The Story Book Girls

by S. R. Crockett

  CHAPTER X

  Compensations

  Miss Grace brought home a delicate silver purse and a silver chain setwith torquoise matrix from Buxton for Elma.

  Mr. Leighton shook his head over the pretty gift.

  "Bribery and corruption," said he.

  But by that time Elma's soul had soared far above the heights or depthsof triumph or pettiness in connection with the sojourn of Miss Grace.Life had been moving swiftly and wonderfully. Jean indeed came homefrom hotel life, full of stories of its inimitable attractions; andnobody, although longing to be, had really been much impressed. Jeanserved to mark the milestone of their own development, that was all.She had left at one stage and come back at another. Where she hadimagined their standing quite still, they had been travelling new roads,looking back on their childish selves with interest.

  Mabel and Elma had been thrown much together, and Mabel had grown todepend on the silent loyalty with which Elma invariably supported her inthe trying time now experienced in connection with Mr. Meredith. WhereJean, bolt outright, complained that already Mabel had known him for amonth or two, and yet no hint of an engagement could be discovered, Elmasympathized with Mabel's horror of any engagement whatever.

  "It would be lovely to have a ring, and all that kind of thing," Mabelhad confided. "But fancy having to talk to papa and mamma about it!"

  It did not impede her friendship with Mr. Meredith however. He hadfound a flower which he intended to pluck, and he guarded it to allintents and purposes as one from which he would warn off intruders. Butthe reserve which made Mabel sensitive in regard to anything definite,her extreme youth, above all the constant espionage of her parents andsisters, led him to a tacit understanding of his privileges, a situationappalling to the business-like Jean.

  "If I had had my hair up, I should have had two proposals at Buxton,"said she, and the remark became historic.

  Cuthbert put it in his notebook. Whenever he wanted to overcome theauthority of Jean he produced and read it. She found her family atrifle trying on her arrival. She wanted to be able to inform them howthey should dress, and had a score of other things ready to retail tothem. Yet most of them fell quite flat, just as though she had had nospecial advantages in being at Buxton.

  Mr. and Mrs. Leighton talked this over together.

  "It makes me think," said Mrs. Leighton, "that you are not altogetherwrong in crowding them up at home here. Jean got variety, but she seemsto have lost a little in balance."

  "Still, that is just where experience teaches its lesson," said Mr.Leighton. "To get balance, one must have the experience. Yet Mabel, inan unaccountable manner, seems to be perfectly balanced before she hasreceived any experience at all."

  "Ah! I expect she will still have her experiences," said Mrs. Leightonin her pessimistic way. "No girl gets along without some unpleasantsurprise. Betty is longing for one. Betty complains that in storybooks something tragic or something wonderful happens to girls wheneverthey begin to grow up, but that nothing happens in this place. Nobodyloses money--if you please--and nobody gets thrown out on the world in apathetic manner to work for a living, for instance."

  "Do they want to work for their living?"

  "They do want to be sensational," said Mrs. Leighton with a sigh, "andas Elma says, 'We are neither rich enough nor poor enough for that.'"

  "Thank providence," said Mr. Leighton.

  His girls were much more of a problem to him than the direct Cuthbert,who had shown a capacity for going his own way rather magnificently fromthe moment he had left school. Mr. Leighton was determined to give hisgirls an object in life, besides the ordinary one of getting married."There is great solace in the arts," he had often affirmed, making itseem impossible that a girl should look on the arts as ends inthemselves, as a man would. "A girl must be trained to interruptions,"he used to declare. He made rather a drudge of their music inconsequence of these theories in connection with a career, but the hardtaskmaster in that direction opened a willing indulgence in almost anyother. It alarmed him when Mr. Meredith appeared so conspicuously onthe scene, when Mr. Meredith's sister called and invited Mabel to dine,when invitations crossed, until the Merediths and themselves became veryvery intimate. Elma had the wonderful pleasure of being allowed toaccompany Mabel. In the absence of Jean, she fulfilled that sisterlyposition in a loyal way, loving the exaltation of going out with Mabel,becoming very fond of the Merediths in the process. They had onlyrecently come from town to live near the Gardiners, and the whole placedid its duty in calling on them. There were only Mr. Meredith and hissister, and both were of the intensely interesting order rather than ofthe frank and lively nature of the like of the Leightons. Mr. Meredithsang, and Miss Meredith's first words to Mabel were to the effect thathe no longer wanted his sister to play for him after having had theexperience of Mabel as an accompanist.

  "Aren't you glad papa made us musical?" asked Betty of Mabel after thatcompliment.

  Mabel was glad in more ways than one. But it seemed a little hard thatjust then Mr. Leighton should insist on her going in for a tryingexamination in the spring.

  "When she ought to be getting the 'bottom drawer' ready," complainedpoor Jean.

  Nothing moved for Jean in the family just as she expected. She began towonder whether she shouldn't go out as a governess. _Jane Eyre_ hadalways enthralled her. It was one way of seeing life, to be verydown-trodden, and then marry the magnificent over-bearing hero.

  As a companion to Miss Grace, she had been a great success. Indeed,even Adelaide Maud was bound to confess that Jean had been just theperson to go with Miss Grace. Jean, in spite of her Jane Eyre theories,was so down on self-effacement. Her frank direct ways were the besttonic for a lady who had never at any time been courageous. Miss Gracewrote continually to Elma, "Jean has been very good in doing this--orthat," until Elma, swallowing hard lumps of mortification, had at lastto believe that she never could have done these determined, cool-heartedthings for Miss Grace in the same capable manner. She often wonderedbesides whether, even to have had the delight of being at Buxton, shecould have dropped the glamour of finding a new sister in Mabel, and ofbeing the daily companion of Adelaide Maud. For the time had now come,when, on being shown into Miss Annie's drawing-room, her duke,clean-shaven and of modern manners, had ceased to be really diverting,and in fact often forgot to attend to her in the pause when she awaitedthe coming of Adelaide Maud.

  Adelaide Maud kept her word. She reigned as vice-queen over MissAnnie's household, indulging that lady in all her little whims, for MissGrace's sake, and never omitted a single day for calling and seeing thatMiss Annie was comfortable. Adelaide Maud had theories of her own. Shesaid that every one in Ridgetown attended to the poor, but that shebelieved in attending to the rich.

  "Now who would ever have looked after Miss Grace if we hadn't?" sheasked Elma.

  Mrs. Dudgeon imagined she had other reasons for being so devoted to MissAnnie, and considered that Helen wasted her time in applying so much ofit to a bedridden invalid.

  "Whom do you see there?" she asked stonily.

  "Principally Saunders," said Helen, whose good temper was unassailable."Saunders is a duck."

  The "duck," however, was a trifle worried with these changes, "nothaving been accustomed to sich for nigh on twenty-five years, mum," ashe explained to Mrs. Leighton.

  But the great boon lay in the restored health of Miss Grace. She camehome shyly as ever, but with a fresh bloom on her face. What witheredhopes that trip recalled to life, what memories of sacrificial days goneby, what fears laid past--who knows! She was very gentle with MissAnnie, and boasted of none of her late advantages as Jean did. Indeed,one might have thought that the events of the world had as usual takenplace in Miss Annie's bedroom. But, with a courage born of new healthand better spirits. Miss Grace called one day on Dr. Merryweather. Ina graceful manner, as though the event had only occurred, she apologizedt
o him for the slight offered by Miss Annie.

  "I hope you know that you still have our supreme confidence," she said."It was your kind interest which persuaded me to go to Buxton."

  Dr. Merryweather seemed much affected. He shook her hand several times,but his voice remained gruff as she had always remembered and slightlyfeared it.

  "You must be exceedingly careful of yourself, Miss Grace," he saidbluntly, "Miss Annie has had too much of you."

  Too much of her. Ah, well, she could never reproach herself for havingspared an inch of her patience, an atom of her slender strength.

  "Remember," said Dr. Merryweather, "courage does not all lie inself-sacrifice, though"--and he looked long at the kind beautiful eyesof Miss Grace--"a great deal of it is invested there."

  He held her hand warmly for a second again, and that was the end of it.Miss Grace went home fortified to a second edition of her life with MissAnnie.

  Adelaide Maud gave up her semi-suzerainty over the masterful Saunderswith some real regret. It was fun for her to be engaged in anythingwhich did not entail mere social engagements. Miss Annie liked herthoroughly, liked the swirl of her tweed skirts, the daintiness of hersilk blouses, the gleam of her golden hair. Adelaide Maud had straightfine features, pretty mauve eyes ("They are mauve, my dear, no otherword describes them," she declared), very clearly arched eyebrows, and"far too determined a chin." "Where did you get your chin?" asked MissAnnie continually.

  "My father had the face of an angel. It wasn't from him," said AdelaideMaud. "I have my mother to thank for my chin."

  "Well, Heaven help the man who tries to cross you, my dear," said MissAnnie, who had a very capable chin of her own, as it happened. Thetired petulant look of the invalid only showed at the droop to thecorners of her mouth.

  Elma could no longer interest Adelaide Maud in Cuthbert. It seemed asthough he had no further existence. Until one day when she told herthat Cuthbert had an appointment which would last throughout the summer,and keep him tied to town. Then the chin of Adelaide Maud seemed toresolve itself into less chilly lines.

  "Oh, won't you miss him?" she suddenly asked.

  Adelaide Maud was the most comprehending person. She pulled Elma to herand kissed her when Elma said that it wasn't "missing," it simply wasn't"living" without Cuthbert.

  "I'm so sorry you quarrelled with him," she said to Adelaide Maud.

  Adelaide Maud grew stonily angry.

  "Quarrel with him?" she asked.

  It reminded Elma of the Dudgeon's first call

  "Oh, please don't," she cried in alarm.

  "Then I won't," said Adelaide Maud, "but will you kindly inform me whenI quarrelled with your brother Cuthbert."

  It was exactly in the tone of one who would never think of quarrellingwith the Leighton set. Elma grew quite pale, then her courage rose.

  "He thinks such a lot of you, and you don't think anything of him. Justas though we weren't good enough!"

  "Oh, Elma," said Adelaide Maud.

  "And he likes you, and keeps things you drop, and you won't even speakto him."

  "Keeps things I drop!"

  The murder was out.

  "Oh, I promised not to tell, how awful."

  Adelaide Maud grew very dignified.

  "What did I drop? Oh! I think I remember--my handkerchief!"

  Mrs. Dudgeon had reflected openly on the fact that it had never beenreturned to Helen.

  "I wanted to keep it till we saw you again, but he said he would give itto you when you were nice to him, or something like that."

  "Till I was nice to him!" The chin dimpled a trifle.

  "Somehow, I would rather he kept it," said Adelaide Maud dreamily.

  "Shall I tell him that?" asked Elma anxiously.

  "Tell him--what nonsense! You mustn't tell him a syllable. You mustn'tsay you've told me. It would be so ignominious for him to hear that Iknew he had been thieving! Thieving is the word," said Adelaide Maud.Although she talked in a very accusing manner, her voice seemed kind.

  "Mayn't I tell him you didn't mean to quarrel?" asked Elma anxiously."You don't know what you are to all of us."

  Here she sighed deeply.

  "No," said Adelaide Maud, "you mustn't tell him anything. I think hemust just wait as he suggested, until I am nice to him."

  "Until you deserved it, he said," cried Elma, triumphantly, rememberingproperly at last. "I knew it was something like that."

  "Then he may wait until he is a hundred," said Adelaide Maud with herface in a flame.

  It was difficult after this ever to talk to Adelaide Maud about Cuthbertwith any kind of freedom or pleasure.

  Elma went home that evening in the bewilderment of an early sunset.Bright rays turned the earth golden, the leaves on the trees laidthemselves flat in heavy blobs of green in yellow sunlight, the skyfaded to a glimmering blue in the furthermost east. A shower of rainfell from a drifting cloud and the drops hit in large splotches, firston Elma's hat, on her hand, and then in an indefinite manner stopped.As she turned into her own garden, the White House seemed flooded in agolden glow of colour.

  Then at last they heard thunder in the distance.

  Elma never forgot that shining picture, nor the thunder in the distance.It seemed the picture of what life might be, beautiful and safe in one'sown home, thunder only in the distance. The threatening did not alarmher, but the remembrance of it always remained with her. When thunderreally began to peal for the Leighton family, she tried to be thankfulfor the picture of gold.