The Daughters of a Genius Part 22

"I'm sure I don't want you to slave for me. I am quite capable of doing my own mending, if you refer to that. I should _like_ to take more share in the housekeeping, but you are so jealous if any one interferes."

"Jealous! Oh, oh! Jealous!" repeated Philippa dramatically. Her eyes were beginning to grow tearful. Theo's dark brows met in an ominous frown; there were all the signs of a row royal, when Hope came flying to the rescue.

"Girls, girls, _be quiet_!" she cried, banging her fist on the table in imperative fashion. "You shall _not_ quarrel when we ought to be so happy! This is the best success we have had, and it would be disgraceful to spoil it by quarrelling like babies. You are both to blame, so no apologies are needed, but for goodness' sake smile and look pleasant."

"I'm sure I am only too willing. I want to smile if I am allowed," said Theo gloomily.

"I'm sure I don't want to quarrel. Perhaps I had better go away and leave you to yourselves, since I am such a wet blanket," sniffed Philippa into her pocket-handkerchief. Madge gave Hope a warning kick under the table, and began to chatter as unconcernedly as if nothing had occurred.

"You can always write 'Contributor to the _Casket, etc_,' beneath your name on the back of your MSS, Theo. No need to mention that the _et cetera_ means the _Penny Penman_! And if you intimate to all whom it may concern that you write anonymously for the _Casket_, you may get credit for half-a-dozen stories instead of one. I wonder what they will pay you for it, and how soon it will appear. Won't the Hermit be impressed? He says it is the only magazine worth reading. Do knock at the door and tell him, Phil, as you go out for your shopping."

Wily Madge wished to offer a sop to each of the combatants, and had the satisfaction of seeing Philippa smile faintly, and the complacent expression return to Theo's face.

"I knew it was a splendid story when I sent it off," said the author modestly. "Ten pounds at least, I should think, as it is such a first-cla.s.s magazine. It took me less than four days, with all the correction and rewriting. Ten pounds a week; how much is that a year?

If I earned five hundred a year it would make a difference in our exchequer, wouldn't it, Phil?"

The olive branch was held out with a smile, and as Philippa checked herself on the verge of remarking that it would be difficult to sell a story a week, peace was restored once more. The housekeeper went about her duties, and the author experienced that alternate elation and depression which follows artistic success. She had created something of real merit and power; that was a thrilling reflection, but quickly following came the dreary certainty that virtue had gone out of her, and she would never be able to do so well again. She hastened to her desk, hoping to disprove the dread by writing something better still; but, alas! her heroine sulked persistently, refused to be cajoled into conversation, and after being dragged through half-a-dozen pages, was promptly condemned to the flames. It appeared that even when one had begun to ascend the ladder there was imminent danger of falling off!

Years later, when Theo had made a name for herself as an author of power and originality, she used to look back on that morning and smile at her own ignorance in having supposed for a moment that the battle was won.

It was only begun, and it was a battle which had to be waged to the end.

There could be no sitting down and congratulating one's self on victory; no relaxation of care and study, for each fresh success brought its onus of responsibility, and made it more imperative for her to maintain her best. There were times when she thought wearily of Mr Hammond's suggestion of "the bonnet-shop," and realised that millinery would have been easier end more remunerative, but there was never an hour when she regretted her choice of a career. It seemed to her that no other work could be so absorbing--such a constant refuge from self.

Fortune had evidently made up her mind to smile upon the Charrington sisters this Christmas-tide, for Minnie Caldecott approved enthusiastically of the design for her concert programme, and the nursery frieze found a purchaser the first time it was exhibited. Madge had summoned courage to show the latter to "Pepper" on its completion, when he found a dozen faults, and made huge pencil-markings to ill.u.s.trate his meaning, the while the artist writhed in agony; but finally he turned up trumps in the most delightful manner by giving her an introduction to the firm with whom she finally transacted her bargain. Judging from the experiences of the past few months, she had a future before her in this particular branch of her art, and might in time make a comfortable income; but it was not in the least the work she had coveted. She burned to create great subjects on great canvases--to paint with strong, lurid brush--and lo! it appeared that it was her mission to design pretty leaflets and comic pictures for the nursery.

It was a blow, but Madge had the good sense to realise that it is better to excel in humble work than to struggle painfully after the unattainable.

As for Hope, she sang and danced about the house with a sudden return to her old light spirits, which puzzled two sisters, and furnished valuable copy to a third. The short interview with Truda Bennett had made everything rose-coloured again, though in truth it was a trifle exasperating to remember Mrs Loftus's invitation. Oh, to think that even now she might have been at The Shanty, with no secret promise to hinder her enjoyment of Ralph's society; that they might have been walking together along the country lanes; sitting side by side in the evenings!

"That tonic has given you quite a colour. I shall try it myself," said Philippa, looking up from her stocking-basket to admire the sweet pink-and-white face at the opposite side of the table. "Mr Neil was saying the other day that so few town girls have any colour. I have lost mine with sitting so much in the house, but I might try what a bottle would do. It only costs a shilling at that wholesale chemist's.

I do look such a faded old creature beside you, Hope; and, after all, I am only two years older!"

Hope laughed--a delightfully scornful, rea.s.suring laugh.

"Faded old creature, indeed! when we were only remarking this week that you were looking handsomer than ever. And happier, too. That's because Barney will be home so soon; isn't it, dear?"

"Of course. What else should it be?" said Philippa; and, to do her justice, she spoke in all sincerity.

Theo's suggestion that she should consult the Hermit as to Barney's future had been accepted with an unmoved face, and put into immediate execution; and as a result of the conference a letter was even now on its way to Mr Neil's younger brother in Canada, asking if it would be possible to receive the boy as a pupil on his large farm and ranch, and train him for future work on his own account. Philippa shed bitter tears at the thought of parting from her boy, but the Hermit insisted that it was the right thing to do, though he was much perturbed at the sight of her distress.

"I seem fated to make you cry," he said miserably. "Do you remember that first time! I shall never forget your face, all streaming with tears, and with such a miserable, helpless expression!"

"I must have looked very--ugly," said Philippa, with a sob. She reflected that by the same course of reasoning she must look ugly now, and dried her eyes with remarkable promptness, while the Hermit sat in admiration of her fort.i.tude.

If Barney was to be at home for a short time only, his sisters were determined to make that time as happy as possible, so that his recollections should carry with them no sting of reproach. In conclave together they agreed that the dear boy would be embarra.s.sed and depressed, and that all means must be taken to convince him of their full and free forgiveness, and to put him at his ease once more.

"I shall go to meet him," Philippa said. "It will be less trying for him than having to see us all at once. And I am going to put up new curtains in his room--he hated those old moreen atrocities--and make it look bright and cheerful, as if it had been kept ready for him all the time. I'm going to be so busy this week, I don't know how I shall get through all I want to do in the way of preparation."

Alas for Philippa! her work during the next few days was to lie in bed and burn and shiver with an attack of the prevalent influenza. Hope acted nurse, and Theo said blandly, "Don't worry, dear; I will look after the house. I know exactly what to do"--a statement which the invalid received with undisguised incredulity.

"Sh.e.l.l make an awful mess of it," she sighed; but Theo had no intention of failing. She was a clever, capable girl, who could do most things well if she chose to give them her attention; and, as we know, she had a special reason for displaying her housekeeping powers. She put aside her writing for the time being, studied the cookery-book and the shop windows in the morning, and in the afternoon enveloped herself in a huge white ap.r.o.n and put into practice what she had learned. All old housekeepers are apt to get into a rut and supply the same dishes over and over again, and Philippa was no exception to the rule, so it happened that the very novelty of Theo's menus commanded success, and the invalid was constantly a.s.sured that she need not hurry out of bed, since all was going on swimmingly without her. If she shed tears at the intelligence, it was put down to the depression which was a part of the illness, and she was urged to take a cup of Theo's beef-tea--"Such excellent beef-tea!"--or to take some of Theo's jelly--"Wonderfully good jelly!"--by way of restorative.

There could be no going to meet Barney now. The most she could do was to crawl out of bed an hour before he was expected and look on feebly at the final preparations. She searched for a dozen deficiencies--hoping, if the truth were told, to see tangible proofs of her absence--but all was orderly, dainty, and appropriate: the best china on the table, flowers in the vases, the fatted chickens roasting in the oven, and Barney's favourite pudding all ready to be served, with its whipped cream ornamented in professional style with candied cherries and angelica.

"You must sit still in that easy-chair, poor darling! _I'll_ carve,"

said Theo kindly; but Philippa felt much more inclined to snap than to be grateful for her consideration. She hated to be out of her usual place on this evening of all others, and to be obliged to play the part of spectator while Theo issued orders for the prodigal's reception.

"Madge, you must chatter as hard as you can. You are always bragging about your powers of conversation; now let us see what you can do.

There must be no awkward pauses. It doesn't matter what you say, but say _something_.--Hope, you had better run to the door and meet him first--no one could be afraid of _you_--and sit next to Steve at table, and stamp on his toes if he makes improving remarks. There will be plenty of time for that later on. We mustn't spoil the first evening.

We won't let Barney linger over the greetings, but hurry him off to his own room to prepare for dinner. It shall be served the moment he comes back. It is so much less formidable to talk when one is eating!"

She had thought of everything--all the little niceties of consideration which Phil herself had planned but had not yet put into words. She could think of no objection which would have been reasonable to advance, but made a feeble plea to be allowed to be first at the door, when Theo cried loudly, "My dear, with that face! You would frighten the poor boy into running away again!" and there was plainly no more to be said.

At six o'clock Barney's train was due at Waterloo. It was calculated that he would reach home before the half-hour, and soon after the quarter Theo set the front-door ajar, and the four sisters sat trembling with excitement, straining their ears for the first footstep. Steve and the Hermit were to bring the boy home from the station, and Philippa thought pitifully of his embarra.s.sment as he sat opposite the two solemn faces. This home-coming must be an awful ordeal, despite the letters of encouragement and forgiveness which had been sent to Madeira, and again to Southampton, and for her own part she dreaded to see the bright face clouded and ashamed.

The moments pa.s.sed and no one spoke; it was half-past six--twenty-five minutes to seven--and still Barney did not come. The invalid shivered and drew her shawl more closely round her; Theo poked the fire and swept the grate clear of ashes; Hope was in the act of leaving the room to peer over the banisters, when a sound from below startled all four sisters into instant attention. It was a sound with which they were all familiar; perhaps the last sound in the world which they expected to hear at that moment--a burst of merry, boyish laughter.

"Bar-ney!" gasped Phil in an incredulous whisper. The other girls stood like so many statues, frozen into the position in which the sound had reached them. The leaping footsteps drew nearer and nearer, a voice called out, "Avast, there, my hearties!" and a big, bronzed fellow threw open the door, and seizing each sister in turn, swung her off her feet in the ardour of his greeting. Madge's embrace was every whit as loving as that given to her sisters; for Barney had forgotten that he had left her in anger, forgotten her bitter words, as, alas! he seemed to have forgotten his own folly and wrong-doing.

There was no need for Theo's elaborate precautions; the truant was as absolutely, transparently at his ease as if he had been out for half-an-hour's stroll, instead of a voyage across the world. It was his sisters who sat silent and embarra.s.sed through the meal which followed, while he ate three helpings of chicken and pudding, and discoursed in picturesque fashion on a life on the ocean wave. Steve, always anxious to improve an occasion, had many questions to ask concerning the distant lands which had been visited; but though Barney could converse fluently enough on the iniquities of the sailors or the idiosyncrasies of the pa.s.sengers on whom he had waited, he was but a poor hand at useful information. What he approved was "ripping," what he disliked was "tommy rot," but these descriptions were hardly satisfactory from a geographic or climatic point of view.

By nine o'clock Philippa was wan and spent, and went off to bed, trying in vain to reason away the ache at her heart. It was all so different-- so very different from what she had expected! She did not want to see her boy broken in spirit, but this unabashed a.s.surance frightened her, as indicating a deeper carelessness and lack of moral fibre than she had suspected. It seemed incredible that Barney should show no sign of regret for the anxiety which he had caused; yet, on the other hand, what was the sense of writing that bygones were bygones, and all offences forgiven and forgotten, and then of lamenting because she was taken at her word! Philippa tossed restlessly on her pillow, and being weak and tired, cried steadily from the time she lay down until some one came into the room with her next dose of medicine, and turned up the gas over the mantelpiece.

"Don't, Hope," she cried weakly; but it was not Hope, but Barney himself, who raised her head on his arm and held the gla.s.s to her lips.

"Now then, old lady! I'm no end of a good nurse nowadays, so I thought I had better come and look after you myself. There was an old Johnny coming home from the Cape, in one of the deck-cabins." He stopped suddenly, and Philippa knew that he had noticed her tear-stained eyes.

"He was very bad, and I had to dose him every hour," he concluded lamely, then bent over her with curious gaze. "What have you been crying about? About _me_?"

"I'm--not well. It has upset me seeing you again, and thinking of all that has happened."

"Was it that that made you ill to start with--my going off, I mean!"

It was a curious change of feeling to have taken place in a couple of hours, but Philippa actually found herself wishing that she could answer in the affirmative, and casting about in her mind for some honest reply which would yet lay some burden of responsibility upon those careless shoulders.

"I have been laid up only a week, but I think I was run down by all the strain and suspense. We had a terrible fortnight--"

Barney frowned and drew his hand away from the coverlet.

"So had I. I was beastly sick. It is all right, though, Phil. I've brought home enough money to pay you back. I got some rattling good tips. That old Johnny I told you of--"

"Oh Barney, Barney, it was not the money! I never thought of the money," cried Phil, with such a wail of despair as brought the boy's eyes upon her with startled questioning. The two faces confronted each other, so like, yet so unlike, and the boy flushed darkly through his tan.

"Well, you needn't have worried about--_that_ either. I told you I would remember. I gave my promise, and I--kept it, Phil. There were lots of things I wanted to do. It was awfully dull not being able to go about with the other fellows, but I kept my word. And I wanted to spend the money, too. There was the 'cutest little monkey you ever saw, trained to do all sorts of tricks. It was jolly hard lines not being able to bring it home as a present to you girls, but I thought under the circ.u.mstances it might be bad form."

"Oh Barney, Barney!" cried Philippa, laughing uncontrollably even as the tears rolled down her cheeks. It was such balm in Gilead to know that the promise had been kept; it was so ridiculously, inimitably like Barney that he should mix up monkeys with the story of his repentance.

"I'm so very, very thankful for everything," she whispered; "for the things you didn't do, and--the monkey that didn't come. Kiss me, Barney. I shall get well quickly now that you are back."

Barney did as he was asked, not once, but many times over, and kept his big fingers clasped closely round hers while he asked anxiously:

"You won't want to send me back to an office, will you, Phil? The Hermit has been telling me about his brother in Canada. That's the sort of thing I should like if it could be arranged. It will be beastly leaving home again. I never knew it was such a thundering nice place until I left this time. But it is my only chance; I should never do any good in the City. You will let me go, won't you, Phil?"