A College Girl Part 11

"My dear!" Lady Hayes was apparently transfixed with amazement. "A fire! You forget, surely, the month! The month of August. We never begin fires until the first of October."

"You'd be much more comfortable if you did."

There being no controverting the truth of this statement, Lady Hayes made no reply. But after the lapse of a few minutes she volunteered a suggestion.

"There is a grey Shetland shawl folded up under the sofa rug. You had better put it over your shoulders, since you feel so cold."

"_I_?" Darsie gave an impatient laugh. "Fancy me wrapped up in a Shetland shawl! I'd sooner freeze."

Lady Hayes dropped her eyelids and tightened her lips. Her manner pointed out more eloquently than words the fact that her guest was wanting in respect, but as hostess it was her duty to consider the comfort of her guest, so presently she rang the bell and gave instructions that a cup of hot cocoa should be served at eleven o'clock instead of the usual gla.s.s of milk. She herself was never guilty of the enormity of eating between meals, so that the listener knew perfectly well for whose benefit the order was given, but being at once cold, lonely, and cross, her heart was hardened, and she spoke no word.

Between that time and the appearance of James with the tray Aunt Maria made three successive attempts to open new topics of conversation, which were each time checkmated by monosyllabic replies. There was a tone of relief in her voice, as of one hailing a much-needed a.s.sistance, as she said briskly--

"Now, my dear, here is your cocoa! Drink it while it is hot. It will warm you up."

"Thank you, I don't drink cocoa. It makes me sick."

There was a moment's silence. James stood at attention, tray in hand.

Lady Hayes tightened her lips, and the little red lines on her cheeks turned a curious bluish shade. Then she cleared her throat, and said in her most courteous tones--

"I am sorry. Would you kindly tell James what you would like instead.

Tea--coffee--soup? A warm drink would be better than milk this morning."

"Nothing, thank you."

"Nothing, James! You may go."

James departed. Aunt Maria went on with her knitting, the click-click of the needles sounding startlingly distinct in the silent room. Darsie sat shamed and miserable, now that her little ebullition of spleen was over, acutely conscious of the rudeness of her behaviour. For five minutes by the clock the silence lasted; but in penitence, as in fault, there was no patience in Darsie's nature, and at the end of the five minutes the needlework was thrown on the floor, and with a quick light movement she was on her knees by Lady Hayes's side.

"Aunt Maria, forgive me. I'm a pig!"

"Excuse me, my dear, you are mistaken. You are a young gentlewoman who has failed to behave as such."

"Oh, Aunt Maria, don't, _don't_ be proper!" pleaded Darsie, half- laughing, half in tears. "I _am_ a pig, and I behaved as much, and you're a d.u.c.h.ess and a queen, and I can't imagine how you put up with me at all. I wonder you don't turn me out of doors, neck and crop!"

Lady Hayes put down her knitting and rested her right hand lightly on the girl's head, but she did not smile; her face looked very grave and sad.

"Indeed, Darsie, my dear," she said slowly, "that is just what I am thinking of doing. Not 'neck and crop'--that's an exaggerated manner of speaking, but, during the last few days I have been coming to the conclusion that I made a mistake in separating you from your family. I thought too much of my own interests, and not enough of yours." She smiled, a strained, pathetic little smile. "I think I hardly realised how _young_ you were! One forgets. The years pa.s.s by; one falls deeper and deeper into one's own ways, one's own habits, and becomes unconscious of different views, different outlooks. It was a selfish act to take a young thing away from her companions on the eve of a summer holiday. I realise it now, my dear; rather late in the day, perhaps, but not too late! I will arrange that you join your family at the sea before the end of the week."

Darsie gasped, and sat back on her heels, breathless with surprise and dismay. Yes! dismay; extraordinary though it might appear, no spark of joy or expectation lightened the shocked confusion of her mind. We can never succeed in turning back the wheels of time so as to take up a position as it would have been if the disturbing element had not occurred. The holiday visit to the seaside would have been joy untold _if_ Aunt Maria had never appeared and given her unwelcome invitation, but now!--now a return to Seaview would be in the character of a truant carrying within her heart the consciousness of failure and defeat. In the moment's silence which followed Aunt Maria's startling announcement the words of advice and exhortation spoken by her father pa.s.sed one by one through Darsie's brain.

"If you cannot have what you like, try to like what you have... Put yourself now and then in your aunt's place.--A sacrifice grudgingly performed is no sacrifice at all... What is worth doing at all, is worth doing well."

Each word condemned her afresh; she stood as judge before the tribunal of her own conscience, and the verdict was in every case the same.

Guilty! She had not tried; she had not imagined; everything that she had done had been done with a grudge; the effort, the forbearance, the courtesy, had been all on the other side... There fell upon her a panic of shame and fear, a wild longing to begin again, and retrieve her mistakes. She couldn't, she could _not_ be sent away and leave Aunt Maria uncheered, unhelped, hara.s.sed rather than helped, as the result of her visit.

"Oh, Aunt Maria," she cried breathlessly, "give me another chance!

Don't, don't send me away! I'm sorry, I'm ashamed, I've behaved horribly, but, I _want_ to stay. Give me another chance, and let me begin again! Honestly, truly, I'll be good, I'll do all that you want..."

Lady Hayes stared at her earnestly. There was no mistaking the sincerity of the eager voice, the wide, eloquent eyes, but the poor lady was plainly puzzled as to what had wrought so speedy a change of front.

With her usual deliberation she waited for several moments before replying, studying the girl's face with serious eyes.

"My dear, don't imagine that I am thinking of sending you back in disgrace. Not at all. I will take all responsibility upon myself, and explain to your parents that I have come to the conclusion that it would be a mistake to prolong your visit. It has been very dull for you alone with an old woman, and I am sure that though you have not always succeeded, you have at least had the intention of making yourself pleasant and agreeable."

"No!" Darsie shook her bright head in vigorous denial. "I haven't! I can be fifty times nicer than that, when I really try. Let me stay, Aunt Maria, and you'll see... It's quite true that I was cross at first. I hated giving up the holiday with the Vernons, and there seemed nothing to do; but I've changed my mind. I didn't know you, you see, and now I do, and I--I would like you to be pleased with me before I _go_! Please, _please_, Aunt Maria, let me stay!"

"Certainly, my dear, I shall be most pleased." Lady Hayes still wore a somewhat puzzled expression, but she was undoubtedly gratified by the girl's appeal, and Darsie bent forward and kissed her cheek with the feeling of one who has narrowly escaped a great danger.

"That's settled, and now we are going to live happily ever after!"

"Ah, my dear, I am afraid that is too much to expect! I have no amus.e.m.e.nts to offer you to relieve the dullness. My health obliges me to live a quiet life, and I have grown to dread change. Of course, there are plenty of books to read--improving, well-written books, very different from the rubbish published to-day. If you would like to have a little reading aloud, or I could give you lessons in knitting and crochet..."

Darsie laughed, a bright, audacious laugh.

"I wouldn't like it a bit! I've another plan to suggest, fifty times nicer and more exciting. Suppose,"--she leaned her arms on the old lady's knee and looked gaily into her spectacled eyes--"suppose, instead of your trying to make me old with you, _I_ tried, for a time, to make you young with _me_? Eh? What do you think? Wouldn't it be far more fun!"

"You ridiculous child!" But Lady Hayes laughed in her turn, and showed no signs of dismay. "That would be too difficult an undertaking even for you. To make me young again, ah, Darsie! that's an impossible task."

"Not a whit more impossible than to make me old!" cried Darsie quickly.

"Suppose we took turns? That would be only fair. Your day first, when you would read aloud dull books with the blinds half down; and then my day, when I'd read funny ones, with the blinds drawn up to the top, and the sun streaming into the room; your day, when we drove the ordinary round and came back to lunch; and mine when we went away over the hill and took a picnic basket and drew up at the side of the road, and ate it, and got milk from a cottage and drank it out of cups without saucers! Your night, when we played Patience; and mine when I showed you tricks and danced figure dances as we do at school. I'm _sure_ you'd like to see me dance the Highland fling! Now--now--promise! I _know_ you'll promise. I can see the softening in your eye!"

"Ridiculous child!" protested Lady Hayes once more, but Darsie was right; there was certainly a softening in her eye which bespoke a disposition to yield. In truth it was not so much of Darsie as of herself that Lady Hayes was thinking at that moment, for as the young voice spoke the old heart quickened with quite an agreeable sense of expectation. Years since she had read a "funny book," years since she had partaken of a picnic meal; years--many, many years since she had looked on while a young girl danced! Radical changes and innovations in the routine of life she could not face at this late day, but Darsie's girlish plan attempted nothing so ambitious. Let the child have her way! It would be interesting, undoubtedly interesting, to see how she behaved.

So Darsie gained her point, and for the next week she and her hostess played in turn the part of Mistress of the Ceremonies, to their mutual benefit and satisfaction.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

A DANGEROUS ADVENTURE.

One of the privileges gained by the alliance between aunt and niece was that the former veto against bicycle riding was withdrawn, and that Darsie was set free each afternoon for an hour's enjoyment of this favourite exercise.

In deference to Lady Hayes's nervousness and sense of responsibility the high-road was avoided as much as possible, and detours taken through quiet lanes, where traffic was reduced to a minimum; and it was along one of these lanes that Darsie rode joyously some five or six days after her visit to the Percivals, bearing in her pocket a return invitation to her new friends. She had been longing to meet them again, had keenly regretted a domestic upset which had delayed the invitation until now, but all the same the last days had pa.s.sed wonderfully quickly and happily. Afire with resolution to "begin again" and show herself in the light of a cheerful and cheering companion, she had neglected no opportunity to make herself agreeable to her hostess, while Aunt Maria in return had been sweetly considerate, and on occasions quite startling in her divination of hidden wishes and desires. The eyes behind the gold-rimmed spectacles would rest upon the girl's face with an intent scrutiny which seemed to have the power to draw free confidences, till to her own surprise Darsie found herself discussing fluently the all- important subject of her own future, and setting forth her hopes and fears in relation to a scholarship for Newnham. On this, as on almost every topic which came up for discussion, the old woman and the girl held almost diametrically opposite opinions, but so far Darsie had contrived to subdue her impatience, and to listen with some appearance of humility to Lady Hayes's somewhat sententious criticism.

"But I wonder if it can last!" she was asking herself doubtfully this afternoon, as she pedalled through the sweet-smelling lanes. "I wonder if I can possibly go on being so unnaturally good without falling ill from the strain! How I hope the Percival girls will be at home! If I can let off steam for an hour, and make as much noise as I like, it will be no end of a relief, and help me to last out without a relapse. I'd hate to have a relapse and spoil it all, just when I'm trying so hard; and she's really a dear, _quite_ an old dear! I love to please her.

Whenever I begin to feel scratchy I must make an excuse and get over to the Percivals for an hour to be soothed down. I do _hope_ they are in to-day!"

But alas! the butler announced "Not at home," in reply to Darsie's inquiry, then, seeing the blank disappointment on the young face, he added graciously: "The young ladies are out for a ride. They will probably be home about four o'clock. Will you not step in and wait?"

Darsie brightened instantly. Four o'clock, and she had promised to be back by five. Yes, she could enjoy half an hour's talk, and still leave ample time for the ride home, but as it was now barely three o'clock she did not feel tempted by the prospect of sitting cooped in the house for so long a time.

"Thank you," she said briskly. "I should like to wait, but I think I'll stay in the garden. Perhaps you would be kind enough to tell them when they return."

The man bowed and withdrew, and Darsie strolled away in the direction of the rose pergola, the beauty of which had attracted her so greatly on her first visit. She wandered up and down the archways, sniffed at the fragrance of the late blooms which still remained, indulged in a little of the sentimental poetising which seems to flow so readily when one is "alone among the roses," began to grow bored, wandered aimlessly ahead, grew very bored indeed, and, consulting her watch, was dismayed to find that only fifteen minutes had pa.s.sed away. Fifteen! and there still remained forty-five before her companions were likely to arrive! What could she find to do to while away a whole forty-five minutes? As a matter of prudence Darsie put the suggestion of the fruit garden resolutely aside. It would not be _safe_ to put herself in proximity with those tempting strawberries, since on a second visit to a house one was, unfortunately, not on sufficiently intimate terms to take without being asked.

She was contemplating getting on her bicycle and taking a short ride round the lanes, when the brilliant alternative of the river darted into her mind. Of course, the river! Nothing could be more delightful. She set off at a trot, taking in her inexperience many wrong turnings, but arriving at last at the river, or rather the peaceful backwater of the river which bordered the Percival grounds. To Darsie's mind the spot was the most picturesque on the whole estate, and a good many people could be found ready to agree with her in the conclusion; for the backwater though narrow was bordered by banks rich in reeds and bulrushes, while a hundred yards or so below the miniature jetty a pair of ancient wooden gates spanned the stream, through whose decaying beams could be seen fascinating peeps of a baby waterfall, and a great moss- covered wheel which proclaimed the former use of the old grey building of which it was a part. In olden times this quiet backwater had been a busy centre of industry, but the modern inventions of machinery had left it hopelessly in the rear. The mill-owner had been ruined long ago, and the mill-house, with its great panelled rooms, was given up to the occupancy of the rats, while the disused wheel was green with moss, and the wooden gateway threatened every day to fall free of its hinges.

The young Percivals could not remember the day when the mill had been working, but from a personal point of view they deeply regretted its cessation, for, deprived of the healthy action of the wheel, the little backwater was becoming every year more choked with weeds, until at some points it was difficult to navigate the punt.