i have told all our experiences in papering the room together, because they seemed to come better that way; but, of course, lots of other things have been happening at the same time. one evening we went to a concert, and another time some friends came in after dinner, and we played games and had music. i sang a great deal, and everyone seemed to like listening, and my dress was the prettiest in the room, and all the men wanted to talk to me, and it was most agreeable.
on sunday we went to an ugly town church, but the vicar had a fine, good face, and i liked his sermon. he seemed to believe in you, and expect you to do great things, and that is always inspiring. some clergymen keep telling you how bad you are, and personally that puts my back up, and i begin to think i am not half so black as i am painted; but when this dear man took for granted that you were unselfish and diligent, and deeply in earnest about good things, i felt first ashamed, and then eager to try again, and fight the sins that do so terribly easily beset me. i sang the last hymn in a sort of fervour, and came out into the cool night air positively longing for a battle in which i could win my spurs, and oh dear, dear, in ten minutes’ time, before we were half-way home, i was flirting with wallace, and talking of frivolous worldly subjects, as if i had never had a serious thought in my life!
it’s so terribly hard to remember, and keep on remembering when one is young, but god must surely understand. i don’t think he will be angry. he knows that deep, deep down i want most of all to be good!
wallace is nice and kind and clever, and i like him to like me, but i could never by any possibility like him—seriously, i mean! i can’t tell why; it’s just one of the mysterious things that comes by instinct when you grow up to be a woman. there is a great gulf thousands of miles wide between the man you just like and the man you could love; but sometimes the man you could love doesn’t want you, and it is wrong even to think of him, and then it’s a temptation to be extra nice to the other one, because his devotion soothes your wounded feelings.
i suppose miss bruce would call it love of admiration, and wish me to snub the poor fellow, and keep him at arm’s length, but i don’t see why i should. it would be conceited to take for granted that he was seriously in love, and i don’t see why i shouldn’t enjoy myself when i get a chance. it’s only fun, of course, but i do enjoy playing off little experiments upon wallace, to test my power over him, and then to watch the result! for example, at lunch-time i express a casual wish for a certain thing, and before four o’clock it is in my possession; or i show an interest in an entertainment, and tickets appear as if by magic. it is quite exciting. i feel as if i were playing a thrilling new game.
the room is almost furnished, and it looks sweet. one can hardly believe it is the same dreary little den that i saw on that first evening. we stole, (by kind permission), one or two chairs, a writing-table, and a dear little indian cabinet from the overcrowded drawing-room, and with some help from midas manufactured the most scrumptious cosy-corner out of old packing-cases and cushions covered with rose-coloured brocade. we put a deep frill of the same material, mounted on a thin brass rail, on the wall above the mantelpiece, and arranged lorna’s best ornaments and nick-nacks against this becoming background. it did not seem quite appropriate to the garden idea to hang pictures on the walls, which is just as well, as she hasn’t got any, but i bought her a tall green pedestal and flower-pot and a big branching palm as my contribution to the room, and as she says, “it gives the final touch of luxury to the whole.” i could wish for a new fender and fire-irons, and a few decent rugs, but you can’t have everything in this wicked world, and really, at night when the lamp-light sends a rosy glow through the newly-covered shade, (only muslin, but it looks like silk!) you could not wish to see a prettier room.
lorna is awfully sweet about it. she said to me, “it was your idea, una. i shall always feel that it was your gift, and every pleasant hour i spend here will be another link in the chain which binds us together. this visit of yours will be memorable, in more ways than one!” and she looked at me in a meaning fashion which i hated. how more ways than one, pray? i hope to goodness she is not getting any foolish notions in her head. she might know me better by this time.
i don’t know why it is, but i am always depressed after a letter from home. mother reports that there is no improvement in vere’s health, and that her spirits are variable—sometimes low, sometimes quite bright and hopeful. mr dudley is very good in coming to see her, and his visits always cheer her up. he asked after me last time, hoped that i was enjoying myself and would not hurry back. i am not wanted there apparently, and here they all love having me, and implore me to stay on. i wasn’t sure if i wanted to, but i’ve decided that i will since that last letter arrived. i told mrs forbes this morning that i would stay a fortnight longer, and she kissed me and looked quite unreasonably relieved. i can’t see how it matters much to her!
such a curious thing happened that night, when wallace and i were talking about books, and discussing the heroine in a novel which he had given me to read.
“did she remind you of anyone?” he asked, and when i said “no,” “why, she is you to the life! appearance, manner, character—everything. it might have been meant for a portrait,” he declared. “i was reading it over last night, and the likeness is extraordinary.”
i privately determined to read the book over again on the first opportunity to discover what i seemed like to other people. the heroine is supposed to be very pretty and charming, but personally i had thought her rather silly, so i did not know whether to feel complimented or not. i determined to introduce the subject to lorna, and see if she could throw any light upon it, and she did! more light than i appreciated!
“oh, i liked nan very well,” she said, “but not nearly so much as wallace did. he simply raved about her and declared that if he ever met a girl like that in real life he should fall desperately in love with her on the spot. she is his ideal of everything that a girl should be.”
“oh!” i said blankly. for a moment i felt inclined to tell lorna everything, but something stopped me, and i am thankful that it did. it would be so horrid to feel she was watching all the time. for once in my life i was glad when she went away, and i was left alone to think.
“desperately in love!” can wallace really be that, and with me? it makes me go hot and cold just to think of it, and my heart thumps with agitation. i don’t feel happy exactly, but very excited and important. i have such a lonely feeling sometimes, and i do so long for someone to love me best of all. at home, though they are all kind enough, i am always second fiddle, if not third, and it is nice to be appreciated! i could never care for wallace in that way, but i like him to like me. it makes things interesting, and i was feeling very flat and dejected, and in need of something to cheer me up. of course, i don’t want to do anything wrong, but wallace is so young, only twenty-four, and has no money, so he couldn’t think of being married or anything silly like that; besides, i’ve heard it is good for boys to have a fancy for a nice girl—it keeps them steady.
in any case, i have promised to stay on for another fortnight, and i couldn’t alter my mind and go away now without making a fuss, and if i stay i can’t be disagreeable, so i must just behave as if lorna had never repeated that stupid remark. i dare say, if the truth were known, wallace has fancied himself in love with half-a-dozen girls before now, and it would be ridiculous of me to imagine anything serious. anyway, i don’t care. i have thought of nothing but other people for months back, and they don’t seem to miss me a bit, but only hope i won’t hurry back. i’m tired of it. now i am going to enjoy myself, and i don’t care what happens!
