QUITE IN A NEW CHARACTER.
The day was lovely, and Ermengarde woke once more in the best of
spirits. Notwithstanding her unhappy day, she had enjoyed herself much
the night before. She had worn Lilias's simple white dress, and
Marjorie's Maltese cross with its narrow gold chain had given to her
appearance just that finish which best suited her youth.
Ermengarde had looked remarkably pretty, and many people had noticed
the fact, and one or two of Mr. Wilton's gentlemen friends had
congratulated him in quite audible tones on having such a charming and
lovely little daughter. Ermengarde had herself heard these words, and
had seen a glow, half of sadness half of pleasure, light up her
father's dark eyes, and her own heart had swelled within her. She
began to know the difference between real praise and flattery. She
thought how fascinating it would all be when she was really grown up,
and dull lessons were over, and Miss Nelson was no longer of the
slightest consequence, when she could dress as she pleased, and do as
she liked.
In the agreeable feelings which these thoughts gave her, she forgot
about Basil's displeasure. She ceased to remember that the dearest
friendship of her life was in danger of being broken, was so
jeopardized that it was scarcely likely that the severed threads could
ever be reunited with their old strength. Ermengarde was away from all
unpleasant things, her fears about Flora were completely removed, and
it was in her selfish and pleasure-loving nature to shut herself away
from the memory of what worried her, and to enter fully into the
delights of her present life. She rose gayly, and no one could have
been merrier than she when she joined Lilias at the breakfast-table.
The two girls had this meal again alone in Lilias Russell's pretty
boudoir.
"Shall we ride, or go out in the yacht?" said Lilias to her companion.
"I heard father making all arrangements for a sail last night, and I
know he'll take us if we ask him. Which would you like best, Ermie? If
you are a sailor, I can promise you a good jolly time on board the
_Albatross_. I was so sorry you were not with us yesterday."
"Oh, I am a capital sailor," said Ermengarde. "We were at the Isle of
Wight last year, and Basil and I sailed nearly every day. Maggie used
to get sick, but we never did."
"There's just a lovely breeze getting up to-day," said Lilias. "I'm so
glad you like sailing, Ermie, for I know we shall just have a perfect
time. If you'll stay here for a few minutes, I'll run and ask father
if he will take us with them."
Lilias stepped out through the open window, and Ermengarde leant
against a trellised pillar in the veranda, and looked out over the
peaceful summer scene, her pretty eyes full of a dreamy content. She
was so happy at the thought that Flora was really gone that she felt
very good and amiable; she liked herself all the better for having
such nice, comfortable, kindly thoughts about everyone. Even Eric
could scarcely have extracted a sharp retort from her at this moment.
Lilias came flying back. "It's all right!" she exclaimed. "The
_Albatross_ sails in an hour, and we are to meet father and Mr.
Wilton, and the other gentlemen who are going to sail, on the quay at
half-past eleven. I shall wear my white serge boating-costume. Have
you anything pretty to put on, Ermie?"
"Nothing as nice as that," said Ermengarde with a jealous look.
"There's my dark blue serge, but it will look dowdy beside your
white."
"I have two white serge boating-dresses," said Lilias. "I will lend
you one if you will let me. Our figures are almost exactly alike, and
we are the same height. My dress had scarcely to be altered at all for
you last night. Come, Ermie, don't look so solemn. You shall look
charming, I promise, and I will make you up such a posy to wear in
your button-hole. Now, shall we stroll about, or just sit here and be
lazy?"
"Do let us sit here," said Ermengarde. "You don't know what a comfort
the stillness is, Lily. At this hour at home all the little ones are
about, and they make such a fuss and noise. I think it's the worst
management to allow children to keep bothering one at all hours of the
day."
"Well, I'm not tried in that way," said Lilias, with a quick
half-suppressed sigh, "and as I adore children, I am afraid I can't
quite sympathize--O Ermie, what a queer old shandrydan is coming up
the avenue! Who can be in it? Who can be coming here at this hour?
Why, I do declare it's the one-horse fly from the station! Noah's Ark,
we call that fly, it's so rusty and fusty, and so little in demand;
for you know, when people come to Glendower, we always send for them,
and I don't think the station is any use except for shunting purposes,
and to land our visitors. Who _can_ be coming in Noah's Ark?"
Just then a very rough little head, surmounted by a brown straw hat,
was pushed out of one of the windows of the old fly; a lot of wild,
long, disordered hair began to wave in the breeze; and a hand was
waved frantically to the two girls, as they sat in the cool veranda.
"Why, it's Maggie!" exclaimed Lilias. "It's Maggie, the duck, the
sweet! How delicious! _What_ has brought her?"
She took a flying leap down the veranda steps, and across the lawn, to
meet the old fly.
"It's Maggie!" echoed Ermengarde, who did not rush to meet her little
sister. "What has happened? what _has_ gone wrong now?"
She rose from the luxurious chair in which she was lounging and,
throwing back her head, gazed watchfully at the fervent meeting which
was taking place between Lilias and Marjorie.
"Detestable of Maggie to follow me like this!" muttered Ermengarde. "I
wonder Miss Nelson allows it. Really our governess is worse than
useless, not a bit the sort of person to teach girls in our position.
Now, what _can_ be up? Oh, and there's Hudson! Poor, prim, proper old
Hudson. She has come to take care of the darling cherub who never does
wrong. Well I think it's taking a great liberty with Lady Russell's
establishment, and I only trust and hope father will give it hotly to
Miss Nelson."
"Well, Maggie." Ermengarde advanced a step or two in a very languid
manner. "Oh, don't throttle me, please. How very hot and messy you
look! and what has brought _you_ to Glendower?"
"The dear kind train, and the dear kind Noah's Ark," interrupted
Lilias. "Don't I bless them both! Mag, I want to show you my grotto; I
arranged the shells in the pattern you spoke of last year. They look
awfully well, only I'm not quite sure that I like such a broad row of
yellow shells round the edge."
Lilias spoke with some rapidity. She was standing opposite the two
sisters; she was not at all an obtuse girl, and she felt annoyed at
Ermengarde's coldness to Marjorie, and wanted to make up to her by
extra enthusiasm on her own part. Lilias had never seen the home side
of Ermie's character, and was amazed at the change in her expression.
"O Lily, I should love to look at the grotto!" exclaimed Marjorie,
"and perhaps I'll have time for just one peep. But I'm going back
again by the next train, and it's awfully important that I should
speak to Ermie--awfully important."
Marjorie was never a pretty child, and she certainly did not look her
best at that moment. Fatigue had deprived her of what slight color she
ever possessed; her hair was dreadfully tossed, her holland frock
rumpled and not too clean, and her really beautiful gray eyes looked
over-anxious. Marjorie's whole little face at that moment had a
curious careworn look, out of keeping with its round and somewhat
babyish form.
"If you want to talk to Ermie, I'll run away," said Lilias. "I'll find
mother, and tell her that you've come, Maggie; and we must discover
some expedient for keeping you, now that you have arrived."
When Lilias finished speaking she left the room, and Ermengarde
instantly turned to Marjorie.
"This is really too silly!" she said. "I felt obliged to you two days
ago, but I'd rather never have come than see you here now making such
an exhibition of yourself. Do you know that you have taken a very
great liberty, forcing yourself into the house this way?"
"I'm going back again by the next train, Ermie, and I _did_ think
that you'd rather have me than a telegram."
"_You_ than a telegram? I want neither you nor a telegram. Maggie, I
think you are the most exasperating child in the world!"
"Well, Ermie, you won't let me speak. I've come about Susy; she let
out all about the miniature to me last night."
"About the miniature!" echoed Ermengarde rather faintly. Her defiant
manner left her; her face turned pale. "The miniature!" she said. Then
her eyes blazed with anger. "Why have _you_ interfered with Susy
Collins, Maggie?" she said. "Have you disobeyed my father, too?"
"No, Ermie. I'll tell you about it--you have got to listen. I'll tell
you in as few words as I can. You know, Ermie, that Basil has got into
trouble with father. He gave Miss Nelson back the miniature, and
father thought that Basil had first stolen it, and then broken it; and
father was very, very angry with Basil, so Basil wouldn't come to
Glendower, although he wanted to. And last night Basil came to sit
with me in my room, and I told him I meant to clear him, for I knew as
well as anything that he had never stolen the picture or broken it, or
done anything shabby. And Basil said that I was _not_ to clear him,
that he didn't wish to be cleared, and that he'd live it down. Basil
and I went away to father's room to look at the moon, and Basil asked
me to leave him there, for he wanted to be alone with mother's
picture. Then I went away, and it was late, and I was going to bed,
when Hudson came and told me that Mrs. Collins had come, and that she
wanted you; and Mrs. Collins was crying awfully, and she said Susy was
very bad, and she was always calling out for you, and if you didn't go
to see her, perhaps Susy would die.
"So then I went to see Susy, and she really was awfully ill; she had
fever, and was half delirious; and she talked about the picture, and
about its being broken, and she wanted you so dreadfully. Then I
promised I'd bring you to her to-day, and that quieted her a little,
and no one else heard what she said about the miniature. Miss Nelson
went with me to the Collinses' cottage last night, and I told her how
important it was that you should see Susy, but she does not know the
reason. No one knows the reason but me."
"And you----" said Ermengarde.
"Yes, Ermie, I know. I couldn't help guessing, but I haven't told. I
have left that for you."
Ermengarde turned her head away.
"I thought I'd be better than a telegram," began Marjorie again.
"O Maggie, do stop talking for a moment, and let me think."
Ermengarde pressed her hand to her forehead. She felt utterly
bewildered, and a cold fear, the dread of exposure and discovery, gave
a furtive miserable expression to her face.
Just then Lilias came into the room.
"I hope your great confab is over?" she exclaimed. "Mother is so
pleased you have arrived, Maggie, and of course she insists on your
remaining, now that you have come. Hudson can go home and pack your
things, and send them to you, and you shall come out in the yacht with
us; we'll have twice as jolly a day as we would have had without you,
Maggie."
"But I must go home, really," said Marjorie, "and--so must Ermie, too,
I'm afraid."
"Yes," said Ermengarde, rousing herself with an effort, and coming
forward. "Maggie has brought me bad news. There's a poor little girl
at home, the daughter of our head gamekeeper. She broke her leg a week
ago, and she's very ill now with fever or something, and she's always
calling for me. I--I--used to be kind to her, and I think I must go.
Maggie says she never rests calling for me."
"It's very noble of you to go," said Lilias. "This quite alters the
case. Let me run and tell mother. Oh, how grieved I am! but dear
Ermie, of course you do right. That poor little girl--I can quite
understand her looking up to you and loving you, Ermie. Let me fly to
mother and tell her. She'll be so concerned!"
In a very few moments Lady Russell and Mr. Wilton had both joined the
conference. Mr. Wilton looked grave, and asked a few rather searching
questions, but Marjorie's downright little narrative of Susy's
sufferings softened everyone, and Ermengarde presently left the house,
with the chastened halo of a saint round her young head.
Her saint-like conduct, and the romantic devotion of the poor
retainer's daughter, made really quite a pretty story, and was firmly
believed in by Lady Russell and Lilias. Mr. Wilton, however, had his
doubts. "Ermie in the role of the self-denying martyr is too new and
foreign for me," he muttered. "There's something at the back of this.
Basil in disgrace (which he well deserves, the impudent young
scoundrel), and Ermengarde the friend and support of the suffering
poor! these things are too new to be altogether consistent. There's
something at the back of this mystery, and I shall go home and see
what it means to-morrow."