time passes rapidly to the young and light-hearted, and winter fogs had given place to blue skies and flowering trees before—as jill expressed it—one could say “jack robinson.”
miles was finishing his course of study, and had so distinguished himself above his fellows that there was little doubt that a good opening would be offered to him ere long. dr trevor was very proud of his clever son, but the mother’s face took on a wistful expression as she looked round the table at her assembled family, and realised that the time was close at hand for the stirring up of the nest. she was unusually indulgent during those spring months, as if she could not find it in her heart to deny any possible pleasure.
“we shall not long be together. miles will be going away, and after then—who knows?” she told herself sadly. “once children begin to grow up and go out into the world, one can never be sure of meeting again as a complete family circle. let them be happy while they may!”
so those spring months saw an unusual succession of gaieties in the doctor’s shabby house, in the shape of merry, informal gatherings, which went far to cement newly-made friendships. agatha and christabel rendell returned home, only to be succeeded by the remaining three sisters of the family, who proved quite as interesting in their various ways. dear good maud was as sweet and placid as her own fat baby, while elsie was an intense young person, quite different from anyone else whom betty and cynthia had ever encountered. her hair was parted in the middle and brushed smoothly over her ears; she wore quaintly unfashionable garments, and—thrilling item of interest!—was engaged to be married to a sub-editor of a magazine, who was reported to be even more intense than herself. elsie disdained the ordinary sign of betrothal; a ring, she explained to the astonished girls, was a badge of servitude to which no self-respecting woman should submit, and she wore in its place a gold locket, bearing strange cabalistic signs, the meaning of which the beholders vainly yearned to discover.
with regard to the future, elsie and her editor announced their intention of living “the higher life”—a high-sounding phrase which was not a little impressive, until one heard the details thereof, which scarcely appealed to the ordinary imagination. they were going to subsist on a diet of bread and nuts, a regime which did away at one fell swoop with the need of such superfluities as cook and kitchen; they would have no curtains nor draperies, as woollens harbour microbes; no wall-papers, as papers exude poisons; no ornaments, since it was a sin to waste the precious hours in dusting what was of no use. what they were going to have, soon became the question in the minds of the anxious hearers, while “poor old elsie!” cried nan vanburgh, laughing. “i give her a month before i am taken for a day’s hard shopping at maple’s! she rides her hobbies so violently that they collapse of sheer exhaustion before she has time to put them into practice!”
in the matter of conversation, elsie swayed between the high-flown and the natural, sometimes chatting away in ordinary commonplace fashion, at other times confounding her hearers by weird and mysterious utterances.
“have you ever felt the intense meaning in colour?” she demanded one day, at the end of a silence during which she had been gazing into the heart of the fire. betty stared aghast, but cynthia, with finer humour, smiled demurely, and replied—
“of blues—yes! i feel it horribly at times,” whereupon, being a rendell, elsie descended promptly from her high horse, and chuckled with enjoyment.
after elsie appeared lilias—a vision of beauty and elegance, but far too grown-up and superior to care for the society of chits in the schoolroom. her visit was a round of gaiety, for she did not care for quiet home evenings, but she never seemed really satisfied nor pleased, and there was always a “but” or an “if” at the end of her description of the last day’s doings.
nan looked at her with troubled eyes, and her “poor lilias!” had a very different ring from the “poor old elsie!” which was after all only a pretence at pity.
cynthia’s prophecy had been fulfilled, for at the end of january betty had received from america a copy of the new york herald, with the significant letter “r” printed on a corner of the wrapper. her friend of the fog had evidently possessed himself of her full name and address before leaving town, and now wished her to know that he had safely reached the scene of his future labours. how carefully that wrapper was preserved! how diligently it was searched for further messages, long after it had been definitely concluded that no such message could exist! betty considered the handwriting the most manly and distinctive that she had ever beheld; and cynthia, without going so far, was still prepared to read in it all the desired meanings.
“the letters are joined together; that means sequence of thought and mental ability. the line rises at the end; that shows proper ambition. there are power and success written in every stroke!”
“dear cynthia!” sighed betty ardently. “how clever you are! you are always right.”
as for jack, he was working, absolutely working hard, instead of playing with his tasks. the redoubtable johnson was constrained to take a second place in the class as a permanency nowadays, and hopes of the scholarship grew apace in the parental heart. jack did not appreciate home references to his newly-developed industry, and, so strange and unaccountable a thing is schoolboy nature, that when betty injudiciously remarked on his “goodness,” he “slacked it” of intent for a whole week, just to have the satisfaction of telling her of his descent in the class. not for all the riches in the world would he have explained the real reason for the change, but those three words, “the captain’s orders!” rang in his ears like a battle-cry, and the voice within gave him no peace if he did less than his best. poor general digby! it seemed hard that he should be denied the exquisite satisfaction of knowing what good he had been the means of working; but, though jack’s lips were sealed on this point, he showed an appreciation of that gentleman’s company and an affectionate forethought for his comfort which were very comforting to a lonely bachelor. it became a habit to drop in at the flat for a cup of tea and half an hour’s chat on the way home from school, and to accompany the general for a walk on sunday afternoons. dr and mrs trevor were pleased that the boy should be brought so much in contact with a man for whom their admiration and respect increased more and more with better acquaintance, for the general’s faults were all on the surface, and behind the loud voice and irascible mien were hidden a child-like faith and purity of heart.
and then one day an extraordinary thing happened! talk of story-books, as betty said,—talk of three volume novels,—talk of a whole circulating library at once, and never, no never, could you think of anything more exciting or romantic!
mrs trevor had invited miss beveridge to spend sunday at number 1, in response to a plaintive appeal from her eldest daughter.
“she weighs on my mind like a lump of lead, for i know mrs vanburgh thinks i’m mean never to have asked her here, but i really can’t contend with her alone, she is so frightfully snubbing and superior. if you would let her come some sunday when everyone is at home, and you are not busy all the time, we could take turns at entertaining her. i’d love you for ever and ever if you only would!”
“well—it’s a big bribe!” said mrs trevor, laughing. “yes, by all means ask her to come. i shall be very glad to welcome her any sunday, if she seems to enjoy coming.”
“oh, she won’t do that. she hasn’t any enjoying power left. it’s all taught out of her. i don’t believe she could feel anything if she tried,” quoth miss betty in her wisdom, and was fated to see the folly of her words.
mrs trevor was pouring out tea in the drawing-room at a little table set almost beneath the shadow of pam’s branching palm. miss beveridge was sitting bolt upright in an easy-chair, looking as if she were accustomed to be uncomfortable, and uncomfortable she was determined to be, in spite of all conspiracies to the contrary. she wore a severe black dress, and her iron-grey hair was brushed back from her face with almost painful neatness. betty looked from one to the other as she handed round cakes and scones, and wondered if her mother was really years and years younger than miss beveridge, or if she only looked it because she was pretty and dainty, and happy at heart. miss beveridge had beautiful features, but the listless gloom of her expression spoiled what beauty she might still have possessed. nan’s persistent efforts had to some extent thawed the icy barrier of reserve, but in a strange atmosphere it seemed to have frozen even harder than before, so that mrs trevor was devoutly thankful for the arrival of the tea-tray, and wondered no more at betty’s unwillingness to tackle this silent visitor.
and then the door opened, and jack’s cheery voice was heard.
“hallo, mother, here’s a friend come to tea!” he announced, and the next moment the whole atmosphere of the room was changed, as the general’s big form hobbled forward, the big red face smiled its big kind smile, and the big voice boomed out a thunderous greeting.
“afternoon, madam! afternoon, lady betty! this boy tempted me, and i fell. what’s this i hear about hot muffins and apricot jam? when i was a nipper there was no boy in the length of ireland that could beat terence digby at a muffin struggle. where’s my friend jill? plain jill! eh, what? no, my dear—i said to her—that, at least, you never can be. that’s taken out of your power! where’s miss pussy pam? i can’t see you all in this half light. very picturesque for young eyes, madam, but when you get old like me you’ll be thankful for electricity. eh! who’s this?”
he had caught a glimpse of the figure in the easy-chair, and, wheeling suddenly round, stared full at it. stared, and grew silent. and miss beveridge stared back, and her eyes looked big, big, and oh! so dark and deep. and her lips worked as if she were going to speak, and a red spot came out on each cheek, and she was not miss beveridge any longer, but someone whom the onlookers had never seen before.
the general’s figure seemed to stiffen, his bent shoulders straightened and broadened out. he stretched out his right hand.
“alice!” he said, and his voice was soft and breathless. one could hardly imagine it could be general digby’s voice. “alice! is that you?”
she put her hand in his, and nodded dumbly. mrs trevor rattled her teacups, questioned jack volubly as to his walk—frowning at betty to second her efforts, and so leave the two old friends undisturbed; but it was beyond girl nature to resist sly peeps, and if one’s ears were made sharp by nature, how could one help hearing odd scraps of conversation?
“and you have been living in london for years? you are not—” a glance at the ringless hand—“not married then? i always thought you would marry. ... you will give me your address. i must not lose sight of you again.—a governesses’ home. oh, alice!...”
general digby had no appetite for muffins and apricot jam that afternoon. his fierce old face worked strangely as he sat with the untasted tea in his hands, his glassy eyes were for once moist and tender. as for miss beveridge, the flush died away from her cheeks, leaving her looking even more worn and grey than before, and betty, looking at her, was conscious of a sudden tender outgoing of the heart, a longing to help and comfort, such as had inspired nan vanburgh months before, but after which she herself had striven in vain. this was evidently a meeting of old lovers parted by some untoward fate. ah, poor soul, and it had come too late! youth and health, and joy and beauty, had all paid toll to the long years as they passed. how shocked and pained the general must be, to meet his love in such a sadly different guise! it was not possible he could care for her any more. better not to have met, and to have preserved the old illusion.
“i’ll be nice to her! i thought she had been born old, but she has been young after all. i will be nice to her. i’ll try to make up!” said betty pitifully to herself.
