we were very silent driving home in the brougham, and i refused to go into lorna’s room, as i always did before going to bed, saying that i was too tired to talk. she looked anxious, but did not try to persuade me. i afterwards learnt that she went to wallace instead, and sat up with him for the greater part of the night.
i lay wide awake tossing and crying until five o’clock, when i fell asleep, and did not wake until nine. lorna did not come to see me, and, though i dreaded her coming, i felt miserable because she stayed away. every single morning she had come into my room and hugged and kissed me, and we had walked down to breakfast arm-in-arm. she must have been very, very angry to omit that ceremony!
i took a long time to dress, for i wanted wallace to be safely started on his rounds before appearing downstairs, and at last, just as i was feeling that i could not respectably linger another moment, the door opened, and there, at last, stood lorna.
she had been crying dreadfully. i could see that at a glance, for the eyelids were swollen and puffy, just as they used to be the first morning after our return to school. mine were swollen, too, and we stood staring miserably at each other, but not approaching a step nearer, until at last she said coldly—
“mother sent me upstairs to ask if you would prefer to have your breakfast in bed. she thought you were not up.”
“oh, yes, i have been waiting. lorna, don’t look at me like that!” i cried desperately. “i’m miserable too, and you ought not to turn against me—you are my friend.”
“wallace is my brother,” said lorna simply. her lip quivered. “i sat up with him until four o’clock this morning. he has always been such a happy, cheerful boy. i did not know he could be so miserable. if you could have seen and heard him talk, you would have felt broken-hearted for him—even you!”
“even you!” i repeated reproachfully. “am i a monster, lorna, that you talk to me like that? can’t you understand that i feel a hundred times worse than you can possibly do? i never, never thought that when i was in trouble you would be the first person to turn against me.”
“neither did i. i have been too fond of you, una. i admired you so much, and was so proud of having you for my friend that i have been unjust to other people for your sake. i often took your part at school when i knew you were in the wrong, simply because i was afraid of making you angry. it was cowardly of me, and this is my reward! oh, una, you say you are sorry, but you knew it was coming! you are too clever not to have seen it long ago. if it had been another man i should have spoken out, but a brother is almost like oneself, so one can’t interfere. but i hinted—you know i hinted, una—and i saw by your face that you understood. if you didn’t care for him, why didn’t you go home when it was first arranged? we all took it as a good sign when you agreed to stay on, and wallace was so happy about it. poor boy! he will never be happy again. he says he will go abroad, and father has been looking forward all these years to his help. it will break his heart if he loses wallace!”
everyone was broken-hearted, it seemed, and they all blamed me, and said it was my fault. i felt inclined to jump out of the window, and put an end to it at once. i did turn towards it, and i must have looked pretty desperate, for lorna came forward quickly, and took hold of me by the arm.
“come down and talk to mother. she is all alone, and she is old and will understand better than i do. oh, una, i shall always love you! i shan’t be able to help it, whatever you have done. i didn’t mean to be unkind, but i am—so—miserable!”
i gripped her hand, but couldn’t speak; we were both struggling not to cry all the way downstairs, and i couldn’t eat any breakfast; i felt as if i could never eat again. mrs forbes came into the room just as i left the table, and lorna went out at once, as if by a previous arrangement. it was awful! mrs forbes looked so old and ill and worried, and she was so kind. i could have borne it better if she had been cross to me.
“sit down, dear. come close to the fire, your hands feel cold,” she said, pushing me gently into an easy chair, and poking the coals into a blaze. “you and i want a little talk to each other, i think, and we shall be quite uninterrupted here. my poor boy has told me of his disappointment, but, indeed, he did not need to tell me. i could see what had happened by his face. i am very disappointed, too. i thought he would have very different news to tell me, and i should have been very happy to welcome you as a daughter. we have known you by name for so many years that you did not seem like a stranger even when you first arrived, and we have been very happy together these five weeks—”
“oh, very happy! i have had a lovely time. i shall never forget how happy i have been.”
she looked at me anxiously, her eyebrows knitted together.
“then if you have been so happy, i do not see why— let us speak out, dear, and understand each other thoroughly. my boy and i have always been close friends, and if i am to be of help or comfort to him now i must understand how this trouble has come about. wallace is not conceited—he has a very modest estimation of his own merits, but he seems to have expected a different answer. sometimes in these affairs young people misunderstand each other, and little sorenesses arise, which a few outspoken words can smooth away. if i could act as peacemaker between you two, i should be very thankful. my children’s happiness is my first consideration nowadays. if there is anything i can do, just tell me honestly. speak out as you would to your own mother.”
but i had nothing to tell. i shook my head, and faltered nervously—
“no, there is nothing—we have had no quarrels. i like wallace very much, oh, very much indeed, but not—i could never—i couldn’t be anything more than his friend.”
“is there then someone else whom you care for?”
there were several people, but i couldn’t exactly say so to her—it seemed so rude. wallace was a nice, kind boy, but he couldn’t compare for interest with—jim carstairs, for instance, dear, silent, loyal, patient jim, who gives all, and asks nothing in return, or even jolly little mr nash, who is always happy and smiling, and trying to make other people happy. i like them both better than wallace, to say nothing of— and then a picture rose before me of a tall, lean figure dressed in a tweed shooting-suit, of a sunburnt face, out of which looked blue eyes, which at one moment would twinkle with laughter, and at the next grow stern and grave and cold. they could soften, too, and look wonderfully tender. i had seen them like that just once or twice when he looked at me, and said, “una!” and at the remembrance, for some stupid reason the blood rushed to my face, and there i sat blushing, blushing, blushing, until my very ears tingled with heat.
i said nothing, and mrs forbes said nothing, but looking up at the end of a horrid silence, i saw that her face had entirely changed in expression since i had seen it last. all the softness had left it; she looked the image of wounded dignity.
“i understand! there is nothing more to say, then, except that if you were so very sure of your own feelings, i cannot understand how it is that you have allowed the matter to get this length. i am thankful to know that my boy’s principles are strong enough to prevent his disappointment doing him any real harm. it might have been very different with many young men. at the best it is a hard thing for us to see his young life clouded, and you will understand that it is our duty to protect him from further suffering. you will not think me inhospitable if i suggest that your visit had better come to an end at once.”
my cheeks burnt. it was humiliation indeed to be told to go in that summary fashion, but i knew i deserved it, and i should have been thankful to leave that very moment.
“i will go to-day. there is a train at one o’clock. i can send a telegram from the station, and tell mother i am coming. i will go up-stairs now and pack,” i cried, and she never protested a bit, but said quite quietly that she would order a cab to take me to the station. talk about feeling small! i simply cringed as i went out of that room.
the carriage was waiting for me at the station at the end of a miserable journey, but no one was in it. i had hoped that father would come to meet me. i could have spoken to him, and he would have understood. john said he was out for the day with a shooting-party, and when i reached the house another disappointment awaited me, for i was met by an announcement that mother also had been obliged to go out to keep an engagement.
“she hopes to be home by five o’clock,” said the servant. “miss vere and lady mary are in the blue sitting-room. mr dudley has just come to call.”
i had forgotten that lady mary was staying at the house, and it made me feel as if i were more superfluous than ever, for vere would not need me when she had her best friend at hand, and, somehow or other, will dudley was just the last person in the world i wanted to see just then. there was nothing for it, however; i had to go upstairs and stand the horrible ordeal of being cross-questioned about my unexpected return.
“don’t tell me it is an outbreak of small-pox!” cried lady mary, huddling back in her chair, and pretending to shudder at my approach. “that’s the worst of staying in a doctor’s house—you simply court infection! if it’s anything interesting and becoming, you may kiss me as usual, but if it’s small-pox or mumps, i implore you to keep at the other end of the room! i’m not sure that mumps wouldn’t be the worse of the two. i can’t endure to look fat!”
“has lorna turned out a villain in disguise? have you quarrelled and bidden each other a tragic farewell?” asked vere laughingly.
she looked thinner than ever, but her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes as bright as stars. as for will dudley, he stared at the pattern of the carpet, and his eyebrows twitched in the impatient way i know so well. i think he saw that i was really in trouble, and was vexed with the girls for teasing me.
“thank you, everyone was quite well when i left. you need not be afraid of infection, and lorna is nicer than ever. we have certainly not quarrelled.”
“then why this thusness?” asked lady mary, and vere burst into a laugh.
“scalps, babs, scalps! i see it all! my mind misgave me as soon as i heard of the fascinating wallace. and was it really so serious that you had to fly at a moment’s notice?”
i simply got up and marched out of the room. it was too much to bear. i sat in my own room all alone for over an hour, and hated everybody. oh, i was miserable!
11 pm.
i have been thinking seriously over things, and have decided to put away this diary, and not write in it any more for six months or a year. it will be better so, for at present i am in such a wretched, unsettled state of mind that what i write would not be edifying, but only painful to read in time to come.
i’ve been reading over the first few pages to-night, and they seem written by quite a different person—a happy, self-confident, complacent una, who felt perfectly satisfied of coming triumphantly through any and every situation. this una is a very crestfallen, humble-minded creature, who knows she has failed, and dreads failing again; but i want to be good, through it all i long to be good! o dear god, who loves me, and understands, take pity on me, and show me the way!
