I done? How clumsy and rude I have been--just whenI did so want to be the opposite," for her poor little overture toCharlotte had been made in deference to a suggestion of her mother's,that without infringing Lady Mildred's rules, she might surely find somesmall opportunities of showing kindliness and sympathy to hercompanions. "I can only say I did not--oh, _indeed_ I did not mean tooffend you."
"You have found us all sufficiently well-bred to ask _you_ no questions,as you evidently wished to be considered a person apart; and I can'ttherefore see that you, on your side, can expect any confidences,"Charlotte said icily.
"No, no, of course not," said Claudia nervously. "But, Miss Waldron,you are forgetting--are you not going to correct that last paragraph?"for Charlotte was bundling up her books and preparing to stalk off withwhat she considered great dignity.
"Certainly not. I am not going to do anything so dishonourable as tocorrect my exercises by yours," said Charlotte.
"Oh, it would not be that--you know it would not be that," said Claudiasadly. "I know what is honourable and what is not so, though you willnot allow that I am nice in any way, now that I have offended you. Ionly explained the rule to you as mademoiselle had already done. Youhave not seen my exercise--you don't know what I have put."
But it was in vain. And the result, as might have been expected, wasthat Claudia's exercise was the only correct one, and that Charlottereceived for the first time a sharp reprimand from the French teacherfor inattention and indifference. And for the first time the praisesthat were lavished upon herself gave Claudia no pleasure, but instead,real pain and distress.
CHAPTER EIGHT.
THE OLD LEGEND.
"Jerry," said Charlotte suddenly, a few days after Claudia's unluckyattempt, "it's no use. I've tried and I've tried to like that girl, atleast to have no unkind feelings to her, and it's no good. Gueda hasgone now, and we--that girl and I--seem forced to be together ineverything, and I just hate it."
"But not _her_," said Jerry; "it isn't so bad if it's only the--thething, the way it's come, that you hate, not the girl herself."
"I don't know. I'm afraid it's much the same, and in a queer way Ithink I'd not mind so much if there were anything to hate about her, butthere isn't. Sometimes I could almost fancy myself liking her awfully,and that makes it worse."
Charlotte stopped writing altogether and gazed out of the window on tothe little deserted garden, looking blacker and drearier than ever inthis grim December afternoon, with a sort of despair in her face.
"In spite of her being so horrid and impertinent to you the other day--asking if you were going to be a governess--you--papa's daughter, andwith four brothers to work for you, even supposing you hadn't a father,"said Jerry wrathfully.
"But after all, perhaps, she didn't mean it in any horrid, patronisingway. I suppose very, very rich people really don't understand, as papasaid. Everybody that isn't as rich as they seems all much about thesame to them, I suppose."
Jerry gave a sort of growl.
"Then very rich people must be very vulgar and ill-bred," he said.
"I don't know," said Charlotte. "I try to say things to myself to makeme feel nicer about her, but it seems no good. I don't speak about itto mamma, because she told me it was better to fight down such feelingsin my own heart, and I could see it really made her unhappy. She is sodreadfully sympathising, and so gentle herself. I'm afraid there'ssomething almost fierce in me that she can scarcely understand, Jerry.But there's one thing that's the worst of all. I think I could standeverything else if it wasn't for the German prize. But if she getsthat--oh, Jerry, it will break my heart. And next week HerrMarklestatter will be giving out the notes for the essay. You know theprize is for the essay."
"Is she sure to try for it?"
"Oh, yes," said Charlotte. "The other girls are already saying that itlies between her and me. I don't know that _she_ has heard or thoughtmuch about it--she doesn't hear much of the talk that goes on, and I'msure I listen to as little as I can: it can't possibly matter to her asmuch as to me. It will be the first year I have not had it since HerrMarklestatter has taught us. Oh, Jerry, _isn't_ it hard?"
Jerry sat silent, as was his way when his feelings were deeply moved.
"It's more than hard, it's unbearable," he said at last. "I don't carehow lovely she is, and all that," he went on after a little pause, "shemust be a horrid, stuck-up, selfish creature."
"I don't know," said Charlotte, for the third time. "I don't think I_do_ think her so in the bottom of my heart, though sometimes it doesseem like it. But independently of her interfering so with me, I don'tunderstand her; she never tells any of us a thing. We don't know if sheis an orphan, or if she has any one she cares for, or anything. And yetthere is a look in her eyes--" and Charlotte's own eyes took a softerexpression, "a far-away look, _almost_ sad;--though what can she have tobe sad about?--she that has _everything_! I saw it one day when mammawas going to call for me, and I had to go half an hour sooner. I likeawfully when mamma calls for me, you know, Jerry, and I suppose I lookedpleased when I jumped up, and she was sitting beside me, and I wasalmost sure I heard her give a sort of little sob."
"I thought you said her father and mother had died when she was a baby,and that she couldn't remember them," Jerry remarked.
"No; I only said very likely they had. It was at the beginning of ourtalking about it, when I was saying she had everything, and you tried tomake out perhaps she wasn't clever,--oh, my goodness, she not clever!--and that she was an orphan, and--and--I am sure there was another thingyou said perhaps she had or hadn't."
"I know," said Jerry: "it was that perhaps she had to sleep in thehaunted room at Silverthorns. I just wish she had, and that the oldghost, the cruel old Osbert papa told us of, would appear to her andgive her a jolly good fright, and teach her to feel for others alittle."
"She isn't unfeeling in some ways," said Charlotte. "One day one of thedogs at Silverthorns--it's an old dog that belonged to Mr Osbert, andwas always with him, and now it's taken a great fancy to her, she says--well, it followed her, running after her pony-carriage all the way toschool, and she never saw it till it panted up to the steps and laythere as if it was dying. She was in such a state--the tears runningdown her face. She ran in with it in her arms, and begged Miss Lloyd tolet it stay; and when she went home again she had it packed up in ashawl beside her. Oh, she does look so nice when she drives off! Thepony and everything are so perfect. But I must go on with my lessons."
"So must I," said Jerry; and for a few minutes there was silence.
Then Charlotte looked up again.
"Jerry," she said, "I wish you hadn't said that about the ghost atSilverthorns; it makes me shiver. Supposing, just _supposing_ it did goto her, and that she was fearfully frightened, it would seem as if itwas our fault somehow."
"Rubbish!" said Jerry. "It wouldn't be our fault; we're not witches.Besides, it's all nonsense."
"I wonder if she has ever heard of it," said Charlotte. "I wonder ifthere is any truth in it."
And that evening, when all the family was together in the drawing-room,she spoke of it again to her father.
"Papa," she said, "do you remember telling us of a haunted room atSilverthorns? Is it _really_ true that there is one?"
"Perfectly true, as I told you, that there is a room which is _said_ tobe haunted," replied her father. "But I personally can't vouch foranything--at least for very little--beyond that."
Five, nay six pairs of ears, for Mrs Waldron was nearly as eager on thesubject as her children, pricked themselves up at this slight thoughincautious admission.
"`Very little,' you say, papa?" Charlotte exclaimed. "Oh, do tell uswhat the `very little' is. Who told it you? Did you hear it at firsthand, or how? and when? and from whom?"
Mr Waldron looked round him helplessly. He had spoken thoughtlessly,for even the wisest of us cannot be always on our guard. He had beenhalf asleep, to tell the truth, when Charlotte first roused him by he
rquestion, for he had had a hard day's work, and had driven some distancein the cold, and the arm-chair by the fire was very comfortable. He waswide awake now, however, and very much at a loss what to say. He hadalways, for reasons understood by his wife, avoided allusions toSilverthorns or the Osbert family; but of late, circumstances had seemedto force the place and its inhabitants upon the young Waldrons' notice;and if he tried to back out of what he had said,
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