The Story Book Girls Part 27

Elma herself was on the verge of being eligible for invitations. Mabel looked as though she did not mind much. Worrying thoughts of her own were perplexing her, thoughts which she could not share with any one just then. The spring of her life had been one to delight in. Tendrils of friendship had kept her safely planted where Jean, the revolutionist, tore everything by the roots. What was not good enough for Jean immediately was had up and cast away. What had not been good enough for Jean had been their own silly enthusiasm for the Story Books. Jean in her own mind had disposed of the whole romance of this by beating Theodora at golf. She now patronized Theodora, and ignored the others.

Adelaide Maud she already considered entirely _pa.s.se_.

The confidences of long ago were shaken into an unromantic present. The Dudgeons called ceremoniously twice a year, and invited the girls to their dances. Mabel and Jean went, occasionally with Cuthbert "cut in marble," and were inexpressibly bored in that large establishment.

"It doesn't seem to make up for other things that one sits on velvet pile and has a different footman for each sauce," Mabel declared. "We have to face the fact that the Dudgeon establishment is appallingly ugly."

So much for Mrs. Dudgeon's beaded work cushion effect.

"It's only a woman who would make you leave an early Victorian drawing-room for a Georgian hall, and get you on an ottoman of the third Empire, and expect you to admire the mixture," growled Cuthbert. It was this sort of talk that was to be had out of him after he had been to the Dudgeons' b.a.l.l.s.

Elma still prized her meetings with Adelaide Maud at Miss Grace's, but recognized where her friendship ceased there. There seemed no getting further into the affections of Adelaide Maud than through that warm comradeship at Miss Grace's, or through her outspoken admiration for Mr.

Leighton. And "Adelaide Maud had grown _pa.s.se_" Jean had declared.

The world seemed very cold and unreal at this juncture.

Mabel came into Elma's room one day looking very disturbed. There was a fleeting questioning look of "Are you to be trusted?" in her eye.

"You know I'm to be trusted, Mabs," said Elma, as though they had been discussing the iniquity of anything else. "You aren't vexed at Isobel's coming are you?"

"Oh, no," said Mabel quickly, "it isn't that, it's other things." She threw herself languidly on a couch.

"Haven't you noticed that the Merediths haven't been here for a fortnight?"

Elma brushed diligently at fair, very wavy hair. It fell in layers of soft brown, and shone a little with gold where the light touched the ripples, diligently created with over-night plaiting. She had grown, but in a slender manner, and was admittedly the _pet.i.te_ member of the family. There was a wealth of comprehension in the glance she let fall on Mabel.

"Mabel, you don't mean to quarrel with them do you?"

It seemed that the worst would happen if that happened.

"I don't suppose I shall have the chance," said Mabel. She took a rose out of a vase of flowers, and began to pluck absently at the petals.

"I think I should love to have the chance."

"Oh, Mabel," said Elma distractedly, "how dreadful of you! And how fatal it might be! I shouldn't mind quarrelling a little. I think indeed it would be lovely, if one were quite sure, perfectly convinced, that one could make it up again. That's why I enjoy a play so much.

Every one may be simply disgusting, but they are bound to make it up.

If only one could be absolutely safe in real life! But you can't. I don't believe Mr. Meredith would make it up."

"I am sure he wouldn't." Mabel plucked at a pink leaf stormily.

"That's why I should like to quarrel with him."

"Mabs, don't you care for him now?" Elma's eyes grew wide with trouble.

It was not so much that Mabel had given any definite idea of having cared for Mr. Meredith. It had been a situation accepted long ago as the proper situation for Mabel, that there should be an "understanding"

in connexion with Mr. Meredith. It established limitless seas of uncertainty if anything happened to this "understanding" except the most desirable happening. Mabel leaned her head on her hand.

"You see, dear," she exclaimed, "this is how it is. Long ago, papa so much disliked our talking about getting married, any of us, even in fun you know, that it was much easier, when Mr. Meredith came, just to be friends--very great friends, you know, but still--friends. Papa always said he wouldn't let one of us marry till we were twenty-three. That was definite enough. And he has been quite pleased that we haven't badgered him into getting engaged. Still, I always think that Robin ought to have said to him, once at least, that sometime he wanted to marry me. He didn't, I just went on playing his accompaniments, and being complimented by his sister. Now--now, what do you think? He has grown annoyed with papa for being so kind to Mr. Symington. Fancy his dictating about papa!" Mabel's eyes grew round and innocent.

"But that's because Mr. Symington is nice to you, perhaps," said Elma, as though this burst of comprehension was a great discovery on her part.

"Exactly," said Mabel calmly. "But if you leave unprotected a cake from which any one may take a slice, you can't blame people when they try to help themselves. Robin should be able to say to Mr. Symington, 'Hands off--this is my property,' and then there would be no trouble. As it is, he wants me to do the ordering off, papa's friend too!"

"What did you say to him, Mabel?" Elma asked the question in despair.

"I said that when Mr. Symington had really got on--then would be the time to order him off."

Mabel fanned herself gently. Then her lip quivered.

"I don't think papa ever meant to let me in for an ignominious position of this sort--but here I am. If Robin won't champion me, who will?"

"Oh, but surely," said Elma, "surely Robin Meredith would never----"

"That's the trouble. He would," said Mabel. "And once you've found that out about a man--you simply can't--you can't believe in him, that's all."

Elma sat in a wretched heap on her bed.

"I think it's horrid of him to let you feel like that," she said.

"Other men wouldn't. Cuthbert wouldn't to any one he cared for."

"Lots wouldn't," said Mabel. "That's why it's so ignominious, to have thought so much of this one all these years!"

"Mr. Maclean wouldn't," said Elma. She had always wondered why Mabel had ignored him in her matrimonial plans.

"No, I don't believe he would," said Mabel. "But that's no good to me, is it?"

"Mr. Symington wouldn't," said Elma.

"Oh, Elma!"

Mabel's eyes grew frightened. "That's what scares me. I sit and sit and say, Mr. Symington never would. It makes Robin seems so thin and insignificant. He simply crumples up. And Mr. Symington grows large and honourable, and such a man! And I'm supposed in some way to be dedicated to Robin. It's like having your tombstone cut before you are dead. Oh, Elma, whatever shall I do!"

Elma was quite pale. The lines of thought had long ago disappeared with the puckerings of wonder on her face. Here indeed was thunder booming with a vengeance, and near, not far off like that golden picture of years ago. Mabs was in deep trouble.

"You see what would happen if I told papa? He would order off Mr.

Symington in a great fright, because he has never thought somehow that any of us were thinking of him except that he is an awfully clever man!

I think also that papa would turn Robin out of the house."

"I believe he would," said Elma in a whisper.

"And then--how awful! All our friends, their friends! Everywhere we go, we should meet Sarah Meredith! What a life for us! I should like to quarrel--just because I'm being so badly treated, but the consequences would be perfectly awful," said Mabel. She took it as though none of it could be helped.

Elma was quite crumpled with the agitation of her feelings.

"You must tell papa, Mabel," she said gently.

"Oh, Elma, I can't--about Mr. Symington. Imagine Mr. Symington's ever knowing and thinking--'What do I care for any of these chits of girls!'

Robin has always got wild--if I smiled to my drawing master even. What I hate, is being dictated to now. And his sulking--instead of standing by me if there is any trouble. He isn't a man."

A sharp ring at the bell, and rat-tat of the postman might be heard.

Somebody called up that a letter had come for Mabel.