Frederica and her Guardians Part 5

"It is not summer to madame to-night," whispered Tessie, laughing.

"We will invite her to our party, and that will comfort her," said her sister, and then she went upstairs to give private instructions to the boys' maid, that they were not to be put to bed at their usual early hour.

Mrs Ascot did not honour them with her presence, but the party was very successful notwithstanding. Mr and Mrs Vane were becoming quite indifferent to each other by this time; that is to say, no part of the happiness of either was of the other's giving. Mrs Vane was long past resenting the open indifference that had hurt her so much at first, and her husband never brought so much brightness with him in his brief visits, as to cause her to regret his absence very bitterly. She had quite resigned herself to the knowledge that it could not be otherwise now.

Still they had one interest in common. They cared for their children, each in a different way, and took a little pleasure in each other's society when their children were with them. Mr Vane was not a fond father, but his children were pretty and bright, and he had the selfish man's satisfaction in the possession of what other people admired. They were fond of him, and not in the least afraid of him. He never reproved or punished them, and was rarely impatient with them, for they were never long enough in his presence to weary him, or to interfere in any way with his comfort. So when the girls welcomed him to the drawing-room, he was quite prepared to enjoy an hour or two with them.

They all enjoyed it. They had much to say for awhile, and then they danced and sang, that is, the little boys danced with Tessie, and then they all sang, and doubtless a much larger and more discriminating audience would have been delighted with this part of the entertainment; for they all had sweet voices, especially Selina, and her sisters had been well taught; and two hours pa.s.sed away very quickly, Mr Vane thought.

After the little boys went to bed, the conversation somehow turned again on the subject of Frederica's young-ladyhood, and she once more suggested the question whether she had not learned "enough of things,"

and whether it was not time that she were leaving school.

"For indeed, papa, I have gone through all the books the girls ever go through at Mrs Glencairn's, and she has given me quite new books lately, French history, and a book about animals; but I could read these just as well at home."

"How very clever you must be!" said her father.

"No, papa, not particularly clever? at least, cleverness has nothing to do with it. But you know their French takes the other girls for ever to learn, and French is nothing to us who speak it at home. So I have just the dictation now, and learning poetry and easy things like that.

Indeed, I think it is just wasting money for me to go longer to school,"

added she, instinctively feeling that that argument her father might be brought to consider.

"I am afraid it would lead to wasting much more if you were to leave school," said her father, laughing. "To be sure you are such a child you could not be taken into society for a while yet, school or no school."

"Oh! as to that, I am in no haste about going into society; I only wish to be at home to take care of mama and Selina. Would it not be nice, mama?"

"It would not be nice for me to be left at school alone," said Tessie; "and as for you, I am afraid you would not have everything your own way.

Madame Ascot would spoil your pleasure a little."

"Oh! we could dispense with Mrs Ascot, if I were at home," said Frederica with dignity. "I could take charge of the house, and make less fuss about it than she does. Papa, won't you take it into your serious consideration? I have had enough of school."

"You have had enough of Mrs Glencairn I daresay. I think I must take into serious consideration whether it will not be better to send you to England for a year or two. I think it is the best thing I can do for you."

That was the last word spoken on the subject Mrs Vane was too startled by her husband's words to reply to them, and she touched Selina's lips to stay the exclamation that rose to them. Frederica and Theresa exchanged looks of dismay, but admonished by a look from their mother, neither of them spoke, and in a little time their father bade them good-night and went out.

"He did not mean anything, mama," said Frederica.

"He had not thought of it a minute before he said it, and he will forget it in a day. He often does forget things," said Tessie.

"We must not say anything to make him remember it," said their mother; "and for the present we may hear no more about it."

"And I must stay at school," said Frederica, pouting a little. "Mama, you don't know how nice it would be for you and Lina, if I were always at home."

"I can imagine it, dear. But we will not speak of it, lest I should have to lose you altogether for years to come."

CHAPTER FIVE.

The happy holidays pa.s.sed all too soon away, and it was not till the very last of them that Frederica went with her bundle of papers to the office of Mr St. Cyr.

"Mama could write a note and send Dixen, of course," said she to Theresa. "But in a matter so troublesome every care should be taken, and I shall go myself."

She almost wished she had not, however, when she reached his house. The outer door was standing open, and instead of ascending a step or two as to most other houses in the street, one went down a step to the threshold, and when that was pa.s.sed, the dark and gloomy hall looked not at all inviting to Frederica's eyes. It was too late to think of running away now, however, and she sat down in the dingy outer office to wait till her name was taken in to Mr St. Cyr. Her courage revived when he came out to her; for he welcomed her warmly, and asked her into his private office with great ceremony, quite as if she had been a grownup young lady, she told Theresa afterwards.

He took the papers, which the made haste to present as an excuse for her coming, and examined them carefully for a minute or two. He nodded his head and shrugged his shoulders, and said mademoiselle should have no more trouble with them, unless he were much mistaken. And then Frederica knew that the right thing for her to do would be to rise and thank him, and go away. But she did not. She sat looking round the dim room upon the numberless shelves and drawers and pigeon-holes, and then through the dusty window into a narrow court shut in by high Walls--as dismal a place as one could imagine. Her eyes were very grave when they came back again to Mr St. Cyr's face.

"Well, my little cousin, what do you think of it all?" asked he. "Do you live here always, Mr St. Cyr?"

"Yes; here by day, and upstairs at night."

"And do you live alone? Have you no one else in this house?"

"I have old Babette, whom you saw at the door."

"And no one else?"

"Is not that enough?"

"And has there never been any one else? And are you happy here?" asked Frederica, wonder struggling with the gravity in her face.

"Ah, well! as to that--like the rest of the world, I suppose," said Mr St. Cyr, with his wonderful shrug; but there came a look of pain over his face that startled the little girl, and made her wish that she had gone away before, so she rose hastily, and said,--

"Adieu--and--pardon me, Cousin Cyprien."

"To meet soon, my little cousin," said he, bowing over her offered hand, "as if I were quite grown up," thought Frederica again, in the midst of her confusion.

He went with her through the outer room and through the dim hall to the street door, and then a new thought seemed to strike him.

"You will think I am a wicked old spider sitting here in the dark to catch unwary flies, if I let you go so. You shall come upstairs to see that the sun shines here too, and that I am not altogether unlike my fellow-men, though I am quite alone. Come upstairs, my child."

Frederica gave one glance upward, and another into the sunny street.

She would much rather have gone away, but Mr St. Cyr was half-way up by this time, and so she could only follow. The stairs were as dim as the hall, and she saw nothing distinctly till she found herself in a large but not very lofty room. Mr St. Cyr drew aside the heavy curtains, and let in the sunshine.

"And now you shall sit here till I see what my Babette can find for your refreshment;" said he.

There were a great many beautiful things in the room. Though the furniture _was_ dark and old-fashioned, it was very rich and handsome of its kind. The curtains were of the richest damask, of a shade between crimson and brown, and the carpet was of the same colours, and so thick and soft that never a foot-fall could be heard in the room. There were vases and other ornaments on the mantel-piece, and a quaintly carved cabinet opposite, whose open doors showed many strange and beautiful things. There were pictures on the walls which made Frederica think of the great churches in which she had sometimes been.

It was not a pleasant room, notwithstanding all these beautiful things; but quite as gloomy, though in a different way, as the office downstairs. She did not move about to examine any of them, but sat looking at a lovely picture of a woman with a child in her arms, over which the morning sunshine fell. By-and-by Mr St. Cyr came in, followed by a little old woman in an odd dress, who carried a silver tray in her hand. On the tray was a china plate, with a bunch of grapes, which she set down on a little table at her master's bidding, and then left the room.

"And so you do not think it well to be alone, my little cousin," said Mr St. Cyr, when he had given the grapes into Frederica's hand. "Will you not come and stay with me then?"

Frederica did not answer for a moment. "You have learned enough of things you know," said he, with his odd smile. "If we can persuade Mr Vane to let you leave school, will you come and stay here with me?"

Frederica shook her head.

"I could not leave mama. She needs me."

"But she has your sisters, and I am quite alone. Your mother used to come here when she was a child."

"Did she? Yes, she told us so. That must have been a long time ago."

"A long time ago! And so you will not come?"