On the second Friday of term Anthony Bevan, whom all his world called "Bruiser Bevan," Housemaster of "B. House" in Hamchester College, sat at dessert with three of his prefects. They had exhaustively discussed the prospects of the coming football season, had mutually exchanged their holiday experiences, and now, when it was really time that the boys should betake themselves to their several studies, they still lingered enjoying the last few pleasant moments over the walnuts and the very light port that their housemaster considered suited to their young digestions.
The big window at the end of the room stood open to the soft September evening, and the sudden crunch of wheels upon the newly gravelled drive was plainly audible, followed as it was by a loud ring.
Master and boys fell silent, listening; and the parlour-maid opened the dining-room door.
Please, sir, there's a young lady-- she began; when the tale was taken up by another voice, a young voice, singularly full and pleasant:
It's me, Tony, dear; and didn't you expect me? Dad promised faithfully he would telegraph, but I suppose he forgot, as usual; and oh, I'm so tired! We had a good crossing, but I couldn't sleep, it was so stuffy.
Val, the Irish terrier, who always lay under his master's chair, rushed at the newcomer, leaping upon her in rapturous and excited welcome.
Ah! 'tis the dear dog is pleased to see me. Down, Val, down! You'll tear me to bits! Dear Val! but your welcome is too warm altogether.
Into the circle of light thrown by the hanging lamp above the table came a girl--a remarkably upright, small, slim girl of nineteen--clad in a long light grey travelling coat, with a voluminous grey gauze veil thrown back from her hat. Her little face was delicately featured and pale. She was not particularly noticeable until she spoke: then the timbre of her voice was arresting, it was so full and sweet--not in the least degree loud, but singularly clear and musical, with the unmistakable lilt of a Southern Irish brogue.
Tony Bevan leapt to his feet and advanced to meet her, holding out both his hands.
You, Lallie! now! Why, I didn't expect you for another fortnight. Your father's letter only----
Well, I'm here, Tony, she interrupted, "sure enough, and I'm ravenous. Can't I sit down with you and these gentlemen and have some dinner now--at once? I'm fairly clean, for I had ever such a wash at Birmingham."
The girl included the three prefects who stood around the table in her remarks, smiling radiantly upon the assembled company, and one of them hastily set his chair for her near the head of the table which was Tony's place.
As she sat down she flashed another entrancing smile in the direction of the prefect exclaiming:
Bring another chair now and sit down by me, and don't on any account let me spoil your dinners. Just take it that I'm a few courses late, and you'll all be kind and keep me company. Have some more nuts now, do, and then I'll feel more at home.
With the best will in the world those three prefects sat down again, and each one hastily helped himself to nuts, in spite of the fact that their host, far from seconding the newcomer's invitation, turned right round in his chair to look at the clock.
The concentrated and admiring gaze of three pairs of eyes did not in the smallest degree disconcert her. She was manifestly and perfectly at her ease. Not so her host; he looked distinctly worried and perturbed, though he hastened to ring the bell and order some dinner for his evidently unexpected guest. Then he sat down and poured her out a glass of claret.
Child, have you come straight from Kerry? he asked.
I left home yesterday afternoon and crossed at night, and I seem to have been travelling ever since.
By yourself? Tony asked anxiously.
The Beamishes met me at Chester, and I had a bath and luncheon at their house, and afterwards we drove round the city. Oh! here's my dinner, and it's thankful I am to see it. How nice of you not to have eaten all the duck!
Again she included all the company in her charming smile, and the senior prefect helped himself anew to nuts.
You're very quiet, Tony, she said, turning to her host; "not a patch upon Val in your welcome. Am I in the way? Is there not a bed for me? If so, you must take me to some kind of a lodging after dinner. Dad forbade me to go to any sort of an hotel."
Of course, of course, Tony exclaimed hastily, "it will be quite all right, only it is unfortunate that Miss Foster should happen to be away this week, just when you have come."
For my part, she said, catching her opposite neighbour's eye and making a little face, "I think that I will manage to exist without Miss Foster quite nicely till her return. Don't you worry about me, Tony. I feel quite at home already. I know you, Mr. Berry," and she nodded at the senior prefect. "Paddy's got your portrait, and you come in lots of groups. Don't you think, Tony, you ought to present these other gentlemen to me?"
Mechanically Tony Bevan made the required introductions. Whereupon the stranger added:
I'm Paddy Clonmell's twin sister, you know; he was here last term, but he's gone to Sandhurst now. You'll remember him quite well, don't you?
Rather! came in vigorous chorus from the three, and for the moment Tony Bevan's anxious expression changed to one of amusement.
The clock on the mantelpiece struck half-past eight.
I think you fellows will need to go, said Tony; "Miss Clonmell will excuse you; it's more than time you were doing your prep."
Ah, well, we'll meet again to-morrow, Miss Clonmell announced cheerfully. "There's ever so many of you I want to see. I know lots of you by name as well as can be."
As the door was shut behind the last of the prefects the girl drew her chair nearer to Tony's and laid a small deprecating hand upon his arm.
I'm afraid I'm fearfully in the way, Tony, she said, in a voice that subtly combined excuse, apology, and reproach. "You don't seem a bit glad to see me; and if you won't let me stay here, Dad says I'd better go to the big girls' school in this town as a by-something or other, and I'll hate it!"
My dear, and as he spoke Tony patted the pleading little hand that lay so lightly on his arm, "I am entirely delighted to see you, but as I said before, it is unfortunate that Miss Foster should happen to be away."
Bother Miss Foster! I'm certain from all I've heard that she's the very worst sort of Aunt Emileen. I'm glad she's away; I'd far rather be here with you. Paddy says she's a regular catamaran. Honestly, Tony, now, isn't she?
Tony pursed up his lips, and tried hard to look severe as he shook his head.
I wish she were here just at present, anyhow. When irresponsible children turn up unexpectedly, it needs some one strict to look after them.
Please, Tony, do you mind if I take off my hat? I didn't like to do it before those boys, for I haven't a notion what state my hair is in, but you've seen me at all times ever since I was a baby, haven't you? And you'll excuse it.
She drew the big jade pins out of her hat and laid it on the senior prefect's chair. Without it, she looked absurdly young: her face was the face of a child, full of soft curves and sweet, blurred outlines. There was something timid and beseeching in the dark eyes she raised to Tony Bevan so confidingly: eyes black-lashed, with faint blue shadows underneath--the "mark of the dirty finger" that every pretty Irishwoman is proud to possess.
You can look after me beautifully yourself, Tony, dear; that's why I've come. Dad said I'd be safer with you than any one.
But, my child, I am in College the greater part of the day. Every minute of my time is filled up in school and out. As it is, I have an appointment with the Chairman of the Playground Committee in five minutes. What will you do with yourself?
Can't I see the chairman too? Well then, where's Paunch? Couldn't he come and talk to me for a little bit--just while you settle with this other man?
Hush! You must not call Mr. Johns by that nickname here. Besides, he's taking prep., and would be impossible in any case.
Now, Tony, don't you be hushing me for saying 'Paunch.' Everybody calls him Paunch. I've heard you do it yourself.
Yes, Lallie, I dare say you have, but not here. It would be most disrespectful and rude----
Good gracious, Tony! You don't imagine I'm going to call the man Paunch to his face, do you? Did you think that when he was introduced to me I'd make him a curtsey like this--here she arose and swept a magnificent curtsey--"and say, 'I'm delighted to make your acquaintance Mr. Paunch; I've heard a vast deal about you one way and another'? Don't be a goose, Tony! What about Matron? She hasn't left, has she? Paddy says she's a regular brick, and anyway it won't be a bit duller for me here than it was with Aunt Emileen whenever Dad was away."
Child, who is Aunt Emileen? I don't seem to have heard of her before. Couldn't she come and be with you for the next few days?
The girl burst into sudden laughter--infectious, musical, Irish laughter. She rocked to and fro in her mirth, and suddenly snuggling up to Tony Bevan, rubbed her head against his shoulder.
Oh, Tony, you are too delicious! She can certainly come if you want her, but I'm not sure that you'd think her much good.
Sit up, Lallie, there's some one coming down the drive. You haven't answered my question. Who and where is Aunt Emileen?
Aunt Emileen is my chaperon, but she suffers from delicate health. When Dad took a little house at Fairham last November--and a nice soft winter it was--he told everybody about Aunt Emileen, so that no one should come pestering him and suggesting some nice widow lady to keep house and take care of me. And she answered very well indeed, though it was a little difficult when the clergyman wanted to call and see her. Again she lapsed into that absurd infectious laughter.
But whose aunt is she? persisted the bewildered Tony. "I know your father hasn't any sisters, and your dear mother was an only girl. Is she the wife of one of your uncles? Or is she your father's aunt?"
Honestly, Tony, I can't tell you any more about the lady except that she's Aunt Emileen.
But what's her surname?
I can't tell you, Tony, for I don't know; we never bothered about a surname.
Now, that's ridiculous, Lallie; the servants couldn't call her Aunt Emileen.
Oh, Tony, you'll kill me, you're so funny. Listen, and I'll tell you all about it. Aunt Emileen is--a creation, a figment of Dad's brain, a sop thrown to conventionality by the most unconventional man in creation: a Mrs. Harris. She could be as strict and stiff and pernicketty as ever she liked, for she couldn't interfere with us really; and she pleased people very much, but they were sorry she was such an invalid.
But do you mean to tell me that your father really talked about her to strangers?
Of course he did. That's what she was for; we didn't want her. So sympathetic he was; and then he'd break off and joke about her Low Church leanings--she always reads the Rock, does Aunt Emileen--and her wool-work, and her missionary box, and her very strict views of life and its responsibilities--oh, there were some people quite pitied me having such an old fuss to look after me.
Tony sighed.
I really don't know which is the more incorrigible infant, you or your father. However, you'd better get to bed now and we can see in the morning what it will be best to do. I must see that chap at once; Ford announced him in the middle of your interesting narrative about Aunt Emileen. You must be dreadfully tired, poor child! I'll ask Matron to look after you to-night; come with me.
Can't I just go and say good-night to those nice boys and see their little studies?
No, my dear, you most certainly can't. You must promise me, Lallie, that you will never go into the boys' part of the house unless I or Miss Foster be with you.
Lallie sighed deeply.
I promise, Tony, but it is hard. I did like them so much, and it would have cheered me up.
The musical voice was most submissive, but in addition it suggested much fatigue and loneliness and disappointment; and poor Tony Bevan felt a perfect brute. Her dark eyes followed him reproachfully as he held the door open for her, and she paused on the threshold to say beseechingly:
Don't try to be an Uncle Emileen, Tony; the part doesn't suit you one little bit, and I know you'll never be able to keep it up. I'll be a jewel of a girl and a paragon of propriety without you looking so solemn and trying to talk so preachey. You'll be quite used to me being here in a day or two, and I'm sure I'll get on with the boys like anything.
My dear, you misunderstand me; I am delighted to have you, and I hope you will be very happy. It is only that I am so sorry that Miss Foster----
Tony, if you talk any more about Miss Foster I'll pinch you. I tell you I'm thankful she's away. Now take me upstairs to my bed.
Matron, trim and neat in the uniform of a hospital nurse, met them at the bedroom door. Lallie held out both her hands in greeting.
I'm ever so pleased to meet you, Matron, dear, she cried in her sweet voice. "You'll remember my brother, Paddy Clonmell? he's devoted to you, and I'm to give you his love and no end of messages."
The matron's kind, worn face beamed.
Mr. Clonmell's sister, isn't it, sir? she said, turning to Tony. "She has arrived before you expected her, so I've put her in Miss Foster's room for to-night. I will see that her own is all in order to-morrow. I'll look after her and take care that she is comfortable."
Good-night, Lallie, said Tony, looking much relieved. "Don't trouble to get up to breakfast; Ford will bring you some upstairs. Sleep well!"
He turned to depart, but the girl came flying after him to the head of the stairs.
Aren't you going to kiss me good-night, Tony? she cried reproachfully, "an' me so tired and homesick and all."
She turned up her face towards his--the pathetic, tired child-face.
Tony Bevan's somewhat weather-beaten countenance turned a dusky crimson. He dropped a hasty kiss on the very top of her head and fled down the staircase without looking back.
Matron, standing in the doorway, watched the little scene with considerable interest.
Perhaps he'd rather I didn't kiss him now I'm here, Lallie said meditatively. "What do you think, Matron?"
The girl evidently asked her opinion in all good faith, and the matron, who had a kind heart for everything young and a sincere liking for the head of the house, said diplomatically:
Of course I know Mr. Bevan's just like a dear uncle to you and your brother; but if I was you, I don't think I'd expect him to kiss you while you're here. It is a bit different being in a College House, you know, to what it is at home, now isn't it?
It is, indeed, Lallie agreed fervently. "Tony seems so funny, so stiff and stand-off; not a bit like he is when he comes over to us. We're all so fond of him, servants and everybody."
Of course you are, and so you will be here, the matron said briskly. "Mr. Bevan is an exceedingly nice gentleman and a great favourite. But, you know, a gentleman who is a schoolmaster must be a bit strict in term time or he could never keep any order at all."
You think that's it? said Lallie, much comforted. "Of course I can understand that. Paddy said he was quite different with us over in Kerry to what he is here. I don't mind a bit if that's all. I was afraid perhaps he'd taken a dislike to me."
I don't think anybody could do that, the matron remarked consolingly. "You see, Mr. Bevan only got your papa's letter, saying you were coming, this morning, and I know he didn't expect you for some days. Somehow, your papa had not made it clear you were coming at once; and Mr. Bevan was upset to think that nothing was ready for you, and Miss Foster being away----"
I'd rather have you than twenty Miss Fosters, cried Lallie, throwing her arms around Matron's neck. "You're a dear kind woman, and I love you."
Mr. Nicholl, Chairman of the Playground Committee--commonly known as "young Nick" to distinguish him from his brother, "old Nick," a master of irascible disposition--sat awaiting Tony Bevan's collaboration in that gentleman's comfortable study. While he waited, young Nick indulged in all manner of romantic surmises as to his colleague's probable engagement during the recent vacation. Young Nick was really young, and was not in the least short-sighted. The brilliantly lighted dining-room and its two occupants were almost forced upon his notice as he walked up the drive to B. House, and it was with the greatest interest, tempered by considerable good-natured amusement, that he beheld Tony Bevan, shyest and, apparently, most confirmed of bachelors, in an attitude that implied familiar, and even tender relations, with so young and attractive a girl.
Sly dog, old Tony, he reflected. "Kept it uncommonly dark till he springs the girl upon us. She must be years younger than he is--wonder what she saw in old Tony? I'd like to know how the affair strikes Miss Foster--suppose she cleared out to give 'em a few minutes together. Shouldn't have chosen that room to spoon in if I'd been them--too public by far. Wonder how long he'll keep me waiting here? Shouldn't have thought old Tony would have had the courage to face Miss Foster. I'd have done it by letter if I'd been in his shoes; perhaps he did. Anyway, she won't half like it. Thought she was a fixture here for evermore, and pitied old Tony from the bottom of my heart. Well! Well! If ever a man was safe from matrimony, old Tony seemed that chap--but no one's safe. Only she really does look rather too much of a kiddie for him. Good old Tony! he's a thorough sportsman and deserves the best of luck, but it's quaint of him to spring her upon us without saying a word first. I wonder why now----"
Here young Nick's reflections were interrupted by the entrance of their subject, a little breathless; a little rumpled about the hair, for Lallie at parting had thrown her arms about his neck with more warmth than discretion; a little stirred out of his usual comfortable serenity.
Young Nick held out his hand, smiling broadly.
It's no use pretending I didn't see, old chap, for I did. Heartiest grats.----
Tony Bevan stepped back a pace, nor did he make any attempt to clasp the proffered hand. "Look here, Nicholl. For heaven's sake don't let there be any mistake of that sort; that child is Paddy Clonmell's sister----"
Tony paused; and young Nick, thoroughly enjoying his evident discomfort, remarked encouragingly.
Well, there's no objection in that, is there?
Confound it! Tony Bevan exclaimed angrily. "You've got hold of a totally wrong idea; that child has been sent to me by her father--by her father, mind you--to look after while he goes big game shooting in India this winter. I've known her since she was a month old, and I've known him since I was his fag here, five-and-twenty years ago. She's always looked on me as a sort of uncle, and she's demonstrative, poor little girl, like all the Irish----"
I beg your pardon, I'm sure, said young Nick, with blue eyes that would twinkle merrily in spite of all his efforts to the contrary; "but you must confess it was a natural misconception. You see, you'd kept it so uncommonly dark about her coming."
Kept it dark! Tony echoed indignantly. "Kept it dark! Why, I only knew myself that Clonmell wanted me to have her this morning; and in his letter he said, 'in a week or so'; then the child appears to-night, wholly unexpectedly, and it's deuced awkward, for Miss Foster's gone away for the week-end to a niece's wedding."
Can't you get one of the married masters to have her till Miss Foster comes back?
No, I can't do that; she'd be awfully hurt. They're all the soul of hospitality themselves, and I could never make her understand my reasons. I must worry through somehow, only don't you go off with any ridiculously wrong impression.
Of course not, of course not, young Nick remarked solemnly, still gazing at Tony with eyes that seemed unable quite to see him in this new r?le of guardian to a young lady.
They stared at each other in silence for a minute, and what young Nick saw was a broad-shouldered, tall man, rather short-necked, very square-jawed, brown and weather-beaten as to complexion; a well-shaved man with a trustworthy but by no means beautiful mouth, except when he smiled, when two rows of strong, absolutely perfect teeth, redeemed its plainness. Of Tony Bevan's nose, the less said the better. It was inconspicuous and far from classical in shape, but his eyes were really fine: humorous, clear, very brown eyes that were in truth the mirrors of a kind and candid soul. His head was good, with plenty of breadth and height above the ear; his hair thick and usually very smooth and sleek.
Clonmell senior must surely have married very young if you were his fag here, young Nick continued.
Clonmell married in his second year at Balliol, and Lallie and Paddy were born while he was still an undergraduate. He's just twenty-three years older than the twins--in years; in mind and conduct I do believe he's younger than either of them, and heaven knows they're young enough. Of course the Balliol authorities were furious at his marriage, but he was so brilliant, they let him stay on, for they didn't want to lose him. He was up five years you know, and took all sorts of honours in classics. It was just the same here; any other chap would have got the sack for half the things he did, but they knew he was safe for a Balliol scholarship and didn't want to lose him.
I've seen his name up in the big classical. Was he like Paddy?
Very like Paddy. Didn't you see him when he was down here for the last concert, standing on a chair and singing 'Auld Lang Syne,' long after he ought to have shut up? Paddy's the living image of what he was at the same age, but hasn't half his brains. When he was here he had his prefect's star taken away three times; got it back; and finally they had to make him head of his house, for he was already captain of the eleven; and for years won every short race in the sports. But you could never tell what he'd do next. It wasn't that he broke rules, so much as that he always seemed to think of doing things no mortal had conceived possible. No code of rules on earth could be framed to forbid the doings of Fitzroy Clonmell.
Yet I suppose he was a good chap, really? Paddy was a thoroughly nice boy, with all his vagaries.
So was his father. Everybody liked him; everybody likes him to this day. He looks far too young to be anybody's father, and is tremendously popular wherever he is; but he's never in one place long--he's the most restless fellow in the world--and now he has gone to India, and left Lallie on my hands.
Surely it was an odd thing to do? A house for boys in a public school seems an incongruous sort of place to select.
It's just because it is a house for boys he has selected it. His theory is that nowhere is a girl so safe as surrounded by boys and men. I can see his reasoning myself, but you can't make the world see it. However, we'd better get those times fixed up and fit in the various teams. All that beastly physical drill to arrange, too--but you understand, don't you, Nicholl?
I quite understand, young Nick replied with so profound a gravity that Tony instantly suspected him of a desire to laugh.
They lit their pipes, and for an hour or more wrestled with the problem in hand. Then young Nick departed.
The instant Tony was left alone he sat him down in a comfortable chair, switched on the electric light behind his head, and drew from his pocket a letter. First of all he looked at the date, which he had not done when he read it in the morning. It was dated eight days back, but the postmark was that of the day before.
Dear old Tony, it ran, "one always thinks of you when one wants anything done in a hurry, and done most uncommonly well. That's what you get by being so confoundedly conscientious and good-natured. The combination is a rare one. I, for instance, am good-natured, but my worst enemy couldn't call me tiresomely conscientious. Whenever you see my handwriting, you will say, 'Wonder what young Fitz wants now? Of course he wants something,' and of course I do. I want you to look after Lallie for me till the end of March. You've got a magnificent big house--far too large for a bachelor like you. You've got a lady-housekeeper whose manifest propriety is so stupendous that even Paddy is awed by it--a lady, I am sure, estimable in every respect--and you have fifty boys ranging from thirteen to nineteen. Oh, yes! and I forgot the worthy Paunch and Val. Now if you can't, amongst you, look after my little girl for six months you ought to be ashamed of yourselves. She's too old to put to school; I don't want to leave her with hunting friends where she'd be engaged and perhaps married before I got back. Young men are for ever falling in love with Lallie of late, and it's a terrible nuisance. She cares not a penny for any of them, so long as I am there to prove by comparison how inferior they all are to her own father. But with me away, who knows but that their blandishments might prevail? And I have other plans for Lallie--but not yet. As you know, I've brought her up in a sensible reasonable human sort of fashion. She has been taught to look upon mankind--and by mankind I mean the male portion of humanity--as fellow creatures, just as much deserving of kindness and trust and straightforward dealing as girls or women; and because she looks upon them as fellow-creatures, with no ridiculous mystery or conventional barriers between her and them, she is far safer than most girls not to make a fool of herself or to be taken in by cheap external attractions. Of course she's a bit of a flirt--what self-respecting Irish girl is not?--and your big boys will all be sighing at her shrine, but it will neither do them nor her any harm.
"I don't often speak of Alice these days, but I never forget, and I know you'll be kind to my little girl for her sake. Let the child go to the dancing school, though there's little they can teach her; and she can keep up her singing, and perhaps she'd better ride, though riding with a master will be little to Lallie's taste. I enclose a cheque for the lessons, etc. She's a good girl, Tony; and in spite of her unusually sensible up-bringing, is as delicately feminine in all her instincts as any old Tabby in Hamchester. Lord Nenogh offered me third gun in his shoot in India this cold weather, and I couldn't resist it. I was getting a bit musty. I've been bear-leading those children for eighteen months--ever since dear old Madame died. Lallie and I always hit it off perfectly, but Paddy's too like me, and gets on my nerves and reminds me that I'm not so young as I was, and I felt I needed a complete change of scene and people, if I am to remain the agreeable fellow I always have been; and I couldn't take Lallie with me tiger shooting, now could I? We sail from Marseilles in the Mooltan on the 29th; send me a line to the poste restante there, just to tell me that my property has duly reached you--as it should about the 23rd. Till then I shall be flying about all over the place.
" "Take care of my Lallie. Yours as ever,
""Fitz."
The writing was small, close, upright, and distinct. When he had read the letter through Tony examined the envelope and found from its appearance that it had evidently spent a considerable time in somebody's pocket: either that of the writer or of some untrustworthy messenger.
He lit another pipe, and as he watched the fragrant clouds of smoke roll forth and spend themselves about the room, his mind was busy with memories of Fitzroy Clonmell; brilliant, inconsequent, lovable failure.
He wouldn't have been a failure if his wife had lived, Tony always maintained to those who, remembering Fitz and his early promise of notable achievements, lamented his falling off; his wholesale violation of those youthful pledges.
Tony found himself going back to those first years at Oxford, when brilliant Fitz did all he could to push his young schoolfellow among the athletic set, where, reading man as Fitz undoubtedly had been then, his place was quite as assured as in the schools. Tony remembered his shock of surprise when in his first term he went to Clonmell's rooms in the High, to find them tenanted by a brown-haired, gentle-voiced girl who informed him she was "Mrs. Clonmell"--Alice Clonmell.
"Oh, don't you remember sweet Alice, Ben Bolt?
Sweet Alice, with hair hazel brown"--
Fitz used to sing at a time when the whole world read "Trilby," and make eyes at his wife the while. She was very kind to Tony, and he adored her with the humble dog-like devotion of a rather plain and awkward youth whom ladies usually ignored.
He remembered the wrath of the Balliol authorities, and Fitz's account of his stormy interview with the little Master, and how after much of what Fitz called "fruitless altercation," he wheedled the Master into coming to see Alice. Whereupon that dignitary observed that "there were, perhaps, extenuating circumstances, which must be taken into consideration."
By and by there came the twins, who were known as "the Balliol Babies."
Fitz, to the disappointment of all his friends, was called to the Irish, not the English, Bar. But he was Irish before all else, and declared that his brilliant abilities were far too precious and illuminating to be taken out of his own country.
He practised with some success in Dublin. People began to talk of him as a young lawyer who had arrived, when Alice met with the carriage accident which caused her death.
Fitz threw up all his prospects at the Bar, left Ireland, and, with the two children and their old nurse, wandered about Europe for a while, finally settling them in a tiny hill-side villa near the village of Veulettes, in Normandy, with an old French lady, in charge as governess. It happened at that time that his own little property near Cahirciveen in County Kerry, which had been let on a long lease during his minority, fell vacant, and Fitz went back there for the spring months, taking Madame, his French cook, and his children with him. He kept on the villa at Veulettes, and the family lived alternately in Kerry and in Normandy, as it happened to suit its erratic head. Fitz was a keen fisherman, and a good shot. The fishing at Cahirciveen was beyond reproach. When he wanted good hunting he took a little house for the season either in Kildare or some hunting county in England, and wherever he went Madame and Lallie, the Irish nurse and Celestine the French cook, went in his train, and they were joined in the vacations by Paddy, who had been sent to preparatory school at a very tender age.
Tony's pipe went out as he sat thinking of the innumerable vacations he had spent with the Clonmells; of their warm-hearted and tireless hospitality shown to him wherever that somewhat nomadic family happened to be. No one knew better than Tony Bevan that Fitzroy Clonmell would gladly share all he possessed with him, to the half of his kingdom; and looking back down the long valley of years that lay behind him, Tony could not see one that was not brightened by a thousand kindnesses from Fitz. From the time he came as an ugly little fourth-form boy to Hamchester, where Fitz was the idol of the lower school, the admiration of all the bloods, and the trial and terror of most of the masters, he had nothing to remember of him but good-nature, good feeling, and good friendship. Fitz was casual, erratic, eccentric; nothing was stable about him except his affections. The affections of his friends he often strained almost to the snapping point by his irritating incapacity for observing regular days or hours or ordinary conventions; but somehow the strained affections always contracted into place again, and people shrugged their shoulders and exclaimed, "Just like Fitz!" and forgave him in the long run, till he made them angry again, when a precisely similar process was repeated.
Tony saw as in a vision innumerable pictures of Lallie as an elf-like small girl who always responded with enthusiastic affection to the rather shy advances of the strong ugly young man who was so good at games, so popular with his fellow sportsmen, so extremely shy in any other society.
Every stranger noticed handsome Paddy, even as a baby; but for the most part they passed Lallie by in her childhood, and Tony's notice and affection were very precious to her. He and the quaint, pale-faced little girl had much in common: they understood one another. He hadn't seen Lallie for over a year, and during that time she had changed and developed. Her manner had acquired a certain poise and balance wholly lacking to the wild, shy nymph of Irish river and Norman hillside that he knew so well.
Old Madame's death had made her not only more than ever the companion of her father, but it had also made her mistress of his house, and Lallie had found in herself all sorts of latent powers and possibilities, hitherto wholly unsuspected, and these had crystallised into qualities. Tony realised that while she was temperamentally the same Lallie--subtle, sensitive, responsive to every smallest change in the mental atmosphere--a new Lallie had arisen, who would be by no means so easily dealt with, and a shrewd suspicion flashed across his mind that Fitzroy Clonmell was equally aware of the change, and that with his customary cleverness he had shifted the responsibility on to other shoulders than his own.
Tony sat so still that Val came from under the chair, stretched himself, and laid his head softly on his master's knees, regarding him with tenderly inquiring eyes. The clock on the mantelpiece struck twelve, and Tony arose.
Time for bed, old chap, he said, "but we'll have a look at the night first."
He and the dog went out into the garden, and Tony looked up at the black bulk of the house against the moonlit sky. The great dormitories in the wing lay stark and silent, all their teeming life wrapped in the silence of healthy boyhood's slumber; and there too, in Miss Foster's room above his own study, lay Lallie--Lallie, with her bodyguard of fifty boys. He smiled at the quaint fancy. Val rubbed himself against his master's legs.
Well, Val, we must do our best to take care of her, said Tony, "but I can't have her flirting with my boys and upsetting them. That would never do. However, it isn't as if she was one of those flaringly pretty girls that every fellow turns round to look at."
Somehow this reflection did not seem to afford much comfort to Tony. A vision of Lallie's face lifted to his as she said good-night came between him and the comfortable assurance that she, at all events, was not pretty. How soft her dark hair was!--and it smelt of violets. Poor little motherless, warm-hearted Lallie!
He saw Val comfortably settled in his basket, and went quietly up the dark staircase. He paused outside Lallie's door to listen; all was perfectly still. In another half-hour every soul in B. House was fast asleep.
Lallie woke with a start, a great bell was clanging--it seemed to her in the middle of the night--then she realised where she was, remembered that Paddy had told her the rising bell rang at seven, and turned over and went to sleep again, only to be awakened by another bell, equally loud, an hour later.
This time Lallie sat up in bed, pushed her hair out of her eyes, and looked about her. A long shaft of sunlight stretched across the room through the gap made by a green blind that did not exactly fit its window. The windows were open, and a gay little breeze moved the blinds gently to and fro. Miss Foster's room was large and stately and handsomely furnished; but somehow it lacked individuality: it was impossible to divine, even to make a guess at Miss Foster's characteristics from her bedroom.
She must be a paragon of tidiness, thought Lallie; "but perhaps that's Ford. After all, the woman can't leave things about when she's away, so I won't hate her for that. I wonder what she'd say if some one showed her one of those gazing crystals and she beheld me lying here in her bed!" Lallie smiled as she pictured Miss Foster's astonishment, and perhaps some thought of the same kind occurred to Ford, who at that moment appeared bearing a breakfast tray, for she gave vent to a little sound, as she crossed the room, that might have been mistaken for a suppressed giggle had not her appearance been so severely servant-like and respectful.
Mr. Bevan sent his kind regards, miss, and hopes as you're rested; and he says you're not to get up, but take it quietly this morning after such a long journey. Shall I pull up your blinds, miss, or would you prefer the shaded light?
Ford shot out the words all in one breath, and deposited the tray on a little table beside the bed.
Pull them all up, Ford. Oh, what a beautiful morning! Give Mr. Bevan my love and say I slept beautifully; and Miss Foster's bed, and Miss Foster's room, and the view from Miss Foster's windows, and everything that is hers is charming.
Ford waited in respectful silence till she had settled the tray on Lallie's knees.
You'll give me a hand with backs and things, won't you, Ford? Nearly all my frocks fasten behind--'tis the stupid fashion of the present day, but it can't be helped. I'm afraid I shall make a good deal more work for you, Ford, but Daddie said I was to tell you he'll make it worth while at Christmas. You see, we didn't know whether T--whether Mr. Bevan would have room for Bridget; she's my old nurse, and she does everything for me at home, but she's a bit difficult with other servants. Do you think you'll be able to manage for me, Ford?
I shall be very pleased to do my best, miss, said Ford demurely. "You see, I'm private parlourmaid; I've nothing to do with the young gentlemen's part of the 'ouse, and Miss Foster requires very little waiting on----'
Oh, dear! sighed Lallie; "not like me, but I'll try and be tidy in my room. Madame made me be that though Bridget spoiled me. Now don't let me be keeping you; I'll ring when I want to get up and you'll come and show me the bath-room."
When Ford reached the kitchen region again, she remarked to the cook:
I don't know what it is about that young lady--she's not much to look at--but there's something about her that makes you want to do every mortal thing she wants the minute she's as't you--I think it must be her voice, it's that funny and weedlin'.
Cripps, the captain of the College fives, was in quarantine for mumps. An inconsiderate little sister had developed this disease two days after his return to school, and his mother being honest and considerate had hastened to inform Tony of the fact by telegram. Hence, Cripps, in rude health and the very worst of tempers, was removed from the society of his fellows to the drear seclusion of the sick-room by night and of the garden by day, or such parts of the neighbourhood as were in bounds, while the boys were in College. The rest of the inhabitants of Hamchester might take their chance. But Cripps, that morning, felt no inclination for a walk; savage and solitary he armed himself with a deck-chair and the "Adventures of Sherlock Holmes," and sat him down under an elm at the edge of the tennis lawn nearest that side of B. House which contained Miss Foster's room. Thus it came about that Lallie, having with the assistance of Ford arrayed herself in a white cambric frock, dismissed that excellent handmaid, and leaning out of the window beheld Cripps.
A boy--a big boy, with broad shoulders and a brown face and hair that stood up on end in front; a boy lying in a deck-chair and reading a novel at eleven o'clock on a Saturday morning. Lallie was devoured by curiosity. What was that boy doing there? Was he some old Hamchestrian staying in the house? No; he looked too youthful for that. Why was he not in College with the others?
Cripps turned a page and yawned widely, showing his white even teeth.
The September sun was hot and he felt sleepy. "The probity of parents sets the children's teeth on edge," said Cripps to himself, with a vague idea that he was quoting Scripture. He laid Sherlock Holmes face downwards on his knee and closed his eyes. What a long morning it had been! Might the maledictions of all righteous men fall upon that most mischievous of trivial diseases called mumps! Why had no doctor discovered the mump microbe and taken steps to stamp out the whole noxious tribe? They were footling fellows these doctors on the whole; all this trouble arose from the idiotic habit little girls have of kissing one another. Probably his little sister had kissed some wretched pig-tailed brat who was--Cripps had almost forgotten his wrongs in slumber when he was startled by a full sweet voice which carolled----
"Captain, art tha' sleeping down below?"
Cripps sat up very straight and looked about him.
Why are you not in College? the voice asked again.
Cripps looked up in the direction of the voice and leapt to his feet. Sherlock Holmes fell neglected on the grass.
Lallie was leaning out of the window just above him.
I beg your pardon, he exclaimed politely; "I didn't know you were there."
Naturally, for you were asleep. Now how comes it that you were falling asleep in the middle of the morning? That's what I want to know. Are you stopping with T--with Mr. Bevan too?
Cripps longed to pose as a visitor, but honesty, like many worse things, is sometimes hereditary, so he hung his head and mumbled dismally:
No, I'm one of the chaps; but I'm in quarantine--for mumps of all beastly silly diseases. I know I shan't have it, too.
Poor boy, said Lallie sympathetically, "I hope you won't. I've had it, and it's horrible. Paddy brought it back from here once and gave it to me. It seems to me that the boys in this house are always having something."
We don't have half as many things as the other houses, Cripps retorted indignantly, "and I haven't got it, it's my beastly little sister----"
Now that's not nice of you, said Lallie reprovingly, "to speak of the poor little girl like that; no mortal could want mumps. But I don't think I can keep bawling to you from here. I'll come down if you can ferret out another chair--not a mumpy one, mind--and I'll try and bring you to a more Christian frame of mind."
She vanished from the window and Cripps flew to the summer house to fetch one of Tony's most luxurious garden chairs, feeling that for once the fates had not dealt unkindly with him when they put him in quarantine.
Across the lawn towards him came Lallie, swinging a green silk bag.
Do you like your feet up? asked the gallant Cripps. "There's a piece that pulls out."
Thank you--it would be a pity to waste these shoes, wouldn't it?
And Lallie subsided into a long chair which supported her very pretty feet, shod in shiny shoes with buckles and Louis Quinze heels. From the green silk bag she drew forth a roll, which proved to be lace, and she began to sew diligently.
What pretty work! said Cripps, drawing up his chair to face hers.
It's a strip of Limerick lace I'm making, and I've just got to a 'basket.' The light's good, so I thought I'd do it this morning.
May I see it close? asked Cripps, wishing she would look at him instead of at her lace, though black eyelashes resting on rounded cheeks are by no means a disagreeable prospect.
This morning Lallie was not so pale. Her cheeks were never really rosy, but they were fresh, with a delicate, fault colour like the inside of certain shells. She held out the roll of work towards Cripps, and he took hold of one end while she unpinned the other and spread out the lace.
By Jove! said Cripps, but it was not at the lace he was looking so much as at Lallie's hand. Such an absurd small hand compared to his; so white, with beautiful pink filbert-shaped nails.
It's pretty, isn't it? said Lallie, of her lace.
Awfully, said Cripps. "Whatever size do you take?"
How d'you mean? You don't make lace in sizes.
I beg your pardon, I was thinking of your hands. Look at them--compared to mine!
Now don't you be reproaching me with being so little. It's no fault of mine nor no wish; I've done my best to grow, but it's no use. I'm the only little person in a tall family, and it's very out-of-date for a girl to be small nowadays. I'm a sort of survival of the obsolete, and if I live to be old, I'll be looked upon as a sort of rarity, and people will come miles to see me.
I should think people do that now, said Cripps, still keeping tight hold of the lace.
Lallie let go her end of it and looked at him.
Now that's very kind of you to say that--really kind and nice. I wonder if all your family are exceptionally good-looking, because, if so, perhaps you can sympathise with me. Are they?
Well, no, I don't think they are, Cripps said, getting very red. "I really have never thought about it; one doesn't, you know, with one's own people."
You'd have to if you were like me, Lallie sighed. "Dad is tremendously good-looking; so's Paddy--don't you think so?"
Ye-e-e-s, Cripps answered, without enthusiasm, "I suppose he is; but one doesn't notice that sort of thing much in fellows----"
I think it's their noses that make them so distinguished, Lallie continued meditatively. "Dad's and Paddy's, I mean. Now, my nose begins well, it does really--but it changes its character half way; and it's got a confiding tip, and that isn't in the least distinguished. My only consolation is, it isn't often red."
I think it's an extremely neat nose, Cripps said, with convincing sincerity.
Neat, but not gaudy! Ah, well, it's the best I've got, anyway, and I can smell anything burning in the kitchen quicker than most people. But all the same, I think it must be very agreeable to be so good-looking that people want to please you just because of it, without you doing anything at all. That's the way with Dad and Paddy. Now ordinary folks like you and me--I hope you don't mind rowing in the same boat with me?--have to be nice to people if we want them to like us.
Is Paddy Clonmell your brother?
My twin brother, but we're not a bit alike, even in disposition, though we're the best of friends and I adore him. What are you celebrated for, and I'll see if I can't tell you your name; I've heard about most of you.
Cripps blushed.
I'm afraid I'm not celebrated at all, he said modestly. "I'm only in Upper V.; I don't suppose you've ever heard of me."
Lallie laid down her work and looked at Cripps critically.
I'll try again, she said. "Are you a College colour?"
Yes.
Cricket?
Oh, no, I'm no good at all.
Football?
Yes.
Fives?
Yes.
Then you're two, and that's very grand; and I think, said Lallie slowly, her eyes wandering from her companion's face to the book lying on the grass and back again--"then I think you must be Mr. Cripps, the captain of the College fives. Now aren't I a witch of a guesser?"
Distinctly gratified, Cripps duly expressed surprise at her discernment. Lallie's sight was good, and she had seen his name on the paper copy of Sherlock Holmes lying on the grass. They continued to chat happily till morning school was over, and Tony Bevan rushed back to B. House to see after his guest. She saw him coming and flew to meet him, crying:
Oh, Tony, I've been so happy in your garden, and Mr. Cripps has been so kind and nice, and has entertained me all the morning. It's been very pleasant having him to talk to.
Tony smiled down at the radiant upturned face.
You don't look a bit tired this morning, Lallie, he said, "and I'm glad you've not been dull; but I'd forgotten all about Cripps, and I'm not sure that you ought to have been talking to him at all. He's contraband, you know, a suspect----"
He told me all about it, Tony; and I've had the silly thing, and we were out of doors, so it couldn't matter, now could it?
Get your hat on now, Lallie, you are going to lunch with Mrs. Wentworth, the Principal's wife; I've seen her about you and she has kindly promised to mother you as much as possible till Miss Foster comes back.
Lallie's face fell.
Oh, Tony, she exclaimed, "can't I have lunch with you and all the boys this first day? Can't I stop here just for to-day?"
You'll have lunch here hundreds of times, and I've made the engagement for you to-day. Hurry, my child, for I haven't a minute.
Lallie didn't take long to get her hat--a big white one. She also wore a pair of long white gloves, and still carried the green silk bag, the only touch of colour about her. Tony looked at her with kind, approving eyes. How well the child carried herself; how girlish and fresh she was; and in her own quaint way, how full of the distinction she thought she lacked. But he felt some misgivings all the same--was she so unnoticeable? that was the question.
How did you manage to find Cripps? he asked, as they hurried up the wide tree-bordered road leading from B. House to the College, now full of boys hurrying to and fro from their various houses.
I saw him from the window, and he was nearly asleep, so I called to him and he looked up; he's such a nice kind boy--we're great friends already.
Oh, are you? Tony said, rather drily. "Where was Matron?"
I haven't seen the dear matron this morning; you see, I went straight out whenever I was dressed. Oh, I did enjoy my lazy lie this morning, Tony, but I'll be up with the lark to-morrow.
Don't you think you'd be better to breakfast in bed until you have got thoroughly rested? Tony said nervously. "There's no need for you to get up, and it makes such a long morning. Hadn't you better breakfast in bed till----"
Miss Foster comes back, I suppose, snapped Lallie. "Why would you be hiding me out of sight all the time, Tony? Are you ashamed of me?"
She stood still in the middle of the road, flushed and angry.
My dear child, ashamed! the worried Tony repeated. "What an extraordinary idea! don't stand there, Lallie, the boys are staring at you. Doesn't it prove how anxious I am to show you off to my friends that I haven't lost a minute in introducing you to the chief lady of our community?"
I'm sorry I was cross, Tony, but somehow, ever since I came, I've felt that you felt I oughtn't to be here; that--well, that I'm in a kind of way in quarantine, like poor Cripps, and that only Miss Foster's return will remove the infection.
Lallie, you're too sharp altogether; you're not so far out though this time, and I begin to sympathise with your father's introduction of Aunt Emileen. But I promise you you'll be happy this afternoon; and this evening I'll bring my work into the drawing-room beside you. I must do it, but you won't feel lonely if I'm there, will you? No, Lallie, you must not try to embrace me in the street! the boys are looking at you!
Who's trying to embrace you, you conceited man? I was only taking your arm, and that you might have offered me. I promised Matron I wouldn't try to kiss you any more here.
Promised Matron! What the dickens has Matron got to do with it? It was Tony who stopped this time, and his voice was the reverse of pleased.
Oh, dear, oh, dear! you're like the animals in 'Alice,' Tony, there's no pleasing you at all, at all. May I point out that at the present moment several boys are looking at you!
But, Lallie, you must explain what you mean; you say such extraordinary things----
Not at all, it's all the other way; but I'll try and remember to be stiff and prim; only one minute you're so nasty and the next you're so nice that action of some sort seems imperative--oh, dear, we're there! What a big house! Is she terrible, Tony? Will she think I'm all mumpy too? You won't leave me; you'll see me safe in----
In Hamchester College the headmaster, Dr. Wentworth, like other headmasters, is a much criticised man. He has his partisans, he has also his detractors. Were an angel from heaven to descend and become headmaster of a large public school he would find plenty of adverse critics, and these were by no means lacking to Dr. Wentworth. But about his wife, there were no two opinions. Six hundred boys and all the masters agreed in thinking her perfectly delightful. So kind was she, so friendly, so simple and believing in the good intentions of others, that quite curmudgeony people melted into amiability in the sunshine of her presence. Perhaps one of the boys best summed up her mysterious charm when he said, "She doesn't try to be nice to a chap, she just is nice; and there's such a difference."
Therefore when Tony, having sat in her drawing-room for five minutes, prepared to depart--not without misgivings as to how Lallie would take it--that damsel nodded at him coolly, without so much as a supplicating glance after his retreating form, and when he had gone she turned to her hostess with a little laugh that ended in a sigh.
Poor man, she said, "I'm afraid I'm a regular white elephant to him just now; but I can't make myself invisible, can I?"
I think we'd all be very sorry if you were invisible. Come now, and see my chicks, and kind Mrs. Wentworth led Lallie upstairs and down a long passage to a big sunny room where two little girls sat painting at the table.
This is Pris and this is Prue, and that over there is Punch! Mrs. Wentworth said, indicating her offsprings.
Pris and Prue lifted small flushed faces from their artistic efforts, and surveyed Lallie with large solemn eyes, and each held out a small hand liberally besmeared with Prussian blue.
How do you do? said Pris politely. "I'm seven; how old are you?"
I'm six, added Prue.
Punch, a rolly-polly person who was apparently engaged in dismembering a woolly lamb, remarked loudly and distinctly, "I'm a boy."
May I paint? asked Lallie.
Oh, do, you can have my seat for a bit. You might do some legs; they run over so, somehow, with me.
Lallie sat down in front of Prue's picture, which was an elaborate Graphic illustration of the "Relief of Ladysmith."
I'm sure Sir George White's tunic was not pink, Lallie objected. "They wore khaki, you know."
I don't like khaki; it's the colour of mustard, an' I hate mustard; my new sash is pink, an' I like pink. My soldiers wear pink; you may paint their legs khaki if you like.
It looks very stormy overhead, Lallie remarked. "Was there a thunderstorm at the Relief of Ladysmith?"
My uncle was there, said Pris, as though that accounted for it.
I'll leave you for a few minutes while I write a note, said Mrs. Wentworth. "Take care of this young lady; be very kind to her. She has come to stay with Mr. Bevan, and she'll come and see you often if you are good."
The moment the door closed behind their mother, regardless of the protests of their nurse, who was sewing at the window, the children crowded round Lallie, and all three tried to sit upon her at once.
Are you quite a grown-up lady? asked Pris doubtfully.
No, said Lallie, "I'm a little girl----"
You're a bit bigger than me, Prue granted somewhat grudgingly, "but I thought you weren't quite grown-up. Punch is only four."
I'm a very old four, Punch maintained.
Do you think, asked Prue, "that you could tell us a story?"
Do I not? Lallie answered, and in another minute she had the children absorbed in the legend of that "quiet, decent man, Andrew Coffy"; so that when her hostess came back to fetch her to lunch Lallie appeared, as it were, buried beneath the family of Wentworth.
Dr. Wentworth seemed sufficiently awe-inspiring to the outside world, but his family took a different view of him, and Pris at luncheon generally addressed her father as "Poor dear," or spoke of him as "That child."
Mrs. Wentworth was wont to declare to her intimates that no schoolmaster could possibly be endurable who was not well sat upon in the bosom of his family.
Personally, she said, "I have the greatest admiration for my husband, and consider him quite an excellent sort of ordinary man; but being a headmaster, if I didn't make him positively skip off his pedestal his sense of proportion would die of inanition."
Certainly neither Miss Prudence nor Miss Patience Wentworth manifested the smallest awe of their parent; and Lallie was moved to take his side in several arguments that ensued during luncheon.
Prue was rosy and brown-eyed, with thick short hair that framed her round face deliciously. Pris was fair-haired, blue-eyed, with a face like a monthly rose. Punch's countenance resembled a full moon, and all three children were plump and healthy and absolutely good-tempered. In fact, the whole Wentworth family were rather roundabout, which perhaps accounted for their amiability. Lallie endeared herself immediately to Mrs. Wentworth by her extreme popularity with the children. Even the imperturbable Punch unbent so far as to say: "I like you. You may come and have dinner with us every day. You speak in such a funny voice."
Tony Bevan did not meet Lallie again that day until nearly dinner time. It is true that during the afternoon he beheld her afar off across the College field, sitting on a seat beside the Principal's wife and watching the pick-up. He noted moreover that behind her stood a little group of the younger masters, and that they appeared deeply interested in her remarks; while her attention to the game was close and enthusiastic. She was in good hands, and Tony was quite happy about her. He had a great many things to do and to see to, so he left the field with a contented mind.
Mrs. Wentworth had promised to keep her to tea, and after tea he had to give a private lesson to two of the University scholarship people, so that it was almost seven o'clock when he entered his own hall to be met by a sound of music, and stood still to listen.
It was unusual music: vibrating, pulsating, mysterious; rising and falling in waves of sound that billowed hither and thither like the mist on the heath, the strain now soft and seductive, now loud and menacing; again humming with the slumbrous, slow drone of honey-gathering bees on a sunny afternoon in high summer. It was music that above all suggested thyme-scented, wind-swept spaces, rock and river, and shady, solemn woods. It was the sound of Lallie's harp.
He remembered to have noticed the big case in the hall as he went out to College that morning. Who had taken it out and carried it into the drawing-room for her? he wondered. She certainly couldn't have done it herself, for it was very heavy.
He opened the drawing-room door and went in, closing it softly behind him. The window at the end of the room was wide open, but a small fire burned cheerfully upon the hearth, and save for its uncertain light the room was shadowy and almost dark. Tony's first thought was of how shocked Miss Foster would be at the extravagance of a fire on such a warm night; but this reflection was speedily superseded by astonishment at the sight of his "driver," Mr. Johns, and young Nick seated side by side upon a sofa near the fire, while Lallie sat at her big harp right in the middle of the room, and discoursed weird music to her evidently appreciative audience.
She had already changed for dinner, and her gown--high-waisted, long and clinging--fell in straight folds to her feet. Neck and arms were bare, and beautiful old lace was draped about her white shoulders. In colour her dress was of the soft yet brilliant green of July grass in a grass-country where there is much rain. A green ribbon threaded through her dusky hair was her only ornament save a wide gold band that clasped her bare arm just above the elbow and caught the flickering firelight in ruddy gleams as her slender, purposeful hands flashed to and fro over the enormous strings, with long, swooping movements, assured and definite in design and result as the swift stoop of a hawk.
Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes large and bright, and as the fire suddenly leapt into clearer flame every farthest corner of the room was revealed sharp and distinct, and her girlish figure seemed a sudden incarnation of the Celtic muse.
Tony stood where he was just inside the door. Lallie faced him, but she took no notice of his entrance till the last long arpeggio had shivered into silence; then, in the most matter-of-fact tone, she remarked:
On Monday, Tony, we must hire a piano.
Tony felt the sudden shock of disillusionment that comes with the fall of the curtain after a play that has thrilled the senses with its large romance--the blank sensation that life is really rather a prosaic business after all. He did not answer immediately, and in the meantime Paunch and young Nick had arisen in some haste from their sofa, the latter exclaiming confusedly:
I had no idea it was so late. I met Miss Clonmell at the Principal's, and walked home with her, to show her the way.
And as he'd never heard a harp properly played, Lallie added, "I told him that if he liked to wait, I'd change and come down and play till you came in; and on the stairs I met Mr. Johns, and he'd never heard a harp either, so he came too."
How did you get it out of the wooden case? asked Tony.
Oh, they unpacked it and carried it in for me while I dressed; and they've put the case in the box-room and all--ever so tidy we've been. Come here, Mr. Johns, and put it in the corner for me--no, not that one, that's an outer wall. This one, by the writing-table. Thank you; that will do nicely. Good-night, Mr. Nick. I beg your pardon, it's Paddy's fault; I always stumble into the wrong names that I've no business to know. Next time you come I'll sing for you, but I've never any voice after a voyage.
Dinner that night was an unusually cheerful meal, and by the time Tony carried in his work to the drawing-room that he might correct it beside Lallie, it was nearly nine o'clock.
Everything was arranged for his comfort when he did appear. A table at his elbow to hold his papers, his chair at the exact angle where he would get the best light, and Lallie standing on the hearth-rug with a box of matches in her hand ready to light his pipe.
Oh, I say, Lallie! said Tony, yielding weakly to temptation. "D'you think I may? No one has ever smoked in this room. I don't know what Miss Foster would say."
A pipe, Tony! Surely a little pipe will do no harm? Why, the window's wide open and there's a fire; and there are very few hangings and precious little furniture. Never did I see such a bare, stiff room. I had to have a little bit of fire to help furnish it. There's one good thing, it will be a capital room for sound, and a grand piano will fill it up a bit. Now sit down, and I won't speak another word till you speak to me.
Lallie pushed him down in his chair and fetched a stool on which she seated herself, leaning her back against Tony's knees, on her own she laid an open book, and in her hands was a piece of knitting.
For a few minutes there was absolute silence. Tony Bevan tried to absorb himself in the Latin prose of Lower VIth classical, but he was acutely conscious of the soft weight that leant against him, and he found his eyes wandering from the sheets he held to the top of Lallie's head just underneath, and thence to her ever busy hands, which held a pale blue silk tie--a tie that was growing in length with the utmost rapidity, for Lallie knitted at express speed, only pausing every now and then to turn a page of her book.
Tony felt the strongest desire to talk, and was quite unreasonably irritated at his guest's complete absorption, which gave him neither lead nor excuse.
The wood fire crackled cheerfully--Lallie had begged some logs from Ford--and Lallie's harp in the corner caught the ruddy gleams on strings and gilded frame.
Tony looked round the large, handsome room with a new interest. Hitherto he had not considered it as any concern of his. It was Miss Foster's domain, to be entered by him only on such occasions as she gave tea to visiting parents. To be sure he had bought all the furniture for it, and each piece, in itself, was good and possessed of qualities that redeemed it from the commonplace. There was one really beautiful Hepplewhite cabinet, a genuine Sheraton desk and bookcase, and some fine old china; but Lallie was right, the room was stiff, bare, wholly lacking in charm. Not to-night; it seemed neither bare nor stiff to-night. It was full of an atmosphere subtler and sweeter even than that produced by the comfortable clouds of tobacco smoke that floated between Tony Bevan and the girl leaning against his knees. To-night the room radiated a delicious atmosphere of home, and all because a slip of a girl had disarranged the furniture and sat there at his feet looking the very spirit of the domestic hearth.
In grumpy moments, Tony was apt to declare that in all his big house no corner seemed really to belong to him except the writing-table in his study. Among the many admirable qualities of Miss Foster, she did not possess the power of making a man feel comfortable and at his ease in her society. As a rule he was ready enough to admit that this was, perhaps, an additional reason why she filled her post so efficiently. The greatest gossip in Hamchester could not conjecture any matrimonial complication with Miss Foster, and Tony rejoiced in the serene security engendered by this knowledge. Nevertheless, to-night he was conscious of very distinct enjoyment of, and interest in, his own drawing-room.
How still it was!
No sound save the little click of Lallie's needles as she changed them at the end of a row, and the soft sizzle of the wood fire. Why was she--gregarious, garrulous Lallie--so silent? If only she had insisted on talking he could have laid aside those tiresome proses with a sigh as to the impossibility of work with such a chatterbox in the room. But she was quiet as any mouse, and Tony wanted to talk himself.
Can you see all right? he asked at last.
Perfectly, thank you, and she never turned her head.
Silence again, while Tony smoked and made no attempt to correct papers. Instead, he found himself admiring the straightness of Lallie's parting, and marvelling at the slenderness of her little neck that showed never a bone.
Presently he reflected that it was hardly hospitable to condemn a young and lively girl to complete silence during her first evening hi his house.
Hospitable! It was positively churlish.
Tony pushed the papers on the table a little farther away from him. It was his plain duty to talk to Lallie.
What's that you're knitting? he asked sociably.
A tie for Mr. Cripps. Isn't it a pretty colour? Have you finished? How quick you've been! I thought you'd be hours and hours.
A tie for Cripps! Tony repeated in tones that betrayed disapproval. "Why in the world should you make a tie for Cripps? You never saw him till this morning."
Ah, but we made great friends in a very little time, Lallie explained eagerly; "and the old string he was wearing was a terrible show. He can knit ties himself, you know, the clever boy, but he always gives away the ones he knits; and the poor chap's awfully badly off for ties just now. He told me so. And I said I'd make him one for Sundays and high days. I shall probably finish it to-morrow, and he can have it by Monday morning."
Cripps is a humbug. I'm perfectly sure he has plenty of ties. Don't you be imposed upon, Lallie; don't you give him anything of the kind.
She turned right round and clasped her bare arms round Tony's knees to balance herself.
Ah, Tony, now, she expostulated, "I must give the boy his little tie that I promised, and him so dull in quarantine and all. Sure a nice pale blue tie will cheer him up and make him think more of himself. A tie to a boy is like a new hat to a girl. There's nothing cheers me up like a new hat when I'm down in the dumps. Now what article of attire most cheers you, Tony?"
I rather like ties, Tony answered, with cold detachment.
Then I'll make dozens for you while I'm here, and Lallie set her chin on her clasped hands and looked up at Tony with eyes whose expression reminded him of Val's. "I'll make ties for you and every dear boy in this house, and for Paunch too. By the way, it's a shame to call that man Paunch. He's not fat or bow-windowy. However did he come by such a name?"
He's not fat now, Tony said judicially, "but he'll be fat long before he's my age unless he takes enormous quantities of exercise; and no one notices a tendency more quickly than boys."
Is that why you're called Bruiser? Lallie asked innocently. "Have you a tendency to get mixed up in street rows and to join generally in disorderly conduct?"
I fancy, answered Tony, "that I got my name rather from my appearance than from any specially rowdy conduct on my part. I was Bruiser Bevan as a boy here, the name followed me up to Oxford, and was waiting for me when I came back here as a master. I was only a fair boxer--too slow and not heavy enough for a heavy weight. Besides I really never cared much about it."
I think I shall like Paunch, Lallie remarked; "he's earnest and serious, and thinks no end of himself, but he can unbend on occasion."
Don't you go making him unbend till he refuses to coil up again into his proper shape, Tony said anxiously. "You must be serious, too, down here, and be always thinking what Aunt Emileen would say."
Aunt Emileen would approve of Paunch; he is earnestly concerned for the morals of B. House, and I'll help him to raise the tone, till we're so superior no other house can touch us. As for you, Tony, I've discovered already you're a slack old thing, and don't take nearly a keen enough interest in these high matters.
Of course every one knows that P--that Mr. Johns and Miss Foster really run this house, Tony said dryly; "I'm merely the figure head. Lallie," with a complete change of tone, "why do you wear a bracelet above the elbow? I never saw any other lady wear one there."
Have you forgotten? the girl exclaimed. "Look there!" and unclasping the wide gold band she displayed a long discoloured, jagged scar on her white arm. "That's where the mare 'Loree' bit me when I was ten. Don't you remember 'Loree'? Perhaps you weren't with us that autumn. We called her after the poem, 'Loraine, Loraine, Loree,' because she had such a fiendish temper. But she was a great beauty, and a wonderful jumper, and Dad thought he would hunt her that winter, in spite of her temper, though he was a bit too heavy for her; but they were all afraid of her at the stables, and declared she'd be the death of somebody. Funnily enough she never showed temper to me, and I used to take her sugar and apples and go in and out of the stable, and she never showed a sign of ill-temper while I was there, but Dad would never let me mount her. Then one day she'd just come in from exercising, and I went out to the yard with her apple for her. Rooney called to me: 'Don't you come near her, Miss Lallie! It's the very devil himself is in her to-day;' but I laughed, like the silly little girl I was, and said, 'It's you, Rooney, who can't manage her; I wish they'd let me take her out to exercise, it's a light hand she wants.' I went up to her to give her the apple, and she swung round and caught hold of my arm with her long teeth, and broke it there and then--and Dad shot her that afternoon. Oh, you must remember, Tony!"
I think I do remember something about it, but you know you were always being bitten by something, or thrown by something else----
I never was thrown but once, Lallie exclaimed indignantly. "If your horse rolls in a ditch it's not fair for any one to say you're thrown; but you, Tony, I suppose, keep count of the times you stick on, not the times you come off."
Well, you were always in the wars, anyhow, so that perhaps the accidents, being so numerous, impressed me less than they ought to have done. But that was a horrid thing. Still, you know, I think the scar is less noticeable than the bracelet.
Oh, the bracelet's Dad's affair. He can't bear to see anything ugly; and when I had my first proper evening frock he gave me this, and bade me wear it always when I had short sleeves; and it makes a topic of conversation with my partners at dances, and they're always very shocked and sorry, and feel kindly to me at once.
Lallie snapped the bracelet on her arm again, and smiled up confidingly at Tony, who continued to smoke in silence.
I've admired you sufficiently, said Lallie. "I will now devote my attention to the dear Cripps' tie," and she turned round on the stool, once more leant her back against Tony's knees, and the busy needles went to click again.
I'd finish those papers if I were you, she suggested, "and then we can talk, or play picquet, or I'll sing to you, whichever you prefer."
You, said Tony sedately, "must go to bed almost directly."
Which means that you can't work in this room, and that I worry you, poor dear; but I'll go, and I'll be down to breakfast to-morrow and pour out your coffee for you. I know just how you like it--don't I?
Lallie rose from her stool, looking, as she always contrived to do, far taller than she really was, in her clinging green draperies.
You'll let me give tea to some boys to-morrow, won't you? Paddy said you always have chaps to tea in the drawing-room on Sundays, and precious dull it is with Miss Foster; but to-morrow it won't be dull--you just see how I'll entertain them. I think I'd like the nice boys who were dining with you when I came. They'll do for a start.
We'll see what can be done, said Tony, with unaccountable meekness. "Good-night, my child; sleep well."
He held the door open for her, and she passed out, only pausing on the threshold to remark:
There! I've never attempted to kiss you; I'll get quite used to it soon!
For five terms, in fact ever since Miss Foster had been housekeeper at B. House, she had never left that house during term time for a single night. And on her arrival at Hamchester station on Tuesday afternoon, having been away from the previous Friday, she almost ran down the long platform to collect her luggage, hustled her porter, nor rested a moment till she had seized upon the first available cab to take to her destination.
After years of generally unsuccessful ventures in various directions, Miss Foster had at last found a post entirely after her own heart, and the whole of her by no means inconsiderable energy was absorbed by B. House. She declared that it gave her scope. She was convinced that she, and she alone, "ran" B. House. She regarded Tony merely as an amiable figure-head. She liked him; she knew him to be honourable and well-meaning, and had found him generous in his business relations, and of course he was necessary, as otherwise she, herself, might not have been there; nevertheless, in her heart of hearts she was convinced that she, and she alone, kept the machinery of B. House in working order. Tony was far too easy-going, far too easily imposed upon. She distrusted the matron, and for Mr. Johns she felt an irritated sort of contempt, which she was at small pains to conceal: did not this misguided young man dare to entertain the incredibly conceited notion that he ran B. House? This in itself was more than enough to condemn him in Miss Foster's eyes.
A handsome woman, tall, plump, fresh-coloured, she made no attempt to look younger than her forty-nine years. She wore her plentiful grey hair dressed high over a cushion, well waved and beautifully arranged; no one ever saw Miss Foster with an untidy head. Her hats were always large and imposing, and occasionally becoming; her dresses rich, rustling, sober in colour, and thoroughly well made.
All must have gone smoothly in my absence, she thought complacently as she sat in the jolting cab. "Mr. Bevan faithfully promised that if there was illness of any kind he would telegraph at once. Cripps can't have got the mumps. He probably won't get it, and if he does it can't spread as he was quarantined at once. I hope Matron has been strict about the quarantine. I always mistrust these hospital-trained people when left to themselves; one has to be ever on the watch. Ah, here we are!"
Before Miss Foster could descend from the cab Ford appeared to help her with her smaller baggage. Ford looked particularly trim and smiling that afternoon in a nice new muslin apron and cap.
All well, Ford? Miss Foster remarked genially, without waiting for an answer. "You may bring tea at once to the drawing-room; I'll have it before I go upstairs."
She crossed the hall and opened the drawing-room door, but she did not enter the room. Instead she stood transfixed upon the threshold and sniffed dubiously.
The windows were open according to her instructions whenever the room was untenanted. Notwithstanding this, there was a very strong smell of violets. To most people this is an agreeable odour, but Miss Foster mistrusted the presence of violets at all. Why should there be violets in her drawing-room during her absence?
A few steps farther revealed to her astonished gaze that the room was not as she had left it. The furniture had been changed as to position, disarranged, increased!
Miss Foster was not fond of music, and she beheld with positive dismay that a grand piano, open, with long lid slanted upwards, was placed athwart the inner wall. A huge harp stood just behind it, and an unfamiliar bulging green silk bag was flung on the Chesterfield, where it sprawled in flagrant publicity. The overpowering scent of violets was easily traceable to a large china bowl, full of that modest flower, which stood on a little table, moved from its accustomed place against the wall close to a big chair by the fireplace. Moreover, on that table, cheek by jowl with the violets, lay a tin of "Player's Navy Cut," a common box of kitchen matches, an ash-tray, and a very brown meershaum pipe. Miss Foster passed her hand over her eyes to make sure that these things were not an hallucination, and at that moment Ford came in, bearing tea.
What on earth is the meaning of all this, Ford? poor Miss Foster exclaimed, waving her hand in the direction of the piano.
It's been got for Miss Clonmell, 'm. This morning the men brought the piano; she brought 'er 'arp with her.
Who brought a harp? Miss Foster cried irritably, as though she could hardly believe her ears. "Ford, what are you talking about?"
Miss Clonmell, miss--the young lady as have come to live here.
A young lady! To live here! But who is she, and when did she come, and why have I been told nothing about it?
She's sister to the Mr. Clonmell what was here last term, 'm, and she came unexpected like on Friday evening, while Mr. Bevan was at dinner. He didn't expect her any more than you, miss.
But what in the world has she come for? She can't stay here. Where is she?
I don't exactly know 'm, Ford answered, with demure enjoyment of the situation. "Mrs. Wentworth came directly after luncheon, 'm, and took her out. Miss Clonmell said as I was to ask you not to wait tea if you came before she got back, as she'll probably have hers with Mrs. Wentworth."
Wait tea! Miss Foster repeated, in tones that expressed volumes of determination to do nothing of the kind. "This is the most extraordinary thing I ever heard of. What is she like?"
Oh, a very nice young lady, 'm. No one could 'elp liking 'er. The 'ouse seems a different place since she come, so much livelier; and she sings and plays something beautiful----
I should think it does seem a different place, Miss Foster remarked grimly; "that horrible harp makes my drawing-room look like the deck of a penny steamer. It can't stay here, that's certain. However, I'll have tea now--I need it. Whenever Mr. Bevan comes in, Ford, ask him to be good enough to speak to me at once."
Miss Foster sat in her accustomed chair and made tea. The tea was good and refreshing, but although she had purposely turned her back to the obnoxious musical instruments she felt uncomfortably conscious of their presence. There they were like a draught blowing down her back. A harp, too! In Miss Foster's mind harps were associated mainly with mendicity and the bars of public-houses. Not that she had the smallest personal knowledge of such objectionable places; but she was certain that the horrid people who frequented them played and listened to the harp. It was probably their favourite instrument, and it was more likely that during their disreputable orgies they even danced to its throbbing strains.
Miss Foster, who had never been out of her own country, was one of those persons who inevitably associate Scotland with plaids and porridge, and Ireland with pigs and shillelaghs.
An unsatisfactory, ungrateful, untrustworthy race, the Irish, she reflected; "and if the sister is half as troublesome as the brother--and being a girl she is certain to be ten times more so; I detest girls--the prospect is far from pleasing. What I cannot understand is the underhand behaviour of Mr. Bevan. This girl can't have dropped from the clouds, and I consider it most ungentlemanly of him not to have given me some warning. He might at least have written to tell me of her arrival, and I would have come back yesterday. However, I don't fancy her visit will be a very long one now that I have come back."
She took a vigorous bite out of her piece of bread and butter, and stirred her tea with a determination that boded ill for the interloper. Yet, resolute woman as she was, she still smelt the violets and was aware of the grand piano in the background.
She had just finished her second cup of tea when Tony came in.
Ah, Miss Foster, it's nice to see you back again. I hope the wedding went off well--you had a lovely day. I'm just in time to beg for a cup of tea. I suppose Ford has told you of the addition to our party; I didn't write, as you were away for such a brief holiday; it seemed too bad to bother you.
Somehow Miss Foster found it impossible to say all the bitter things to Tony that she had been preparing. He was so friendly, so kind, so interested in all her doings. Besides, he explained at once how Lallie's sudden appearance had been as great a surprise to him as to Miss Foster, and she was fain to believe him; but none the less did she determine that the said visit should be brief as unexpected.
Tony took it for granted she would do her best for the girl. So she would. It would certainly be best for the girl and for B. House that the girl's visit should not be unduly prolonged. When Tony left the drawing-room that afternoon Miss Foster was more than ever persuaded that he badly needed some one to stand between him and those who took advantage of his good nature, and she there and then valiantly resolved that, so far as in her lay, she would act as that buffer. She was still glowing at the prospect of the friction such fortitude on her part would assuredly entail when Tony came back into the room. He might almost be said to have crept back, so shamefaced was his appearance.
I fear that I have left some of my belongings in here, he mumbled apologetically. "I must have put them down when I came in to speak to Lallie, after lunch--and forgotten them."
Oh, mendacious Tony! when he knew perfectly well that those "belongings" had been left on that table ever since Lallie's second evening in B. House, and he had smoked there ruthlessly every evening since.
It doesn't matter in the least, Miss Ford said graciously; "one couldn't smell even tobacco with these overpowering flowers. I really must ask Ford to throw them out; they are enough to give us all hay-fever."
Tony fled.
An hour later Tony sat at his study table offering sacrifices propitiatory to parental anxiety amid clouds of smoke, with a pile of unanswered letters at his elbow.
Lallie peeped in.
Has she come, Tony? she whispered.
She has, he remarked briefly, whereupon Lallie vanished again, with a muttered exclamation.
In the passage she met Mr. Johns on his way to take prep.; she seized him by the arm, whispering beseechingly:
Come with me to the drawing-room just for a minute, there's a dear kind man. I'm petrified with terror, and Tony's busy. Don't leave me to go in all by myself.
Certainly not, Mr. Johns replied reassuringly; "I can't stay, I'm afraid, but I'll come into the drawing-room with you with pleasure. If it's the dark you're afraid of, and it soon gets dark now, I'll turn on the light; it's just inside the door."
Lallie gave a smothered laugh, but nevertheless she kept a tight hold of Mr. Johns till he had opened the drawing-room door and turned on the light. Then she drew her hand from his arm and sailed into the room with her head in the air. The room was untenanted.
She's not here at all, Lallie said blankly; then to the somewhat flustered young master who had followed her in: "I'll not detain you further, Mr. Johns," she remarked airily; "I know you are much occupied. It was kind of you to show me the way."
Somewhat huffed at this abrupt dismissal after so effusive a greeting, Mr. Johns swung round hastily, only to cannon with considerable violence against Miss Foster, who, unheard by him, had just entered the room. Lallie stood magisterially upon the hearthrug while they disentangled themselves, and Mr. Johns muttered apologies which were loftily ignored by the lady.
Miss Foster was intensely annoyed. No one appears to advantage who has just been vigorously humped into by an International forward; and although Miss Foster's ample form was calculated both to sustain and repel a considerable impact, she was distinctly ruffled.
Mr. Johns almost banged the door behind him.
I hope he didn't hurt you, the clumsy fellow, exclaimed Lallie, in sweetly sympathetic tones, as she came forward with outstretched hand. "I must introduce myself, dear Miss Foster, and apologise for invading B. House in your absence."
I suppose you are but a bird of passage, Miss Foster remarked, when she had given Lallie's hand a limp and chilly shake.
That depends, said Lallie gaily, "whether you're all very good to me or not. If I like it, I may stay till Dad comes back from India. He likes me to be with Tony."
I wonder, Miss Foster said thoughtfully, when she had seated herself, "whether your father has fully considered Mr. Bevan's many responsibilities. A house like this--" Miss Foster paused.
It seems a comfortable house, Lallie suggested helpfully, "though 'tis a bit cold. Shall I set a match to the fire?" and Lallie flew to the little table--but the matches were gone.
Pray don't, Miss Foster exclaimed, "I never start fires before the first of October."
But if it's cold? Lallie expostulated.
That, Miss Clonmell, is my invariable rule.
But it might be warm on the first of October.
If it is warm on the first of October I shall certainly not have a fire.
But we've had a fire every night since I came.
I thought the room smelt rather stuffy, Miss Foster said coldly. "Won't you sit down, Miss Clonmell? You look so uncomfortable standing there."
Lallie sat down obediently, and unconsciously folded her hands in the devout attitude in which she had been wont to listen to the discourses of the Mother Superior in her convent.
It would be well, Miss Foster continued, in a head voice, "if, before we go any farther, I explain to you how rigid--necessarily rigid--rules must be in a house of this description. It will save trouble and futile argument afterwards. You must see, yourself, that the arrangements in a College boarding-house containing fifty boys and over a dozen servants can't chop and change; the ordinary routine can't be relaxed as in an ordinary private house--though in the best managed private houses things are almost equally regular."
But why should people be colder in a College house than in any other sort, if they can afford a fire? Lallie persisted. "Tony liked the fire."
I never argue, Miss Foster observed, with superior finality; "we will change the subject. How is your brother getting on at Woolwich? I hope he is settling down well."
I don't know about 'settling,' Miss Foster, we're not a very settled family, but he's well and happy, and the dearest boy. Didn't you think him a dear boy, and isn't he good to look at?
From what I remember of your brother he was quite good-looking--fair, wasn't he? You are not in the least like him.
No, indeed, more's the pity, Lallie said simply. "He is the image of Dad. You've met my father, I think, Miss Foster?"
I believe your father stayed a night here some time last winter, but I don't remember him very distinctly. We see so many parents, you know, and it's hard to keep them separate in one's mind unless they have very definite qualities, or are distinguished people.
Most people think Dad is very distinguished, said Lallie, much incensed at the implied slight upon her father; "but I suppose he appeals most to brilliant people like himself. May I have my work-bag, Miss Foster? I think you are sitting on it, and I may as well get on with Tony's tie as sit here doing nothing. Thank you; I hope no needle has run into you."
Silence fell upon the twain: a fighting silence, charged with unrest.
Dinner that night was not exactly a hilarious meal. Mr. Johns still smarted under a sense of injury at the trick he considered Lallie had played him. He held her responsible for his collision with Miss Foster, and he came to table determined not to address a single word to her till she should apologise. All the time he was mentally rehearsing that apology and the form it should take. In some solitude--place not yet specified--she would ask him what she had done to offend him. Reluctantly he would allow her to drag from him the real cause of his aloofness, and through the veil of his reticence she would perceive the enormity of her offence--veils have an enlarging effect. Being really good at heart and full of generous impulses--he was certain of Lallie's generosity--she would frankly apologise, and he would, as frankly, refuse to allow her to do so. Mr. Johns saw himself, muscular, large, and magnanimous, in the very flower of his young English manhood--gently and imperceptibly raising little Lallie's moral tone until her soul should reach the altitude upon which it could meet his on equal terms. After that, who knows what might happen? And it was dinner time.
At table, however, he couldn't harden his heart against Lallie, who sat opposite in a high white blouse that made her look like a schoolgirl. Her eyelids were pink; so was her nose with its confiding tip; and she never once looked across at Mr. Johns.
Miss Foster would discuss the dates of various quarantines, and the preventative measures that should be taken if any of the usual infectious diseases invaded the other houses. Tony tried in vain to head her off to other topics. By the time they had reached the contagious, or non-contagious nature of tonsilitis, Lallie began to look about her. From time to time she caught Tony's eyes, and her own were so merry and well amused that Tony, himself, began to see another side to the germ question, which as a rule bored him to extinction. Mr. Johns found himself trying to intercept some of Lallie's glances, but without success; and when the meal came to an end he had assuredly not addressed a single remark to Lallie, but it was from lack of opportunity and not because he was any longer offended. How could one be offended with an irresponsible creature whose dimples were so bewitching?
Tony retired to his study; Mr. Johns went back to the boys; and Lallie, who longed to go with Tony but didn't dare, meekly followed Miss Foster into the drawing-room. Tony was troubled about Lallie. The child look pinched and low-spirited, he thought, and she was such a good child. She had tried so hard, so kind-hearted Tony assured himself, to fall in with their ways, to keep rules and regulations that were all strange to her. He wished he could have her in here with him, but he supposed it wouldn't do; Miss Foster might be offended. She was such a quiet little mouse--it was pleasant to work by the fire with her leaning against his knees, with one of those everlasting ties in her hands. By Jove! it was a cold night; he'd light his fire. Poor little Lallie! would Miss Foster be friendly and motherly? He hoped to goodness she wouldn't talk any more about illnesses; he felt rather as though he were going to have mumps himself. Tony pressed his neck on both sides anxiously. The wood sparkled and crackled, he drew his chair up to the fire and lit his pipe.
You must excuse me, Miss Clonmell, said Miss Foster, when they reached the drawing-room; "I have many things to see to upstairs. In a house like this it is impossible to devote one's whole evening to social intercourse. I fear I must leave you for half an hour or so."
Of course, Lallie said solemnly, not quite knowing why. "Please, Miss Foster, would it disturb any of the children--the boys, I mean--if I play the piano while you're gone?"
The boys' part of the house is quite separate; you may disturb Mr. Bevan, who is usually busy at this time--but----
Oh, I shan't disturb Tony; he'll probably leave his door open to hear me; he loves music.
He has not, hitherto, made any parade of his partiality, Miss Foster said coldly, and left the room, shutting the door carefully after her.
Lallie flew across to the door and opened it wide, gazing after Miss Foster's portly form ascending the staircase.
In a house like 'this,' said Lallie to herself, and made a face, "St. Bridget herself would lose patience, and I very much fear there's more than a spice of the devil in me. Anyway, I'm not going to freeze for twenty Miss Fosters; I'll get a cloak to cover me."
She ran upstairs and reappeared clad in a wonderful theatre coat of rose-coloured satin, embroidered in silver, a most incongruous garment considering the severe simplicity of her frock, but it appeared to give her great satisfaction; and again leaving the door wide open she seated herself "with an air" at the piano, and began to sing.
It was surprising that so small and slight a creature as Lallie could have such a big voice--a rich, carrying mezzo soprano voice; the sort of voice usually associated with the full-bosomed, substantially built women that one encounters on concert platforms or in grand opera.
Portali, the great singing-master in Paris to whom her father had taken her when she was seventeen, explained it thus:
She sings as a bird sings, but she would never make a public singer. She hasn't the physique, she hasn't the industry; above all, she hasn't the temperament; but she can sing now as no amount of training could ever make her. Give her good lessons--occasionally--but only the best; never let any provincial teacher come near her. If she ever has a bad illness she'll probably lose her voice altogether, but if she only sings for pleasure--for her own, and yours, and that of the fortunate people thrown with her, never as a business--she may keep it till she is quite an old woman. Let her choose her own songs--Folk songs are what she can sing--but let her sing what she pleases; she will never go wrong. Let her keep her wild-bird voice; don't try to tame or train it too much.
Lallie began to sing very softly "Synnove's Lied"--the andante that is sung as if humming to one's self; then suddenly she let her voice go. "Oh to remember the happy hours!" Right through the house it rang, passionate, pathetic, pleading.
Tony leapt to his feet and opened his study door; at the same instant he heard some one prop open the swing door that shut off the study passage from his part of the house, and down the long corridor every door was opened.
"Our world was bounded by the garden trees,
Then came the churchyard and the river."
The big, beautiful voice died down, and once more came the quaint humming refrain. Again--musical, intensely melancholy--the voice rang out.
"But now the garden is white with snow,
At night I wait, I stand and shiver,"
sang Lallie most realistically, for the drawing-room really was rather cold.
"The place is frosty, the cold winds blow,
Oh love, my love, but you come never."
Lallie sang in English, for she could not speak Norwegian, and every word was clearly enunciated and distinct; the soft humming refrain followed, and died away into silence.
Heavens! thought Tony, "the child is homesick alone in there with Miss Foster; she sounds cold too--this is dreadful!"
He hurried to the drawing-room, expecting to find Lallie in the tearful state her pathetic voice had indicated.
I thought that would bring you, Lallie remarked complacently. "Come here, Tony, and admire my theatre coat Dad brought me from Paris."
Tony stood where he was, staring at the gorgeous little figure seated perkily on the piano stool; at the big cheerless room, with one electric light burning in dismal prominence over the piano; at the black and chilly hearth.
Why in the name of all that's idiotic haven't you got a fire? he asked angrily.
In this house, Lallie replied, in Miss Foster's very tones, "we never have fires till the first of October."
Poor Tony looked very miserable.
I am so sorry, he said helplessly; "you'd better come and sit in my study. I have a fire."
It's I who ought to be sorry, Tony, worrying you like this. It was horrid of me to tell tales. No, I won't come and sit in your study, for that would only make her hate me the more. I'm not a bit cold in my beautiful coat, and I'll go on making music quite happily. Run away back to your little exercise books.
Try not to take a dislike to Miss Foster at the very first, Lallie, Tony pleaded. "She's a good sort really; and perhaps I ought to have written to tell her you had come."
It would have been better to break it to her gently, Lallie responded drily.
Tony crossed the room slowly, pausing on the threshold.
I fear I must ask you to keep the door shut; the boys heard you singing, and instantly every study door was opened.
Ah, the dears! cried Lallie delighted. "Do let me have them all in, and I'll sing them something they'd really like."
Tony shook his head.
They must do their work, and I must do mine. Mind, you are to come into the study if you are cold.
As Tony crossed the hall even the shut door could not drown the cheerful strains of that most jubilant of jigs, "Rory O'More," and he felt a wild impulse to dance a pas seul there and then. However, he sternly fastened the swing door, shut himself into his study, and tried to forget the brilliant little rose-and-silver figure with the wistful Greuze face. Over his mantel-piece hung an engraving of "La cruche cassée," bought some years ago because of its likeness to Lallie. He shook his head at it now, turned his back upon it, and sat down at his table. Val, who liked music, went to the door and whined to get out, but Tony unsympathetically bade him get into his basket again, and gave his own attention to the bundles of white paper that Lallie had impertinently dubbed "little exercise books."
When Miss Foster returned Lallie was singing "All round my hat I will wear a green garland," and accompanying herself upon the harp. She finished the song and then went and sat beside Miss Foster on the sofa.
You have a very strong voice, Miss Clonmell, Miss Foster remarked, gazing with astonished disfavour at the rose-and-silver garment.
So I've always been told, said Lallie. "You see it has never been strained."
Did you say trained or strained?
Lallie laughed.
Oh, it's plenty of training it's had, but perhaps I haven't profited as much as I might have done. Are you fond of music, Miss Foster?
I can't say that I am. I dislike every sort of loud music, and all stringed instruments seem to me so very thrummy.
To this Lallie made no reply, but took her roll of lace out of her bag and began to work in perfect silence. Miss Foster picked up the Spectator and tried to read it, but could not concentrate her attention. Against her will she was forced to glance from time to time at the quiet figure beside her; at the deft white hands that moved so swiftly and silently; at the beautiful work that grew so fast beneath their ministrations. Like Tony, Lallie's silence irritated her. If only the girl had chattered she would have had a grievance.
You were out with Mrs. Wentworth this afternoon, I think you said? Miss Foster remarked at last.
Yes, Miss Foster; she took me to see Pris and Prue at their dancing. Oh, it was lovely! Pris is just like a big soft india-rubber ball, and bounds up and down in perfect time, and looks the incarnation of gleeful enjoyment. And then Mrs. Wentworth insisted on my going back to tea with her, for they were arranging about the Musical Society, and she thought I might help. The organist is a nice man! That's how it was I couldn't be here to welcome you.
The practises are a great nuisance, Miss Foster said. "The boys have so much to do, it really is not fair to make them practise in their scanty playtime."
But music's good for them, argued Lallie; "and it's not a mental strain."
Of that I am by no means sure. If you will excuse me, Miss Clonmell, I think I will retire, for I've had rather a tiring day.
Miss Foster rose, Lallie folded her work neatly and put it in her bag. She went and shut the piano and came back and shook hands with her hostess.
Good-night, Miss Foster. I may be a minute after you, for I promised Mr. Bevan I'd go and say good-night to him in the study; and before Miss Foster could recover from her amazement at this audacious statement Lallie had vanished.
She's worse than anything I ever dreamt of, poor Miss Foster lamented to herself; "and I fear she's a fixture for the present; anyway, we shall see."
As Lallie was late for breakfast Tony only saw her for a few minutes before he had to go to College. He did not get back to the house again till nearly lunch time, when he met her at the front door, radiant, smiling, her arms full of books.
See, Tony! she exclaimed joyously. "I've been into the town--such a pretty town it is too, with a band playing in the promenade and all. And I found a library, and I've paid my subscription for three months; three volumes at a time; and I've chosen three books, and here they are!"
Tony followed her into the hall and Lallie held up the books, backs outwards, for his inspection.
How did you choose them? he asked.
"Well, I chose this one because there was such a pretty lady in the front, and I liked the cover. And I chose this one because I've read other books by the same author, and liked them. And I chose this one because the very nice lady at the library pressed it upon me and said it was 'being very much read.' Only one good reason, Lallie, out of the three. I'm afraid that pretty cover, with the pretty lady inside, is misleading. I, in my character of chaperon----""
"As Uncle Emileen, you mean, Tony?
Exactly so. I, in my character of Uncle Emileen, must veto that one, though I haven't read it myself. I'm pretty sure your father wouldn't like it.
I'm quite sure he wouldn't, if you say so. He's awfully particular, is Dad; but he's particular in a funny sort of way. He'll let me read things that would make the hair of the entire Emileen family stand straight on end--if only they are sincere and well written; and then again, he falls foul of wishy-washy novels that Aunt Emileen would consider quite harmless.
I don't think he would consider this either well-written or sincere, so you'd better give it to me.
Dad says 'tis women mostly who write the dirty books--what a pity! But I think he must be wrong, don't you, Tony?
Tony shook his head mournfully.
A great pity, he repeated.
I expect they do it just for the fun of shocking people. I like doing that myself.
I've no doubt of it. All the same, I hope you'll choose some other method of scandalising society; and you'd better hand that particular volume over to me.
And here have I walked all the way up from the town, fondly clasping that pernicious volume--Aunt Emileen's phrase, not mine--and lots of people stared hard at me, and I thought it was my nice new hat they were admiring. Here, take it, Tony, and you can come with me to return it, and then they'll think I got it for you, you old sinner.
Tony glanced nervously around lest there should be any eavesdropper to hear him called an "old sinner"; but the doors were all shut and the hall empty.
Certainly I'll come with you to-morrow; I couldn't possibly come to-day, I was so busy. Why are you always in such a hurry, Lallie? I subscribe to that library; no one ever gets out any books except Miss Foster; and there you go paying another subscription. What waste! And why did you go by yourself?
And who was there to go with, pray? P--Mr. Johns was in College. You were in College. I don't know where Mrs. Wentworth was, but anyway I didn't meet her.
What about Miss Foster?
Miss Foster went out while I was practising, and when she came in, I went out. Sort of 'Box and Cox,' you know.
Try and go with Miss Foster to-morrow, Lallie, it would be so much better.
Lallie had already started to go upstairs; she paused about six steps up and leant over the banisters to look at Tony, exclaiming reproachfully:
But you promised you'd go with me yourself to-morrow!
So I will, but other days--remember.
Lallie went up three more steps, and again paused and looked down.
For a dear, kind, nice, middle-aged man, Tony, you're rather obtuse, she said. And with this cryptic speech she ran up the whole flight of stairs and vanished from his sight.
What could the child mean?
Lallie had made up her mind overnight that she would not bother Tony with any complaints about Miss Foster, so she did not tell him that directly after breakfast that lady had suggested to her that she should practise "while I am out of the house." Nor had Miss Foster made any suggestion that Lallie should accompany her during her morning's shopping. When Miss Foster came in, Lallie went out; and having in the meantime come to the conclusion that she must find amusement for herself and in no way depend upon her hostess, she found her way into the town and to the library.
By the end of a week Miss Foster had made it abundantly clear to every one concerned, except the busy and optimistic master of the house, that she felt no desire whatever for the society of Lallie Clonmell.
By mutual consent they kept out of each other's way as far as was possible. Miss Foster took every opportunity of letting Lallie see that she had no intention of acting the part of Aunt Emileen towards her; and whatever Tony might be, Lallie was not obtuse. Subtly, but none the less unmistakably, did Miss Foster impress upon her that to be the chaperon of stray young ladies did not come within the scope of the duties which she had undertaken to fulfil at B. House. She never offered to take the girl anywhere except to chapel or to the football field, where it was practically impossible that they should go separately. Moreover, Miss Foster considered it a real grievance that during the services in chapel, Lallie persisted in singing psalms, canticles, and hymns with her usual brio and enthusiasm; and the wonderfully sweet, full voice caused many upward glances at the gallery reserved for the masters' families.
Lallie had philosophically determined to make the best of a difficult situation; but like that friend of Dr. Johnson, who "would have been a philosopher but that cheerfulness kept breaking in," so, in her case, cheerfulness made extraordinarily frequent irruptions in the shape of the older boys and younger masters to an extent that sometimes threatened to be indecorously hilarious.
Not once had Miss Foster invited Lallie to accompany her when she went shopping in the morning. In fact, her daily suggestion after breakfast that her guest should "get her practising over before lunch" had become a sort of ritual. Thus it came about that Lallie took to going out by herself between twelve and one, the fashionable hour for promenading in Hamchester; and invariably her steps were bent towards the very promenade she had so admired on her first visit to the library.
Tony, who generally played fives or coached football teams after morning school until lunch time, was under the impression that she was safe in Miss Foster's care; nor had he the remotest idea that Fitzroy Clonmell's cherished only daughter, who had never in her life before walked unattended in the streets of a town, tripped off alone every morning to sun herself in the famous Hamchester promenade, where the band plays daily and the idle and well-dressed inhabitants walk up and down, gossip, or flirt as best pleases them.
The promenade at Hamchester is a long, straight street; very wide, possessed of a really fine avenue of trees, with shops on one side, and on the other public gardens and a terrace of tall Georgian dwelling-houses. The library made an excellent object for Lallie's daily walk, and if she reached the promenade unattended, she was not long permitted to stroll along in mournful solitude. Before she had been three weeks in Hamchester she knew every prefect in the whole alphabet of College houses, and for prefects, the promenade was not out of bounds.
The gallant Cripps, no longer in quarantine, often found his way thither, to the despair of the fives-playing community. Berry, head prefect of B. House, had strained a muscle in his shoulder, and was off games for the time being, and he also fell in with Lallie with surprising frequency; and if it so happened that no boys she knew were "down town" between twelve and one, "young Nick" was almost certain to fly into town on a bicycle, which he recklessly left outside a shop while he walked up and down, and discussed the Celtic Renaissance or more frivolous topics with this sweet-voiced, frank, and friendly Irish maid.
From the very beginning Mrs. Wentworth had done her best for Lallie in the way of asking her to lunch and to tea, but she had a houseful of visitors during the girl's first weeks under Tony Bevan's roof, and had really very little time for outsiders. She had gauged pretty accurately Miss Foster's mental attitude towards Lallie; but when Miss Foster declared to her that she "accepted no responsibility whatever with regard to Miss Clonmell," little Mrs. Wentworth thought that this was only "Miss Foster's way"; and never dreamt that the lady could or would evade a relationship towards her young guest that seemed natural and inevitable.
Therefore it came upon Mrs. Wentworth with quite a shock when three mornings running in succession, while doing the ever-necessary shopping, she came upon Lallie leisurely strolling up and down the promenade, a tall youth on either side of her, all three manifestly with no sort of object in their stroll except the society of one another; and wherever Lallie was, "cheerfulness kept breaking in": in this case the attendant swains laughed with a heartiness and vigour that caused most passers-by to regard the trio attentively. Small and upright; clad in an admirably fitting suit of Lincoln green--she was very fond of green--with trim short skirt that liberally displayed her slim ankles and very pretty feet, she would have been noticeable even without her hilarious escort; and Mrs. Wentworth, whose motherliness in no way stopped short at Pris and Prue, acted promptly and without hesitation.
From the steps of a shop she watched the gay green figure and attendant swains pass, walk to the end of the avenue, turn and come back again, when Mrs. Wentworth descended into the arena and met Lallie face to face.
Lallie, how fortunate! You are the very person I most wanted at this moment. How do you do, Mr. Berry! I hope your shoulder is less painful? Good morning, Mr. Cripps. Lallie, do come with me and help me to choose linen for the children's smocks. You have such a good eye for colour.
Lallie dismissed her companions with a cheerfully decided "Don't wait for me, either of you; I'll be ages. And I want to walk home with Mrs. Wentworth."
The two ladies vanished into a shop, and Cripps and Berry were left outside, looking rather foolish and disconsolate.
D'you think she cut in on purpose? asked Cripps.
Highly probable, said Berry. "I thought this sort of game was a bit too hot to last. I confess I've often wondered Germs or old Bruiser didn't put a stop to it." "Germs" was Miss Foster's nickname amongst the boys.
Germs hates her; any one can see that.
All the more reason for her to interfere on every possible occasion, I should have thought.
My dear chap, said Berry in superior tones, "you only perceive the obvious. I confess I can't make out Germs. She's anxious enough to interfere as a rule, but about Miss Clonmell, I'm hanged if I can see what she's playing at. It's a deep game, anyhow. She'd give her eyes to get rid of her; I'd stake my oath on that. Poor little girl! It must be jolly dull shut up all day with old Germs. However, we'll continue to do our best for her, anyhow."
I jolly well shall, said Cripps, and he said it with the air of one who registers a solemn vow.
Mrs. Wentworth and Lallie chose the linen for the smocks: light blue, the colour of her eyes, for Pris, dark blue for Prue; and Lallie's favourite green for Punch. She insisted on being allowed to make the one for Punch herself, and was so keenly interested and absorbed by the whole affair that Mrs. Wentworth found it very hard to broach the subject she had most at heart. The girl was so frankly affectionate, so manifestly delighted to be with her friend again, that the kindly lady suffered pangs of self-reproach that she had not made time somehow to see more of her. In considering young people generally, Mrs. Wentworth was in the habit of saying to herself, "Suppose it were Pris or Prue"; and it was marvellous how lenient in her judgment this supposition always made her.
As they left the town behind them and reached the quiet road leading to B. House, she took the bull by the horns, saying:
Lallie, dear, do you think your father would like you to walk up and down the promenade all alone at the very busiest time?
But I'm hardly ever alone, dear Mrs. Wentworth. I may say never. I always meet one or two of the boys or somebody, and we walk up and down together.
Lallie so evidently considered her explanation entirely satisfactory, and turned a face of such guileless innocence and affection towards her mentor, that Mrs. Wentworth found it difficult to go on with her sermon. However, she steeled her heart and continued:
That's just it, my dear; I fear he wouldn't like it at all.
Not like me walking with the boys? Oh, you're really quite wrong there; he meant me to be friends with the boys, that's why he sent me to Tony. He thinks all the world of the boys, and I agree with him; such a dear nice set they are. Don't you think so yourself, Mrs. Wentworth?
I do, I do, indeed, Mrs. Wentworth heartily assented; "but--the promenade of a large town is not quite the proper place for you to meet the boys, and I am sure that there your father would agree with me."
Would you rather I walked with them in the country roads? I'm quite willing. I'm by no means wedded to the promenade. The trombone in the band played rather out of tune to-day, and it jarred me dreadfully. We'll go into the country next time.
No, no, that wouldn't do at all. Lallie, I'm afraid--I'm very much afraid--that you oughtn't to walk about with the boys at all unless I or Miss Foster or Mr. Bevan can be with you.
Dear Mrs. Wentworth, would you rather I went about with the young masters? Lallie asked sweetly. "They've really got more time, and I like them nearly as well. I'll tell one of them to come country walks with me if you prefer it."
Certainly not, Mrs. Wentworth said decidedly. "You mustn't do that on any account----"
Then where am I to walk? Lallie interrupted piteously. "Round and round the College field? And it's often so wet. I must get some exercise."
Of course you must, Mrs. Wentworth concurred heartily. "You must come out with me; and sometimes, perhaps, you'll take out the children: they love you so dearly. But what you must not do--I really mean it--is to walk up and down that promenade as you were doing to-day"--Mrs. Wentworth said nothing about the other days--"because, rightly, or wrongly, the nicest girls here don't do it; and as you are so very nice I can't let you. Lallie I don't want to be interfering and tiresome, but don't you think it would look better--it would at all events be natural and right as you are both in the same house--if you sometimes went about with Miss Foster?"
Lallie sighed deeply.
I was in quarantine when I came, she said, "and it seems to me that I've never got rid of the infection. But I'll try to do as you say, for you're a dear darling and I love you; but it seems to me that unless I can hire an aeroplane and go up alone in that, I'm certain to meet somebody, and they always turn and go back with me."