may
last," sighed Miss Briskett, dolefully. "He speculates in mines, my
dear, and you know what _that_ means! Half the time he is a pauper, and
the other half a millionaire, and so far as I can gather from his
letters he seems just as well satisfied one way as another. He was
always a flighty, irresponsible creature, and I fear Cornelia has taken
after him."
"She is the only child?"
"Yes! She had an English mother, I'm thankful to say; but poor Sybil
died at her birth, and Edward never married again. He was devoted to
Sybil, and said he would never give another woman the charge of her
child. Such nonsense! As if any man on earth could look after a
growing girl, without a woman's help. Instead of a wise, judicious
stepmother, she has been left to nurses and governesses, and from what I
can hear, has ruled _them_, instead of the other way about. You can see
by the tone of her father's letter that he is absurdly prejudiced."
"That is natural, perhaps, with an only child, left to him in such
peculiarly sad circumstances. We must not judge him hardly for that,"
said little Mrs Ramsden, kindly. "Has the girl herself ever written to
you before, may I ask, or is this her first communication?"
Miss Briskett's back stiffened, and her thin lips set in a straight
line.
"She has addressed little notes to me from time to time; on birthdays,
and Christmases, and so on; but to tell you the truth, my dear, I have
not encouraged their continuance. They were unduly familiar, and I
object to being addressed by abbreviations of my name. Ideas as to what
is right and fitting seem to differ on different sides of the Atlantic!"
"They do, indeed. I have always understood that young people are
brought into quite undue prominence in American households. And their
manners, too! One sees in that postscript--you don't mind my saying so,
just between ourselves--a--a _broadness_--"
"Quite so! I feel it myself. I am most grieved, about it. Cornelia is
my niece, and Edward is the head of the family. Her position as his
only child is one of importance, and I feel distressed that she is so
little qualified to adorn it. She has been well educated, I believe;
has `graduated,' as they call it; but she has evidently none of our
English polish. Quite in confidence, Mrs Ramsden, I feel that she may
be somewhat of a shock to the neighbourhood!"
"You think of receiving her, then? Your brother leaves you the option
of refusing, and I should think things over very seriously before
incurring such a responsibility. A three-months' visit! I doubt you
could not stand the strain! If you excused yourself on the ground of
health, no offence could possibly be taken."
But at that Miss Briskett protested strongly.
"Oh, my dear, I could not refuse! Edward wishes to find a home for the
girl, and says he would be relieved to have her with me. I could not
possibly refuse! I think I may say that I have never yet shirked a
duty, distasteful though it might be, and I must not do so now. I shall
cable to say that I will be pleased to receive Cornelia, when it suits
her to arrive."
Mrs Ramsden crumbled her seed-cake and wondered why--that being the
case--she had been summoned to give advice, but being a good-natured
soul, smiled assent, and deftly shifted the conversation to the
consideration of details.
"Well, dear, I only trust you may be rewarded. Miss Cornelia is
fortunate to have such a home waiting to receive her. What room do you
propose to dedicate to her use?"
Miss Briskett's face clouded, and she drew a long, despairing sigh.
"That's another thing I am troubled about. I had the best spare room
done up only this spring. The carpet had faded, and when I was renewing
it I took the opportunity to have in the painters and paperhangers. It
is _all_ fresh, even the curtains and bed-hangings. They have not once
been used."
Mrs Ramsden purred in sympathetic understanding.
"Poor dear! When one has just made a room all fresh and clean, it is
_most_ trying to have it taken into use! But why give her that room at
all, dear? You have several others. A young, unmarried girl should be
satisfied with a room at the back, or even on the third storey. You
have a nice little guest room over your own bedroom, have you not?"
"No!" Miss Briskett again manifested a noble determination to do her
duty. "I should like Edward to feel, when he comes over, that I have
paid his daughter all due honour. She must have the spare room, and if
she spills things over the new carpet, I must pray for grace to bear it.
She has been accustomed to a very luxurious style of living for the
last few years, and I daresay even my best room will not be as handsome
as her own apartment. In the present state of Edward's finances, she
is, I suppose, a very great heiress."
Little Mrs Ramsden stared into her cup with a kindly thoughtfulness.
"I should keep that fact secret, if I were you," she said earnestly.
"Poor lassie! it's always a handicap to a girl to be received for what
she has, rather than what she is. And there are two or three idle,
worthless young men hanging about, who might be only too glad to pick up
a rich wife. I should simply announce that I was expecting a niece from
the United States of America, to pay me a visit of some months'
duration, and offer no enlightenment as to her circumstances. You will
have enough responsibility as it is, without embarrassing
entanglements."
"Yes, indeed. Thank you so much. I feel sure that your advice is wise,
and I shall certainly follow it. There's that soldier nephew of Mrs
Mott's, who is constantly running down on short visits. I object
intensely to that dashing style! He is just the type of man to run
after a girl for her money. I shall take special care that they do not
meet. One thing I am determined upon," said Miss Briskett, sternly,
"and that is that there shall be no love-making, nor philandering of any
kind under my roof. I could not be troubled with such nonsense, nor
with the responsibility of it. I am accustomed to a quiet, regular
life, and if Cornelia comes to me, she must conform to the regulations
of the household. At my age I cannot be expected to alter my ways for
the sake of a girl."
"Certainly not. She is a mere girl, I suppose! How old may she be?"
Miss Briskett considered.
"She was born in the winter! I distinctly remember coming in and seeing
the cable, and taking off my fur gloves to open it.--It was the year I
bought the dining-room carpet. It was just down, I remember, and as we
drank the baby's health, the cork flew out of the bottle, and some of
the champagne was spilt, and there was a great fuss wiping it up--
Twenty-two years ago! Who would have thought it could be so long?"
"Ah, it always pays to get a good thing while you are about it. It
costs a great deal at the start, but you have such satisfaction
afterwards. It's not a bit faded!" Mrs Ramsden affirmed, alluding, be
it understood, to the Turkey carpet, and not to Miss Cornelia Briskett.
"Twenty-two. Just a year younger than my Elma! Elma will be glad to
have a companion."
"It is kind of you to say so. Nothing would please me better than to
see Cornelia become intimate with your daughter. Poor child, she has
not had the advantages of an English upbringing; but we must hope that
this visit will be productive of much good. She could not have a better
example than Elma. She is a type of a sweet, guileless, English girl."
"Ye-es!" asserted the sweet girl's mother, doubtfully; "but you know,
dear Miss Briskett, that at times even Elma..." She shook her head,
sighed, and continued with a struggling smile: "We must remember--must
we not--that we have been young ourselves, and try not to be too hard on
little eccentricities!"
Mrs Ramsden spoke with feeling, for memory, though slumbering, was not
dead. She had not always been a well-conducted widow lady, who
expressed herself with decorum, and wore black cashmere and bugles.
Thirty odd years ago she had been a plump little girl, with a lively
capacity for mischief.
On one occasion she had danced two-thirds of the programme at a ball
with an officer even more dashing than the objectionable nephew of Mrs
Mott, and in a corner of the conservatory had given him a flower from
her bouquet. He had kissed the flower before pressing it in his pocket-
book, and had looked as if he would have liked to kiss something else
into the bargain. ... After twenty-five years of life at Norton, it was
astonishing how vividly the prim little widow recalled the guilty thrill
of that moment! On yet another occasion she had carried on a
clandestine correspondence with the brother of a friend, and had
awakened to tardy pangs of conscience only when a more attractive suitor
came upon the scene!
Mrs Ramsden blushed at the remembrance, and felt a kindly softening of
the heart towards the absent Cornelia but Miss Briskett remained coldly
unmoved. She had been an old maid in her cradle, and had gone on
steadily growing old maidier ever since. Never had she so forgotten
herself as to dally with the affections of any young man, which was
perhaps the less to her credit, as no young man had exhibited any
inclination to tempt her from the paths of single blessedness.
She looked down her nose at her friend's remark, and replied that she
trusted she might be enabled to do her duty, without either prejudice or
indulgence, and soon afterwards Mrs Ramsden took her leave, and
returned to her own domain.
At one of the windows of the over-furnished sitting-room of The Holt, a
girl was standing gazing dreamily through the spotted net curtains, with
a weary little droop in the lines of the figure which bespoke fatigue,
rather mental, than physical. She was badly dressed, in an ill-cut
skirt, and an ill-cut blouse, and masses of light brown hair were
twisted heavily together at the back of her head; but the face, which
she turned to welcome her mother reminded one instinctively of a bunch
of flowers--of white, smooth-leaved narcissi; of fragrant pink roses; of
pansies--deep, purple-blue pansies, soft as velvet. Given the right
circumstances and accessories, this might have been a beauty, an
historical beauty, whose name would be handed down from one generation
to another; a Georgina of Devonshire, a beautiful Miss Gunning, a
witching Nell Gwynne; but alas! beauty is by no means independent of
external aid! The poets who declaim to the contrary are men, poor
things, who know no better; every woman in the world will plump for a
good dressmaker, when she wishes to appear at her best.
Elma Ramsden, with the makings of a beauty, was just a pretty, dowdy
girl, at whom a passer-by would hardly cast a second glance. She looked
bored too, and a trifle discontented, and her voice had a flat,
uninterested tone.
"Well, mother, back again! Have you enjoyed your call?"
"Thank you, dear, it was hardly a case of enjoyment. I was invited to
give my opinion of a matter of importance."
"Yes, I know!--Should she have the sweep this week, or the week after
next?--Should she have new covers for the drawing-room?--Would you
advise slate-grey, or grey-slate for the new dress? ... I hope you
brought the weight of your intellect to bear on the great problems, and
solved them to your mutual satisfaction!"
Mrs Ramsden seated herself on a deeply-cushioned arm-chair, and began
pulling off her tight kid gloves. A touch of offence was visible in her
demeanour, and the feather in the front of her bonnet reared itself at
an aggressive angle.
"It is not in good taste, my dear, to talk in that tone to your mother.
Matters of domestic interest may not appeal to you in your present
irresponsible position, but they are not without their own importance.
The subject of to-day's discussion, however, was something quite
different. You will be interested to hear that Miss Briskett is
expecting a young American niece to pay her a visit at an early date."
"How young?" inquired Elma, tentatively. Her mother had a habit of
alluding to "girls" of thirty-five, which did not commend itself to her
youthful judgment. She reserved her interest until assured on this
important point.
"About your own age or slightly younger. The only daughter of Mr
Edward Briskett, the head of the family. His business takes him away
from home for several months, and his daughter is anxious to avail
herself of the opportunity of visiting her aunt."
"Oh!" said Elma; no more and no less, but as she turned her pansy-like
eyes once more to the window, she grimaced expressively. She was sorry
for the delusion of the American daughter who was willing to cross a
whole ocean for the privilege of beholding Miss Sophia Briskett!
"What is she like?" she asked presently. "Did you hear anything about
her?"
Mrs Ramsden shook her head dolefully.
"I fear, dear--strictly between ourselves--that she is not precisely
what we should call a _nice_ girl! The tone of her letter was decidedly
flippant. Miss Briskett is hoping much from your influence. You two
girls will naturally come a good deal into contact, and I hope you will
do your utmost to set her an example of ladylike demeanour."
Elma stared steadily through the window. "_Flippant_" she repeated to
herself in a breathless whisper. "_Flippant_!" The pansy eyes widened.
She heaved a sigh of deep, incredulous delight.