CHAPTER XVI
The Thin Edge of the Wedge
It seemed to Mabel that Isobel's proposals, kindly worded and prettilymentioned, were always impossible of acceptance. She did nothing butrefuse these overtures to friendship for the next week or so. This wasthe more awkward since she was particularly anxious to make everythingnice for Isobel. But the proposals and the overtures seemed continuallyto occur in connexion with the Merediths. It was a ridiculous thing ofcourse that Isobel should be proposing anything in connexion with theMerediths.
Jean had now found some one after her own heart, one who did not waitfor invitations, but thought immediately on a plan for making one's selfknown to people. Isobel had already called on the Dudgeons. Herprogress was a royal one, and Mabel hated herself for the way she alone,though often with the backing up of Elma's companionship, kept out ofthings. She ventured to tell Jean why Robin no longer was a friend ofhers. Jean seemed then to think him all the more eligible for Isobel.This hurt more than one dared to believe. But Jean always had been fora direct way of dealing with people, sentiment not being in her natureat all. She considered it stupid of Mabel to bother about a man to whomshe had not even been engaged.
Mabel, rather morbidly clung to her pride after this, and refused Elma'srepeated pleadings to tell her mother and father. If one's own sistercalled one a donkey, it wasn't much encouragement to go on to morecriticism. Mabel would rather see Isobel married to Robin than say aword more on her own account. Elma worried about it as much as Mabeldid, and nothing would induce her to go near the Merediths. Mr. andMrs. Leighton noted the difference, but had to confess that changes of asort must come. Above all, Mabel was very young, and they did not wantto press anything serious upon her just then. Robin's behaviourremained so gentlemanly that no one could convict him of anything excepta sudden partiality for Isobel.
"They are all children of a sort," said Mr. Leighton, "and childrensettle their own differences best."
Isobel felt the difficulty of the number of girls in the place. Itappalled her to think of Elma's creeping up next, and making the stringlengthen. She looked with positive disapproval on Elma with her hairup. In a forlorn way, Elma felt the great difference between herseventeenth birthday, and that glorious day when Mabel entered into herkingdom.
Mabel was in trouble, Jean engrossed with her own affairs, and Isobelsweetly disdainful when Elma turned up her hair. She put it down againfor three weeks, and nobody seemed to be the least pained at thedifference.
At every visit to Miss Grace, she wondered whether or not it would bequite loyal to tell her about Mabel. Miss Annie and she were, however,so uncomprehending about anything having gone wrong, so interested inthe new cousin, that invariably Elma's confidences were checked by sucha remark as, "How very sweet Isobel looked in that pink gown to-day,"and so on. Then one had to run on and be complimentary about Isobel. Itseemed to Elma that her heart would break if Miss Grace, along withevery one else, went over to Isobel.
She was not to know that Adelaide Maud had been there before her.
"I can't quite explain," said Adelaide Maud to Miss Grace one day, "Ican't explain why I feel it, but this new cousin isn't on the same planewith the Leightons. There's something more--more developed, it's true,but there's also something missing."
"Something that has to do with being a lady?" asked Miss Grace in hertimid way.
"Exactly. I know my London types, and this isn't one I should fasten onto admire, although she makes rather a dashing brilliant appearance inher present surroundings."
"I'm a little concerned about that," said Miss Grace.
In spite of her uniform courtesy where Isobel was concerned she hadquite a talk with Adelaide Maud regarding her.
"I should fancy it's this," said Miss Grace finally, "that while shestays with the Leightons she has all the more income on which to lookbeautiful. I can't help seeing an ulterior motive, you observe. Isometimes wonder, however, what she will do to my little girls beforeshe is done with them."
The first thing Isobel did was to inflame Jean with a desire to sing.There was no use trying to inflame Mabel about anything. After Jean haddiscovered that she might have a voice there was nothing for it but thatshe should go to London. She begged and implored her father and motherto let her go to London. She was the only member of the family who hadever had the pluck to suggest such a thing. They had a familiar diseaseof home-sickness which prevented any daring in such a direction. Mabelhad twice come home a wreck before she was expected home at all, andinvariably vowing never to leave again.
And now Jean, the valiant, asked to be allowed to go alone to London inorder to study.
"It's Isobel who has done it," wailed Betty. "She's so equipped. Weseem such duffers. And it will be the first break."
Mr. Leighton groaned.
"Why can't you be happy at home," he asked Jean.
"Oh, it will be so lovely to come back," said Jean, "with it all--whatto do and how to do it--at one's fingers' ends."
"You don't keep your voice at your fingers' ends, do you?" asked Mrs.Leighton.
It seemed superb nonsense to her that Jean should not take lessons athome. Isobel marvelled to find that the real difficulty in the way ofJean's getting was this mild obstinacy of Mrs. Leighton's.
"I can tell Jean of such a nice place to live--with girls," said Isobel."And I know the master she ought to have."
"And we can't all vegetate here for ever," said poor Jean.
Nothing ever cost Mr. Leighton the wrench that this cost him, but heprepared to let Jean go.
Mabel and Elma would rather anything than that had happened just then.It had the effect of making Isobel more particular in being with Mabelrather than with Jean. Had she sounded the fact that with all Jean'sprotestations, Mabel was the much desired--that people were more keen onhaving the Leighton's when Mabel was of the party! Elma began tospeculate on this until she was ashamed of herself.
They played up for Jean at this juncture as though she were going awayfor ever. One would have thought there was nothing to be had in Londonfrom the manner in which they provided for her. Even Lance appearedwith a kettle and spirit lamp for making tea.
"You meet in each other's rooms and talk politics and mend yourstockings," said he, "and you take turns to make tea. I know all aboutit."
Maud Hartley gave her a traveller's pincushion, and May Turberville aneat hold-all for jewellery.
Jean stuck in her two brooches, one bangle, a pendant and a finger ring.
Then she sighed in a longing manner.
"If I use your case, I shall have no jewellery to wear," she said toMay.
At that moment a package was handed to her. It was small, and of theexciting nature of the package that is first sealed, and then disclosesa white box with a rubber strap round it.
"Oh, and it's from Bulstrode's," cried Jean in great excitement. "Theloveliest place in town," she explained to Isobel. "What can it be?"
It was a charming little watch on a brooch clasp, and it was accompaniedby a card, "With love to dear Jean, to keep time for her when she is faraway. From Miss Annie and Miss Grace."
"Well," said Jean, with her eyes filling, "aren't they ducks! And I'veso often laughed at Miss Grace."
"They are just like fairy godmothers," said Elma. "Jean! It's lovely."
She turned and turned the "little love" in her hand.
Where so many were being kind to Jean, it appeared necessary to AuntKatharine that she also must make her little gift. She gave Jean alinen bag for her boots, with "My boots and shoes" sewn in red acrossit.
"I don't approve of your trip at all," she said to Jean, "but then Inever do approve of what your mother lets you do. In my young days wewere making jam at your age, and learning how to cure hams. The storesare upsetting everything."
"I want to sing," said Jean, "and your bag is lovely, Aunt Kathie.Didn't you want very badly to learn the right
way to sing when you weremy age?"
Aunt Katharine sang one Scotch song about Prince Charlie, and it wasworth hearing for the accompaniment alone, if not for the wonderfulenergy with which Aunt Katharine declaimed the words. Dr. Merryweather,in an abstracted moment, once thanked her for her recitation, and thishad had the unfortunate result of preventing her from performing sooften as she used to.
"No, my dear," she said in answer to Jean's remark, "I had no desire tofind out how they sang at one end of the country, when my friendsconsidered that I performed so well at the other end. The best mastersof singing are not all removed from one's home. Nature and talent maydo wonders."
Then she sighed heavily.
"The claims of home ought to come first in any case. Your mother andfather have given you a comfortable one. It is your duty to stay init."
"Well, papa has inflamed us with a desire to excel in music. It isn'tour fault," said Jean. "And one can't get short cuts to technique inRidgetown."
"I quite see that your father places many things first which ought tocome last," said Aunt Katharine dismally. "Oh, I beg your pardon," sheexclaimed, for four girls, even including Jean with her boot bag, hadrisen at her, "I forgot that I am not allowed free expression in regardto my own brother-in-law."
Aunt Katharine could always be expected to give in at this point, but upto it, one was anxious.
Cuthbert came down to bid farewell to Jean.
"You are a queer old thing," he said to her. "Living in rooms is amucky business, you know."
"Oh, I shall be with twenty other girls," said Jean; "a kind of club,you know. Isobel says it's lovely. And then we get so _stuck_ here!"
Cuthbert admitted that it wasn't the thing for them all to be cooped upin Ridgetown.
"Couldn't stand it myself, without work," said he. "And then, it'sripping, of course."
It was lovely to have Cuthbert back, and he made a new acquaintance inIsobel. She had been a queer little half-grown thing when he had lastseen her.
In an indefinite way he did not approve of her, but finding her on termsof such intimacy with every one, he only gave signs of pleasure atmeeting her.
Elma was in dismay because there were heaps and heaps of things forwhich she wanted Cuthbert, and he only stayed two days. An idea that hecould put a number of crooked things straight, if he remained, made herplead with him to come again.
Cuthbert promised in an abstracted manner.
"Give me one more year, Elma, and then you may have to kick me out ofRidgetown," he said. "Who knows? At least, I shall make such a try forit, that you may have to kick me out."
Everybody nice seemed to be leaving, and Adelaide Maud was away.
It was rather trying to Elma that Isobel should about this period insiston visiting at Miss Annie's. Isobel seemed to be with them on everyoccasion, from the moment that Jean arranged to go to London.
Jean got everything ready to start. With Isobel's help she engaged herroom from particulars sent to her. It was the tiniest in a large houseof small rooms, but Jean, rather horrified at a detached sum of moneybeing singled out by her father from the family funds, was determined tomake that sum as small as possible. Mr. Leighton saw these preparationsbeing made and was helpful but dismal about them. Mrs. Leightonpresented her with a travelling trunk which would cover up and be made awindow-seat, no doubt, in that room where the tea parties were to occur.Everything was ready the night before her departure, and exactly at7.15, when the second dressing bell rang for dinner, as Betty explainedafterwards, Jean broke down.
This was an extraordinary exhibition to Isobel, who had travelled, andpacked, and always moved to a new place with avidity. She said now thatshe would give anything she was worth at that moment to be flying off toLondon like Jean.
"Oh," said Jean, "it's like a knife that has cut to-day away fromto-morrow, and all of you from that crowd I'm going to. Do you know,"she said, as though it were quite an interesting thing for them to hearabout, "I feel quite queer--and sick. Do you think that perhaps thereis something wrong with me?" She even mentioned appendicitis as apossible ailment.
"You are getting home-sick," said Mabel, who knew the signs.
Jean was much annoyed.
"You don't understand," she said. "I'm not silly in that way. I don'tfeel as though I could shed a tear at going away. I'm just over-joyedat the prospect. But I'm so wobbly in other ways. I'm really terrifiedthat I'm going to be ill."
Poor Jean ate no dinner. Jean didn't sleep. Jean perambulated thecorridors, and thought of the night when Cuthbert got hurt. She wishedthat she were enough of a baby to go and knock at her mother's door, asthey had done then, and get her to come and comfort her. She hoped herfather wasn't vexed that she had asked to go, and hadn't minded leavinghim. Then she remembered how she intended coming home--a full-blownprima donna sort of person--one of whom he should really be proud. Thisought to have set her up for the night, but the thought of it failed inits usual exhilarating effect.
The sick feeling returned, with innumerable horrors of imaginary pain,and a real headache.
Jean saw the dawn come in and sincerely prayed that already she had notappendicitis.
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