The Eldest Son Part 42

"We haven't seen her with father yet."

"We shall at dinner. I really think she's rather a darling, Nancy. I think I shall give in."

Nancy announced her intention of holding out a little longer just to make sure. "She's just the merest trifle too sweet for my taste," she said. "I must be quite certain that it's part of her first."

"I'm sure it's part of her," said Joan. "She isn't any sweeter than Aunt Grace, and you like her."

"Aunt Grace is too sweet for my taste, although it is part of her, and isn't put on. I like people with more character. Toby, now--she's a ripper."

"Yes, I like her," admitted Joan. "She likes us too. I think she wants to egg us on to deal with Pipp."

"We shan't want much egging. We've got her a bit puzzled already. I don't think she's a bad sort, you know, Joan. I thought she'd give us bread and water when mother went away."

"She's not quite sure of herself yet. We'll go on playing at being High School girls for a bit. It's rather fun. Don't they wear their hair in pigtails?"

"We might plait our hair after breakfast to-morrow. And they always say 'Yes, Miss Phipp,' 'No, Miss Phipp.' You know that story we read?"

"We'll go through it again. We'll do all the proper things at lesson time, and outside the schoolroom we'll be our own sweet selves. It will be rather a bore going for walks with her."

"She can't be allowed to be instructive then."

"Rather not. She'll want firm handling, but I think we shall be equal to it."

"It may come to a tussle. But we've only got to keep our heads. There are two of us, and there's only one of her. We'll be kind but firm, and when she's learnt her place I dare say we shall get on all right, and everything will go swimmingly. What _has_ Hannah done with my hair-ribbon? Ring the bell loud, Joan, and go on ringing till she comes up."

CHAPTER XXV

A LAWN MEET

The Squire may have forgotten, when he gave his consent to Virginia being asked to Kencote on this particular date, that on the following day the hounds would meet at Kencote, and there was to be a hunt breakfast. He had his due share of stupidity, but he was clever enough to see, when he did realise what had happened, that Virginia's presence at Kencote on so public an occasion would spread abroad the fact of his surrender as nothing else could do so pointedly.

He did not half like it. He was not quite sure in his mind exactly what he had surrendered by consenting to receive her, but he was quite sure that he had never meant to give up his right to make her first visit her last if he did not approve of her, and when the mild January day dawned and he went into his dressing-room it was with a mind considerably perplexed, for he did not know whether he approved of her or not, and yet here were all these people coming, who would see her there, and possibly--the more officious of them--actually go so far as to congratulate him on the approaching marriage in his family.

He had gone as far as that. He recognised that, whatever he thought about the matter himself, the rest of the world, as represented by the people amongst whom he lived, would, undoubtedly, hold that there was cause for congratulation. He even went a little further, without admitting it to himself: he accepted the general verdict of his neighbours, that Virginia was a very beautiful and a very taking person. Only he had not taken to her himself. She had tried him hard, during the previous evening, and several times, especially after his first gla.s.s of port, he had nearly allowed himself to fall a victim to her charm. But he had just managed to hold out, and in the cold light of morning, and removed from her presence, thinking also of the company that was presently to a.s.semble, he frowned when he thought of her, and said aloud as he brushed his hair, which he always did the first thing in the morning, even before he looked at the weather-gla.s.s, "Confound the woman! Infernal nuisance! I wish the day was well over."

Presently, however, his thoughts grew rather lighter. It was a perfect day for his favourite sport, and he was going to hunt once more. He felt as eager as a schoolboy for it. Having received Virginia in his house, there was no object in seeking to avoid her in the field, and the relief to his mind in having nothing before him actually to spoil his pleasure in a day with the hounds was so great that it reacted on his view of Virginia, and he said, also aloud, as he folded his stock, "I wonder if she'll do after all."

But no; that was too much. Of course she wouldn't do. She was an American--well, perhaps that could be forgiven her: she was not glaringly transatlantic. She had been a stage-dancer. You had to remind yourself of the fact, but there was no doubt that it was a fact.

Ugh! She was the widow of a rascal, living on the money he had left her, which had been got, probably, by the shadiest of courses, if not dishonestly. That was positively d.a.m.ning, and he could not understand how d.i.c.k could complaisantly accept such a situation and prepare to live partly upon it. But perhaps she had very little money and was deeply in debt, and there would be difficulty about that later on. He had not thought of that before, and slid away from the thought now, as quickly as possible. He did not want to spoil his day's pleasure. But a gloomy tinge was imparted to his thoughts, and again he frowned at the idea of what lay before him when the neighbours for miles round would be collected and he would have his difficult part to play before them.

Virginia came down to breakfast in her riding habit, which is a becoming costume to no woman unless she is on a horse. The Squire had an old-fashioned grudge against hunting-women in general, and he was not cordial to Virginia, although he made every effort to act conformably to his duties as her host. Whatever inroads she might have made on his prejudice against her on the previous evening when, in a dress of black chiffon with touches of heliotrope about her neck and in her l.u.s.trous hair, she had looked lovely and surprisingly young, she held small charm for him now, and it was with difficulty that he brought himself to be polite to her, as she sat at his right hand during breakfast.

Fortunately some distraction was afforded to him by the presence of Miss Phipp, to whom he had just been introduced for the first time. He found her astonishingly plain, and he was the sort of man who finds food for humour in the contemplation of a plain woman. But in his present mild state of discomfort he found no food for humour in Miss Phipp's obvious disregard of her proper position in the house. Miss Bird had never spoken at the breakfast table unless spoken to. She would have considered it immodest to do so. Miss Phipp bore a leading part in the conversation, and as she had only one subject--the education of the young, in which the Squire possessed no overmastering interest--by the end of the meal he was seriously considering the necessity of giving her a snub.

Miss Phipp's thesis, which she developed with considerable force, and a wealth of ill.u.s.tration drawn from her previous experience, was that a woman's brains were every bit as good as a man's, and that she could do just as much in the way of scholarship if her training began early and was carried on on the right lines.

"What do _you_ think about it?" Miss Dexter asked of Nancy, who was sitting next to her.

"I think," replied Nancy, with a side glance at Miss Phipp, "that it depends a great deal on the teacher," at which Miss Dexter laughed, thus giving the answer a personal application.

"_Of course_ it depends a great deal upon the teacher. That is exactly what I said," Miss Phipp went on. "When I was at the High School there was a girl who had taken the highest possible honours at London University, but she was of no more use as a teacher than--than anything. Teaching is a gift by itself, and sometimes the best scholars do not possess it."

"I think we shall find a fox in Hartover," said the Squire. "I believe that fellow they lost a month ago has taken up his quarters there."

"At the same time," said Miss Phipp, "for the higher forms of a school you _must_ have women who are good scholars as well as with a gift for teaching."

When breakfast was over the twins went out of the room one on each side of Miss Dexter, to whom they had taken a warm fancy, and invited her to visit their animals with them. But Miss Phipp said at once, "Oh, but I shall want you in the schoolroom, girls. We are not to begin lessons until Monday, but we must lose no time then, and I want to find out beforehand exactly where you are."

The twins looked at one another. They were all standing in the hall.

"Sat.u.r.day is a whole holiday," said Joan.

"That I know," replied Miss Phipp, "but it is important that we should begin work on Monday without any delay. You can spare an hour. I shall probably not keep you longer."

The twins looked at one another again, and then at Miss Dexter, who preserved a perfectly pa.s.sive demeanour. "I think, if you don't mind,"

said Joan, "we would rather get up an hour earlier on Monday. We always feed the animals ourselves on Sat.u.r.days, directly after breakfast."

"Are you going to begin with me by showing disobedience?'" asked Miss Phipp. "I must insist now that you shall come upstairs with me."

The High School girls would have recognised this tone and quailed before it. But Nancy said, "We'll come if mother says we must," and Miss Phipp lost patience, and without another word walked into the morning-room, into which she had seen Mrs. Clinton go with Virginia.

The twins looked at one another once more, and then at Miss Dexter, who received their glance with a twinkle in her eyes. "Now you're in for it," she said.

But the twins were rather alarmed. "We weren't rude to her, were we?"

asked Joan.

"Hadn't we better go in to mother?" asked Nancy.

"No, it's all right; we'll wait here," said Miss Dexter, and they waited in silence until Miss Phipp marched out of the morning-room, pa.s.sed them without a word, and went upstairs.

"Now we'll go and put our hats on and go out and see the animals," said Miss Dexter; but just then Mrs. Clinton came out to them, looking rather concerned, and Miss Dexter left them and joined Virginia in the morning-room.

"What happened?" she asked eagerly.

"My dear Toby," replied Virginia, "are you going to foment a quarrel between those darling children and the bosom friend of your childhood?"

"No, I'm not," replied Miss Dexter. "I'm going to put her in the way of settling down here. What happened?"

"What happened? Why, she came in looking as red as a tomato, and said, 'Mrs. Clinton, I want the children to come into the schoolroom for an hour, and they refuse. Is it your wish that they shall disobey me?' or something like that."

"They didn't refuse. What did Mrs. Clinton say?"

"She said, 'Oh, surely not, Miss Phipp,' and it turned out, as you say, that they had only said that they would rather not. Then Mrs. Clinton said that she didn't want them to work on Sat.u.r.days, especially to-day, because of the meet, and the friend of your childhood flounced out of the room without another word. Toby, that good lady is as hot as pepper."

Then Mrs. Clinton came in again, and said, "I want the children to take Miss Phipp out to see their animals too. They have gone up to her.

Will you go too?"