Meredon. "But I must warn you that she is avery sociable child--the world seems to her a very much more delightfulplace than to most of us, for somehow she always manages to see the bestside of people."
"I hope she will see the best side of me then," said Lady Mildred,rather grimly; "for I am a cantankerous old woman, and too old now tochange. Claudia had better rub up her rose-coloured spectacles beforeshe comes my way."
And so, a fortnight later saw Lady Mildred's grand-niece installed asthe child of the house at Silverthorns, or, according to the localwiseacres who there, as everywhere, knew more of their neighbours'affairs than the neighbours themselves, as "her ladyship's adopteddaughter, heiress to Silverthorns, and all the great accumulation ofOsbert wealth."
And certainly the girl's sunny face and bright bearing gave some colourto Charlotte Waldron's belief that Claudia Meredon was one of thosefavoured human beings "who have _everything_!"
CHAPTER SEVEN.
MISUNDERSTOOD.
Claudia's success in the German class was, as Charlotte had expected,but the first of her triumphs. She had natural abilities of the firstorder; she had been excellently and most carefully taught, with theclose individual attention and sympathy which no teacher can give insuch perfection as a parent, rare though the parents may be who arefitted to teach their own children! And joined to these advantages shehad the most intense desire to learn, not merely from her innate love ofknowledge, but from the even nobler motive of wishing to help herparents. So that it was not to be wondered at that by the end of thefirst week Miss Lloyd, who had been requested by Lady Mildred to let herknow her opinion of her new pupil, sent to Silverthorns a mostsatisfactory report. For Miss Lloyd was honest to the backbone.
"Miss Meredon will make good progress, I have not the least doubt," shewrote; "but it is only fair to say that the credit will be mostly due toher own application and to the teachers who have already so thoroughlytaught her how to learn."
Lady Mildred showed Claudia the letter.
"It will not make _you_ vain," she said, "for it is your mother itpraises, not you. Miss Lloyd must be a straightforward sort of person;most schoolmistresses try to make out that their pupils know nothingwhen they go to them, and learn everything with them. Does she evercross-question you as to who those teachers of yours were?"
"No," said Claudia. "She asked me--or perhaps it was the Frenchgoverness--if I had ever been abroad, and I said no, and then I think Isaid I had always been taught at home."
"And the other pupils--do they seem inquisitive either?"
Claudia hesitated.
"I don't think they are more so than any girls would be," she said."I--I don't tell them anything, and of course they are accustomed tobeing very friendly and communicative with each other. I think they areall nice girls. The one I like the best--she and I do nearly all thesame lessons--is Charlotte Waldron. At least I think I could like herif I knew her; but--"
"But what? You are not going to begin pestering me to let you makefriends with her--her especially--I told you I don't like her family,"said Lady Mildred irritably.
"Oh no, aunt, I was only going to say, I don't know that she likes me,"said Claudia. "She is a very cold girl, except with some few whom sheseems to know well."
"Well, I hope you are cold to her in return," replied her aunt, thoughas she glanced at the bright eager face beside her, it was difficult toassociate it with the word.
"I try to do as you wish--as mamma explained," said Claudia gently."One thing I am sure of, Aunt Mildred, and that is that they all thinkme the very happiest girl in the world. And I almost think I am."
She stooped to kiss Lady Mildred as she spoke, and then ran off.
She had not forgotten to bring her rose-coloured spectacles with her,that was certain. And it was well for her that it was so. There weredifficulties in her present life that her mother had feared, but thatClaudia herself in her innocence was as yet but very vaguely consciousof. She was scrupulously anxious to follow her aunt's directions as toher behaviour to her companions, but to one so open-hearted and genialit was not easy to be only coldly courteous and always self-restrained.And the struggle gave her a curious sort of timidity and uncertainty ofmanner which was not perhaps without its charm, but made it difficult tounderstand her, even for those who cared to exercise any observation anddiscrimination.
"How do you like her, Charlotte? I do wish you would tell me?" askedGueda Knox one day, about a month after Miss Meredon's advent.
"I don't want to speak about her; I hate gossip," said Charlotteimpatiently.
"I'm not asking you to gossip," Gueda replied. "I really want to know.I think you might tell me; it can do no harm, as I am going away almostimmediately," for the Knox family, all excepting the vicar himself, wereobliged to spend fully half the year in the south of France for MrsKnox's health.
"That's just the worst of it," Charlotte replied impatiently. "If youhadn't been going away I would not have minded so much, but without youI shall be thrown more and more with her."
"That of itself is a pretty plain answer to my question," said Guedacomposedly. "Of course it means you dislike her."
"I have neither said nor implied that," said Charlotte. "I suppose itis wrong to dislike any one whom you really don't know any harm of," sheadded.
"But one does so. Everybody in the world dislikes others without realreason. Don't you remember Dr Fell?" said Gueda.
"No, it isn't that," said Charlotte. "I don't dislike her withoutreason. If you weren't going away, Gueda, I don't know that I wouldtell you anything. I do dislike her, and my reason is that she isinterfering with me in every way. Why did she come here at all? She ischarming, and rich, and clever--why couldn't she leave us all at peace?I am perfectly sick of her name--it is nothing but Miss Meredon this,Miss Meredon that, wherever you go. If you had heard Dr Lewis in thestreet yesterday, just raving about her."
"And papa is nearly as bad," said Gueda. "He saw her the other day whenhe called to see Miss Lloyd about the confirmation classes. I know howyou must feel, Charlotte. Of course it is much the worst for you,because you have been so incontestably the head of us all till now. Ican't help feeling it for you, only--"
"Only what?"
"If it is a wrong feeling--if it is--don't be angry, Charlotte--if it isjealousy," said Gueda.
"I can't help it. I've tried not to dislike her," said Charlotte.
"Have you told your mother?--you say you tell her everything. That mustbe awfully nice. I dare scarcely tell mine anything now, she's so ill,"said Gueda with a sigh.
"Poor Gueda," said Charlotte with quiet sympathy. "Yes, I have talkedabout it to mamma; but she thinks it is best not to say much about it toany one. She says it impresses some kinds of wrong feelings more on ourminds to talk about them. But how can I help it?--every moment it issomething new. Did you bear this morning how mademoiselle went on abouther French accent? And that duet that Mr Finlay will insist on ourlearning together! He said, Gueda, that I should take the bass becauseit was easier. Fancy that! he said it before her--Mr Finlay, who hasalways--"
She stopped.
"Yes, I know," said Gueda. "It is very hard for you, Charlotte."
"No one seems really to understand except Jerry, and now you," saidCharlotte. "I am afraid mamma is rather shocked at me. I supposegrown-up people don't understand these feelings," she added, littlesuspecting that the excess of her mother's sympathy was what made hershrink from much expression of it, and she sighed deeply. "Why do somepeople have _everything_!" she went on, reverting to her old refrain."It really does not seem fair. You know, Gueda, that it is a great dealbecause we are not rich that I want to get on very well. I may--don'tthink me very conceited--but I may be able to write books when I amgrown-up, or to do something of the kind."
"But you are getting on well--as well as you could possibly wish."
Charlotte shook her head.
"The teachers don't all think so _now_" she replied, "and I am l
osingheart. Oh, Gueda, _if_ I don't get the German prize!"
"You _must_," said Gueda. "I wish you could like her, Charlotte."
"No, I don't want to like her. I only wish she would go away--or stillmore, that she had never come. I don't want to like her and she doesn'twant it either."
Gueda looked rather perplexed.
"There's something in that," she said. "I don't think it's as much yourfault as might seem at first. I can't
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