FAIRY RELENTS.
Now that, to every one’s intense relief, Fairy had changed her mind
and withdrawn her claim, the question remained, Who was to go? Public
opinion, her mother, Jessie--in short, every voice save one, said
Honor. But Honor was indisposed to visit the East. She was not an
enterprising young woman, and she was fond of home; and Fairy, when
alone with her, shed showers of crocodile tears every time the subject
was mentioned. She could not bear to part with her favourite sister;
no, it was too cruel of people to suggest such a thing. Who, she asked
herself, would dress her hair, and button her boots, and read her to
sleep? And many of Honor’s hateful tasks would fall to her, such as
arranging the flowers, dusting the drawing-room, housekeeping, going
messages, for Jessie’s time meant money, and must be respected. Aloud,
in the family circle, she said in authoritative tones, “Let Jessie
go! As to looks, _any_ looks are good enough for India; even Jessie
will seem handsome there. After all, why should any of them accept the
invitation? England was a free country. She (Fairy) would send a nice,
grateful little letter, and keep the cheque. Uncle Pelham would never
be so mean as to take it back, and they would buy a pony instead of
that maddening donkey, and make a tennis-ground, and take a fortnight’s
trip to London, and enjoy themselves for once in their lives.”
A week elapsed. The mail had gone out without an answer to Mr. Brande.
Jessie and her mother had both talked seriously to Honor, and she had
listened with her pleasantest smile, whilst they pointed out the
advantages she would personally reap from her Eastern trip. She made
no attempt to argue the point, only asked in a playful way who was to
drive the donkey? Who was to play the harmonium in church? for she
flattered herself that she was the only person in the parish who could
do either. And there was the garden and the poultry--the hens would be
lost without her!
“We shall _all_ be lost without you,” rejoined Jessie; “but we can
spare you for your own good.”
“I don’t want to be spared for my own good,” she answered. “I prefer
staying at home. You think that I shall carry all before me out there!
You are greatly mistaken. All your geese are swans. _I_ am a goose,
and not a swan. I am just a country cousin, with a bad complexion and
uncouth manners.”
“Honor! you have a beautiful skin, only not much colour; and as for
your manners, they are as good as other people’s.”
“You have often said that mine are alarmingly abrupt, and that I have
the habits of a savage or a child in the way I blurt out home-truths.”
“Oh, but only at home; and you must not _always_ mind what I say.”
“Then what about the present moment? When you say that I ought to go
out to Uncle Pelham--how am I to know that I ought to mind what you say
now?”
“Upon my word, Honor, you are really too provoking!”
Little did Mrs. Gordon and her friends suspect how their weighty
reasons and arguments were nullified by Fairy, who nightly, with arms
wound tightly round her sister’s neck, and face pressed to hers,
whispered, “You won’t go; promise me, you won’t go.”
Jessie, the clear-sighted, at last began to suspect that Fairy was
at the bottom of her sister’s reluctance to acquiesce. Fairy was so
demonstratively affectionate to Honor. This was unusual. It was too
bad, that Fairy should rule her family, and that her wishes should be
law. Jessie conferred with her mother, and they agreed to try another
plan. They would drop the subject, and see if feminine contrariness
would be their good friend? The word “India” was therefore not uttered
for three whole precious days; patterns and passages, etc., were no
longer discussed, matters fell back into their old monotonous groove,
save that Mrs. Gordon frequently gazed at her youngest daughter, and
heaved unusually long and significant sighs.
One afternoon, ten days after the letter had been received which still
lay unanswered in Mrs. Gordon’s desk, Honor met the rector as she was
returning from practising Sunday hymns on the wheezy old harmonium.
“This will be one of your last practices,” he said. “I am sure I don’t
know _how_ we are to replace you.”
“Why should you replace me?” she asked. “I am not going away.”
“Not going away,” he repeated. “I understood that it was all settled.
Why have you changed your mind?”
“I never made up my mind to go.”
“Why not? Think of all the advantages you will gain.”
“Yes, advantages; that is what Jessie is always drumming into my head.
I shall see the world, I shall have pretty dresses, and a pony, and
plenty of balls and parties, and new friends.”
“And surely you would enjoy all these--you are only nineteen, Honor?”
“Yes, but these delights are for myself; there is nothing for _them_,”
nodding towards “Merry Meetings.” “I am the only person who will
benefit by this visit, and I am sure I am more wanted at home than out
in India. Jessie cannot do everything, her writing takes up her time;
and I look after the house and garden. And then there is Fairy; she
cannot bear me to leave her.”
“You have spoiled Fairy among you,” cried the rector, irritably. “Only
the other day she was crazy to go to India _herself_. She must learn to
give up, like other people. It is very wrong to sacrifice yourself to
the whims and fancies of your sister; in the long run they will become
a yoke of dreadful bondage. Remember that you are not a puppet, nor an
idiot, but a free, rational agent.”
“Yes,” assented the girl. She knew she was now in for one of Mr.
Kerry’s personal lectures. It might be over in two or three minutes,
and it might continue for half an hour.
“Now listen to me, Honor. I know you are a good, honest young woman,
and think this plan will only benefit yourself. You are wrong. Your
mother is in poor health; her pension dies with her. If you offend your
only near relative, how are you to exist?”
“I suppose we can work. Every woman ought to be able to earn her
bread--even if it is without butter.”
“Honor, I did not know that you held these emancipated views. I hope
you won’t let any other man hear you airing them. As for work! Can
Fairy work? Jessie, I know, can earn a few pounds, but she could
barely keep herself; and if you fall sick, what will you do? It is
best to survey matters from every standpoint. Your aunt and uncle have
practically offered to adopt you. You will return in a year’s time; you
will have made many friends for yourself and sisters, developed your
own at present limited views of the world, and bring many new interests
into your life. Your absence from home will be a considerable saving.
Have you thought of that?”
“A saving!” she echoed incredulously.
“Of course! Don’t you eat? A healthy girl like you cannot live on air;
and there is your dress.”
“I make my own dresses.”
“Nonsense!” with an impatient whirl of his stick. “You don’t make the
material. How can you be so stubborn, so wilfully blind to your own
interests. If another girl had your chances, Honor Gordon would be the
very first to urge her to go; and that in her most knock-me-down style.
You have a much keener view where other people’s affairs are concerned
than your own.”
“Of course, it is only for a year,” said Honor. “I shall be back among
you all within twelve months.”
“Yes, if you are not married,” added the rector, rashly.
“It appears to be the general impression in Hoyle, that going to India
means going to be married,” said the girl, firing up and looking quite
fierce. “Please put that idea quite at one side, as far as _I_ am
concerned.”
“Very well, my dear, I will,” was the unexpectedly meek response.
Touched by his humility, she continued, “Then you really think I
_ought_ to go?”
“My good child, there can be no two opinions. Every one thinks you
ought to go.”
“Except Fairy.”
“Fairy has no right to stand in your way, and your absence will be an
excellent lesson for her. She will learn to be independent and useful.
Now, here is my turn, and I must leave you. Go straight home and tell
them that you are ready to start, and that the sooner your mother sees
about your escort and passage the better.”
And he wrung her hand and left her. Honor walked home at a snail’s
pace, thinking hard. If Fairy would but give her consent, she would
hold out no longer against every one’s wishes. She would go--yes,
without further hesitation. After all, it was only for one year. But,
although she did not know it, Fairy had already yielded. Jessie and
Mrs. Banks had been talking to her seriously in Honor’s absence, and
she had been persuaded to listen to the voice of reason--and interest.
If she had gone to India, as she intended, she would have been parted
from Honor, and of her own accord.
This fact, brusquely placed before her by Mrs. Banks, she was unable to
deny, and sat dumb and sullen.
“Uncle Pelham is sure to take to Honor,” added Jessie, “and he will
probably do something for us all, thinking that we are _all_ as nice
as Honor, which is not the case. She will be home in a year, and there
will be her letter every week.”
“Yes, and _presents_,” put in Mrs. Banks, significantly. “She will have
plenty of pocket-money, and will be able to send you home no end of
nice things.”
Fairy sniffed and sighed, dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief, and
finally suffered herself to be coaxed and convinced, and when her
sister opened the drawing-room door, with rather a solemn face, she ran
to her and put her arms round her and said--
“Honor, darling, I have promised to let you go!”
That very day the important epistle was despatched to Shirani, and
Fairy, to show that she did nothing by halves, actually dropped it
into the letter-box with her own hand. And during the evening she once
more produced the bundles of patterns, and threw herself heart and soul
into the selection of her sister’s outfit.