Janet's Love and Service Part 78

"And so did I," said Graeme.

"Well, dear little Etta Goldsmith pounced upon me the moment you left, and then it was too late. I did not feel sufficiently strong-minded to elbow my way through the crowd alone, or I might have followed you."

"I did not miss you at first," said Harry, "and then I wanted Charlie to go for you, but--"

"He very properly refused. Don't excuse yourself, Harry. And I had set my heart on comparing jackets with Miss Roxbury, too."

"Why did you not stay and speak to her at the door, then?" said Harry, who had rather lost his presence of mind under his sister's reproaches.

He had hurried after her, fully intending to take her to task for being so stiff and distant, and he was not prepared to defend himself,--

"Why didn't you wait and speak to her at the door?"

"Oh! you know, I could not have seen it well then, as she was in the carriage. It is very awkward looking up to carriage people, don't you think? And, besides, it would not have been quite polite to the Goldsmiths," added she, severely. "You know they befriended me when I was left alone."

"Befriended you, indeed. I expected every minute to see your feather take fire as he bent his red head down over it. I felt like giving him a beating," said Harry, savagely. Rose laughed merrily.

"My dear Harry! You couldn't do it. He is so much bigger than you. At least, he has greater weight, as the fighting people say."

"But it is all nonsense, Rose. I don't like it. It looked to me, and to other people, too, very much like a flirtation on your part, to leave the rest, and go away with that big--big--"

"Doctor," suggested Rose.

"And we shall have all the town, and Mrs Gridley, telling us next, that you--"

"Harry, dear, I always know when I hear you mention Mrs Gridley's name, that you are becoming incoherent. _I_ leave _you_. Quite the contrary.

And please don't use that naughty word in connection with my name again, or I may be driven to defend myself in a way that might not be agreeable to you. Dear me, I thought you were growing to be reasonable by this time. Don't let Graeme see us quarrelling."

"You look tired, dear," said Graeme, as they went up-stairs together.

"Well, it was a little tedious, was it not? Of course, it wouldn't do to say so, you know. However, I got through it pretty well, with little Etta's help. Did you enjoy the Roxbury party much?"

"I kept wishing we had not separated," said Graeme. "Oh! yes, I enjoyed it. They asked us there to-night to meet some nice people, they said.

It is not to be a party. Harry is to dine here, and go with us, and so is Mr Millar."

"It will be very nice, I daresay, only I am so very tired. However, we need not decide till after dinner," said Rose.

After dinner she declared herself too sleepy for anything but bed, and she had a headache, besides.

"I noticed you looked quite pale this afternoon," said Arthur. "Don't go if you are tired. Graeme, what is the use of her going if she does not want to?"

"Certainly, she ought not to go if she is not well. But I think you would enjoy this much, better than a regular party? and we might come home early."

"Oh! I enjoy regular parties only too well. I will go if you wish it, Graeme, only I am afraid I shall not shine with my usual brilliancy-- that is all!"

"I hope you are really ill," said Harry. "I mean, I hope you are not just making believe to get rid of it."

"My dear Harry! Why, in all the world, should I make believe not well 'to get rid of it,' as you so elegantly express it? Such great folks, too!"

"Harry, don't be cross," said f.a.n.n.y. "I am sure I heard you say, a day or two since, that Rose was looking thin."

"Harry, dear!" said Rose, with effusion, "give me your hand. I forgive you all the rest, for that special compliment. I have had horrible fears lately that I was getting stout--middle-aged looking, as Graeme says. Are you quite sincere in saying that, or are you only making believe?"

"I didn't intend it as a compliment, I a.s.sure you. I didn't think you were looking very well."

"Did you not? What would you advise? Should I go to the country; or should I put myself under the doctor's care? Not our big friend, whom you were going to beat," said Rose, laughing.

"I think you are a very silly girl," said Harry, with dignity.

"You told me that once before, don't you remember? And I don't think you are at all polite,--do you, f.a.n.n.y? Come up-stairs, Graeme, and I will do your hair. It would not be proper to let Harry go alone. He is in a dreadful temper, is he not?" And Rose made a pretence of being afraid to go past him. "Mr Millar, cannot you do or say something to soothe your friend and partner?"

Harry might understand all this, but Graeme could not, and she did not like this mood of Rose at all. However, she was very quiet; as she dressed her sister's hair, and spoke of the people they had seen in the afternoon, and of the exercises at the college, in her usual merry way.

But she did not wish to go out; she was tired, and had a headache, listening to two or three things at one time, she said, and if Graeme could only go this once without her, she would be so glad. Graeme did not try to persuade her, but said she must go to bed, and to sleep at once, if she were left at home, and then she went away.

She did not go very cheerfully. She had had two or three glimpses of her sister's face, after she had gone to the other side of the hall with Harry, before Miss Goldsmith had commenced her whispered confidences to Rose, and she had seen there a look which brought back her old misgivings that there was something troubling her darling. She was not able to put it away again. The foolish, light talk between Rose and Harry did not tend to re-a.s.sure her, and when she bade her sister good-night, it was all that she could do not to show her anxiety by her words. But she only said, "good-night, and go to sleep," and then went down-stairs with a heavy heart. She wanted to speak with Harry about the sharp words that had more than once pa.s.sed between him and Rose of late; but Mr Millar walked with them, and she could not do so, and it was with an anxious and preoccupied mind that she entered Mr Roxbury's house.

The drawing-room was very handsome, of course, with very little to distinguish it from the many fine rooms of her friends. Yet when Graeme stood for a moment near the folding-doors, exchanging greetings with the lady of the house, the remembrance of one time, when she had stood there before, came sharply back to her, and, for a moment, her heart grew hot with the angry pain and shame that had throbbed in it then. It was only for a moment, and it was not for herself. The pain was crossed by a thrill of gladness, for the more certain knowledge that came to her that for herself she was content, that she wished nothing changed in her own life, that she had outlived all that was to be regretted of that troubled time. She had known this before, and the knowledge came home to her joyfully as she stood there, but it did not lighten her burden of dread of what might lie in the future for her sister.

It did not leave her all the evening. She watched the pretty, gentle Amy, flitting about among her father's guests, with a feeling which, but for the guileless sweetness of the girl's face, the innocent unconsciousness of every look and movement, might have grown to bitterness at last. She watched her ways and words with Mr Millar, wishing, in her look or manner, to see some demand for his admiration and attention, that might excuse the wandering of his fancy from Rose.

But she watched in vain. Amy was sweet and modest with him as with others, more friendly and unreserved than with most, perhaps, but sweet and modest, and unconscious, still.

"She is very like Lily Elphinstone, is she not?" said her brother Harry in her ear.

She started at his voice; but she did not turn toward him, or remove her eyes from the young girl's face.

"She is very like Lily--in all things," said Graeme; and to herself she added, "and she will steal the treasure from my darling's life, as Lily stole it from mine--innocently and unconsciously, but inevitably still-- and from Harry's, too, it may be."

And, with a new pang, she turned to look at her brother's face; but Harry was no longer at her side. Mr Millar was there, and his eyes had been following hers, as Harry's had been.

"She is very sweet and lovely--very like Lily, is she not?" he whispered.

"Very like her," repeated Graeme, her eyes closing with a momentary feeling of sickness.

"You are very tired of all this, I am afraid," said he.

"Very tired! If Harry only would take me home!"

"Shall I take you home? At least, let me take you out of the crowd.

Have you seen the new picture they are all talking about? Shall I take you up-stairs for a little while."

Graeme rose and laid her hand on his arm, and went up-stairs in a dream.

It was all so like what had been before--the lights, and the music, and the hum of voices, and the sick pain at her heart; only the pain was now for Rose, and so much worse to bear. Still in a dream, she went from picture to picture, listening and replying to she knew not what; and she sat down, with her eyes fixed on one beautiful, sad face, and prayed with all her heart, for it was Rosie's face that looked down at her from the canvas; it was Rosie's sorrow that she saw in those sweet, appealing eyes.

"Anything but this great sorrow," she was saying in her heart, forgetting all else in the agony of her entreaty; and her companion, seeing her so moved, went softly away. Not very far, however. At the first sound of approaching footsteps he was at her side again.

"That is a very sad picture, I think," she said, coming back with an effort to the present. "I have seen it once before."

Charlie did not look at the picture, but at her changing face. An impulse of sympathy, of admiration, of respect moved him. Scarce knowing what he did, he took her hand, and, before he placed it within his arm, he raised it to his lips.