More Bywords Part 12

Jane will be disappointed if I cannot have her rival candidate--a pet schoolgirl who works under the Bourne Parva dressmaker. "What a recommendation!" cries Pica, and there is a burst of mirth, at which Jane looks round and says, "What is there to laugh at? Miss Dadworthy is a real good woman, and a real old Bourne Parva person, so that you may be quite sure Martha will have learnt no nonsense to begin with."

"No," says Pica, "from all such pomps and vanities as style, she will be quite clear."

While Avice's friendship goes as far as to say that if Aunt Charlotte cannot have Maude, perhaps Martha could get a little more training. Whereupon Jane runs off by the yard explanations of the admirable training--religious, moral, and intellectual--of Bourne Parva, ill.u.s.trated by the best answers of her favourite scholars, anecdotes of them, and the reports of the inspectors, religious and secular; and Avice listens with patience, nay, with respectful sympathy.

12.--We miss Mary and Martyn more than I expected. Careless and easy-going as they seem, they made a difference in the ways of the young people; they were always about with them, not as dragons, but for their own pleasure. The presence of a professor must needs impose upon young men, and Mary, with her brilliant wit and charming manners, was a check without knowing it. The boating party came back gay and triumphant, and the young men joined in our late meal; and oh, what a noise there was! though I must confess that it was not they who made the most. Metelill was not guilty of the noise, but she was--I fear I must say it--flirting with all her might with a youth on each side of her, and teasing a third; I am afraid she is one of those girls who are charming to all, and doubly charming to your s.e.x, and that it will never do to have her among the staff. I don't think it is old-maidish in us to be scandalised at her walking up and down the esplanade with young Horne till ten o'clock last night; Charley was behind with Bertie Elwood, and, I grieve to say, was smoking. It lasted till Horace Druce went out to tell them that Metelill must come in at once, as it was time to shut up the house.

The Oxford girls were safe indoors; Isa working chess problems with another of the lads, Avice keeping Jane company over the putting the little ones to sleep--in Mount Lebanon, as they call the Druce lodging--and Pica preserving microscopic objects. "Isn't she awful?" said one of those pupils. "She's worse than all the dons in Cambridge. She wants to be at it all day long, and all through the vacation."

They perfectly flee from her. They say she is always whipping out a microscope and lecturing upon protoplasms--and there is some truth in the accusation. She is almost as bad on the emanc.i.p.ation of women, on which there is a standing battle, in earnest with Jane--in joke with Metelill; but it has, by special orders, to be hushed at dinner, because it almost terrifies grandmamma. I fear Pica tries to despise her!

This morning the girls are all out on the beach in pairs and threes, the pupils being all happily shut up with their tutor. I see the invalid lady creep out with her beach-rest from the intermediate house, and come down to her usual morning station in the shade of a rock, unaware, poor thing, that it has been monopolised by Isa and Metelill. Oh, girls! why don't you get up and make room for her?

No; she moves on to the next shady place, but there Pica has a perfect fortification of books spread on her rug, and Charley is sketching on the outskirts, and the fox-terrier barks loudly. Will she go on to the third seat? where I can see, though she cannot, Jane and Avice sitting together, and Freddy shovelling sand at their feet. Ah! at last she is made welcome. Good girls! They have seated her and her things, planted a parasol to shelter her from the wind, and lingered long enough not to make her feel herself turning them out before making another settlement out of my sight.

THREE O'CLOCK.--I am sorry to say Charley's sketch turned into a caricature of the unprotected female wandering in vain in search of a bit of shelter, with a torn parasol, a limp dress, and dragging rug, and altogether unspeakably forlorn. It was exhibited at the dinner-table, and elicited peals of merriment, so that we elders begged to see the cause of the young people's amus.e.m.e.nt. My blood was up, and when I saw what it was, I said--

"I wonder you like to record your own discourtesy, to call it nothing worse."

"But, Aunt Charlotte," said Metelill in her pretty pleading way, "we did not know her."

"Well, what of that?" I said.

"Oh, you know it is only abroad that people expect that sort of things from strangers."

"One of the worst imputations on English manners I ever heard," I said.

"But she was such a guy!" cried Charley. "Mother said she was sure she was not a lady."

"And therefore you did not show yourself one," I could not but return.

There her mother put in a gentle entreaty that Charley would not distress grandmamma with these loud arguments with her aunt, and I added, seeing that Horace Druce's attention was attracted, that I should like to have added another drawing called 'Courtesy,' and shown that there was _SOME_ hospitality _EVEN_ to strangers, and then I asked the two girls about her. They had joined company again, and carried her beach-rest home for her, finding out by the way that she was a poor homeless governess who had come down to stay in cheap lodgings with an old nurse to try to recruit herself till she could go out again. My mother became immediately interested, and has sent Emily to call on her, and to try and find out whether she is properly taken care of.

Isa was very much upset at my displeasure. She came to me afterwards and said she was greatly grieved; but Metelill would not move, and she had always supposed it wrong to make acquaintance with strangers in that chance way. I represented that making room was not picking up acquaintance, and she owned it, and was really grateful for the reproof; but, as I told her, no doubt such a rule must be necessary in a place like Oxford.

How curiously Christian courtesy and polished manners sometimes separate themselves! and how conceit interferes with both! I acquit Metelill and Isa of all but thoughtless habit, and Pica was absorbed. She can be well mannered enough when she is not defending the rights of woman, or hotly dogmatical on the crude theories she has caught--and suppose she has thought out, poor child! And Jane, though high-principled, kind, and self-sacrificing, is too narrow and--not exactly conceited--but exclusive and Bourne Parvaish, not to be as bad in her way, though it is the sound one. The wars of the Druces and Maronites, as Martyn calls them, sometimes rage beyond the bounds of good humour.

TEN P.M.--I am vexed too on another score. I must tell you that this hotel does not shine in puddings and sweets, and Charley has not been ashamed to grumble beyond the bounds of good manners. I heard some laughing and joking going on between the girls and the pupils, Metelill with her "Oh no! You won't! Nonsense!" in just that tone which means "I wish, I would, but I cannot bid you,"--the tone I do not like to hear in a maiden of any degree.

And behold three of those foolish lads have brought her gilt and painted boxes of bon-bons, over which there was a prodigious giggling and semi-refusing and bantering among the young folks, worrying Emily and me excessively, though we knew it would not do to interfere.

There is a sea-fog this evening unfavourable to the usual promenades, and we elders, including the tutor, were sitting with my mother, when, in her whirlwind fashion, in burst Jane, dragging her little sister Chattie with her, and breathlessly exclaiming, "Father, father, come and help! They are gambling, and I can't get Meg away!"

When the nervous ones had been convinced that no one had been caught by the tide or fallen off the rocks, Jane explained that Metelill had given one box of bon-bons to the children, who were to be served with one apiece all round every day. And the others were put up by Metelill to serve as prizes in the 'racing game,' which some one had routed out, left behind in the lodging, and which was now spread on the dining-table, with all the young people playing in high glee, and with immense noise.

"Betting too!" said Jane in horror. "Mr. Elwood betted three chocolate creams upon Charley, and Pica took it! Father! Come and call Meg away."

She spoke exactly as if she were summoning him to s.n.a.t.c.h her sister from ROUGE ET NOIR at Monaco; and her face was indescribable when her aunt Edith set us all off laughing by saying, "Fearful depravity, my dear."

"Won't you come, father?" continued Jane; "Mr. Methuen, won't you come and stop those young men?"

Mr. Methuen smiled a little and looked at Horace, who said--

"Hush, Janie; these are not things in which to interfere."

"Then," quoth Jane sententiously, "I am not astonished at the dissipation of the university."

And away she flounced in tears of wrath. Her mother went after her, and we laughed a little, it was impossible to help it, at the bathos of the chocolate creams; but, as Mr. Methuen said, she was really right, the amus.e.m.e.nt was undesirable, as savouring of evil. Edith, to my vexation, saw no harm in it; but Horace said very decidedly he hoped it would not happen again; and Margaret presently returned, saying she hoped that she had pacified Jane, and shown her that to descend as if there were an uproar in the school would only do much more harm than was likely to happen in that one evening; and she said to me afterwards, "I see what has been wanting in our training.

We have let children's loyalty run into intolerance and rudeness."

But Meg was quite innocent of there being any harm in it, and only needed reproof for being too much charmed by the pleasure for once to obey her dictatorial sister.

13, TEN A.M.--Horace has had it out with sundry of the young ladies, so as to prevent any more betting. Several had regretted it. "Only they did so want to get rid of the bon-bons! And Jane did make such an uproar." After all, n.o.body did really bet but Charley and the young Elwood, and Pica only that once. Jane candidly owns that a little gentleness would have made a difference.

Again I see this obtuseness to courtesy towards strangers. Our despised church has become popular, and so many of the young folks choose to accompany us that they overflowed into the free seats in the aisle, where I had a full view of them from above. These benches are long, and I was sorry to see the girls planting themselves fast at the outer end, and making themselves square, so as to hinder any one else from getting in, till the verger came and spoke to them, when Charley giggled offensively; and even then they did not make room, but forced the people to squeeze past. Isa could not help herself, not being the outermost; but she was much distressed, and does not shelter herself under Charley's plea that it was so hot that the verger should have been indicted for cruelty to animals. Certainly they all did come home very hot from walking back with the pupils.

Pica and Avice were not among them, having joined the Druces in going to Hollyford, where Horace preached this morning. Their gray serges and sailor hats were, as they said, "not adapted to the town congregation."

"It is the congregation you dress for?" said their uncle dryly, whereupon Pica upbraided him with inconsistency in telling his poor people not to use the excuse of 'no clothes,' and that the heart, not the dress, is regarded. He said it was true, but that he should still advocate the poor man's coming in his cleanest and best.

"There are manners towards G.o.d as well as towards man," he said.

I was too much tired by the heat to go to church again this evening, and am sitting with my mother, who is dozing. Where the young people are I do not know exactly, but I am afraid I hear Charley's shrill laugh on the beach.

14.--Who do you think has found us out? Our dear old Governor- General, "in all his laurels," as enthusiastic little Avice was heard saying, which made Freddy stare hard and vainly in search of them. He is staying at Hollybridge Park, and seeing our name in the S. Clements' list of visitors, he made Lady Hollybridge drive him over to call, and was much disappointed to find that you could not be here during his visit. He was as kind and warm-hearted as ever, and paid our dear mother such compliments on her son, that we tell her the bows on her cap are starting upright with pride.

Lady Hollybridge already knew Edith. She made herself very pleasant, and insisted on our coming EN Ma.s.sE to a great garden party which they are giving to-morrow. Hollybridge is the S.

Clements' lion, with splendid grounds and gardens, and some fine old pictures, so it is a fine chance for the young people; and we are going to hire one of the large excursion waggonettes, which will hold all who have age, dress, and will for gaieties. The pupils, as Mr. Methuen is a friend of the Hollybridge people, will attend us as outriders on their bicycles. I am rather delighted at thus catching out the young ladies who did not think it worth while to bring a Sunday bonnet. They have all rushed into S. Clements to furbish themselves for the occasion, and we are left to the company of the small Druces. Neither Margaret nor Emily chooses to go, and will keep my mother company.

I ventured on administering a sovereign apiece to Isa and Jane Druce. The first blushed and owned that it was very welcome, as her wardrobe had never recovered a great thunderstorm at Oxford. Jane's awkwardness made her seem as if it were an offence on my part, but her mother tells me it made her very happy. Her father says that she tells him he was hard on Avice, a great favourite of his, and that I must ask Jane to explain, for it is beyond him. It is all right about the Oxford girl. I have engaged her, and she goes home to-morrow to prepare herself. This afternoon she is delighted to a.s.sist her young ladies in their preparations. I liked her much in the private interview. I was rather surprised to find that it was 'Miss Avice,' of whom she spoke with the greatest fervour, as having first made friends with her, and then having constantly lent her books and read to her in her illness.

15.--S. Swithun is evidently going to be merciful to us to-day, and the damsels have been indefatigable--all, that is to say, but the two Londoners, who have lawn tennis dresses, and their mother's maid to turn them out complete. Isa brought home some tulle and white jessamine with which she is deftly freshening the pretty compromise between a bonnet and a hat which she wears on Sunday; also a charming parasol, with a china k.n.o.b and a wreath of roses at the side. She hopes I shall not think her extravagant, but she had a little money of her own.

Jane Druce displays two pairs of gloves and two neckties for herself and her sister; and after all Meg will not go; she is so uncouth that her mother does not like her to go without her own supervision; and she with true Bourne Parva self-appreciation and exclusiveness says--

"I'm sure I don't want to go among a lot of stupid people, who care for nothing but fine clothes and lawn tennis."

There was a light till one o'clock last night in the room where Avice sleeps with Charley and the dog; and I scarcely saw either of the Oxford sisters or Jane all this morning till dinner-time, when Pica appeared very appropriately to her name, turned out in an old black silk dress left behind by her mother, and adorned with white tulle in all sorts of folds, also a pretty white bonnet made up by Avice's clever fingers, and adorned with some soft gray sea-birds'

feathers and white down. Isa and Metelill were very well got up and nice. Metelill looks charming, but I am afraid her bouquet is from one of those foolish pupils. She, as usual, has shared it with Isa, who has taken half to prevent her cousin being remarkable. And, after all, poor Avice is to be left behind. There was no time to make up things for two, and being in mourning, she could not borrow, though Metelill would have been too happy to lend. She says she shall be very happy with the children, but I can't help thinking there was a tear in her eye when she ran to fetch her dress cloak for Jane, whom, by the bye, Avice has made wonderfully more like other people. Here is the waggonette, and I must finish to-morrow.

16.--We have had a successful day. The drive each way was a treat in itself, and the moon rising over the sea on our way home was a sight never to be forgotten. Hollybridge is charming in itself.

Those grounds with their sea-board are unique, and I never saw such Spanish chestnuts in England. Then the gardens and the turf! One must have lived as long in foreign parts as we have to appreciate the perfect finish and well-tended look of such places. Your dear old chief does not quite agree. He says he wants s.p.a.ce, and is oppressed with the sense of hedges and fences, except when he looks to the sea, and even there the rocks look polished off, and treated by landscape gardeners! He walked me about to see the show places, and look at the pictures, saying he had been so well lionised that he wanted some one to discharge his information upon. It was great fun to hear him criticising the impossibilities of a battle-piece-- Blenheim, I think--the anachronisms of the firearms and uniforms, and the want of discipline around Marlborough, who would never have won a battle at that rate. You know how his hawk's eye takes note of everything. He looked at Metelill and said, "Uncommonly pretty girl that, and knows it," but when I asked what he thought of Isabel's looks, he said, "Pretty, yes; but are you sure she is quite aboveboard? There's something I don't like about her eyes." I wish he had not said so. I know there is a kind of unfriendly feeling towards her among some of the girls, especially the Druces and Charley. I have heard Charley openly call her a humbug, but I have thought much of this was dislike to the softer manners, and perhaps jealousy of my notice, and the expression that the old lord noticed is often the consequence of living in an uncongenial home.

Of course my monopoly of the hero soon ended, and as I had no acquaintances there, and the young ones had been absorbed into games, or had fraternised with some one, I betook myself to explorations in company with Jane, who had likewise been left out.

After we had wandered along a dazzling stand of calceolarias, she said, "Aunt Charlotte, papa says I ought to tell you something; I mean, why Avice could not come to-day, and why she has nothing to wear but her round hat. It is because she and Pica spent all they had in paying for that Maude Harris at the Convalescent Home. They had some kind of flimsy gauzy bonnets that were faded and utterly done for after Commemoration week; and as Uncle Martyn is always growling about ladies' luggage, they thought it would be a capital plan to go without all the time they are down here, till another quarter is due. Avice never thought of its not being right to go to Church such a figure, and now she finds that papa thinks the command to "have power on her head" really may apply to that sort of fashion, we are going to contrive something for Sunday, but it could not be done in time for to-day. Besides, she had no dress but a serge."

"She preferred dressing her sister to dressing herself," I answered; and Jane began a.s.suring me that no one knew how unselfish that dear old Bird is. The little money she had, she added to Pica's small remnant, and thus enough had been provided to fit the elder sister out.

"I suppose," I said, "that Isa manages better, for she does not seem to be reduced to the same extremities, though I suppose she has less allowance than her cousins."

"She has exactly the same. I know it." And Jane caught herself up, evidently checking something I might have thought ill-natured, which made me respond something intended to be moralising, but which was perhaps foolish, about good habits of economy, and how this disappointment, taken so good-humouredly, would be a lesson to Avice. "A lesson? I should think so," said Jane bluntly. "A lesson not to lend her money to Isa"; and then, when I asked what she meant, she blurted out that all Isa's so-called share of the subscription for Maude Harris had been advanced by Avice--Pica had told her so, with comments on her sister's folly in lending what she well knew would never be repaid; and Alice could not deny it, only defending herself by saying, she could not sacrifice the girl. It was a very uncomfortable revelation, considering that Isa might have given her cousin my sovereign, but no doubt she did not think that proper, as I had meant it to be spent for this outing.