Philippa

by Mrs. Molesworth

turned on his heel, slightly raising hiscap as he did so, and strode off in another direction.

  "I must go, I'm very sorry, but I _must_ go! I don't know what's makinghim so cross this morning!" said Solomon's wistful gaze, as obediently,but most dejectedly, he trotted away--even his tail a different memberof society from what it had been a few moments previously.

  "Horrid, detestable man," thought Philippa to herself, feeling more thanhalf inclined to cry, partly from anger, partly from anxiety, a gooddeal from pity for Solomon.

  She replaced the unlucky spectacles and soberly made her way back to thehouse, her little fit of elation completely over, feeling, indeed, as ifall the mischievous imps in creation had conspired to thwart andembarrass her. To her relief, the being late for breakfast was notadded to her other misfortunes, for by the big stable-clock, which sheglanced at as she hurried in, she saw that it still wanted ten minutesto the hour, and when the bell rang she was ready to leave her room andcome down-stairs in orthodox propriety.

  Mrs Shepton welcomed her with a kindly "Good-morning," placing her asnear herself as was compatible with the etiquette of precedence sovigorously exacted in such formal society.

  The meal passed in silence, for this was one of the rules at WyverstonManor--talking only being allowed at certain repasts. And here it maybe as well to say that the girl's experiences of the manners and customsof the servants'-hall fell short of what her imagination had pictured.Thanks to Mrs Shepton's good management, the household was really to agreat extent a model one, and so far at least as the upper servants wereconcerned, Philippa came across nothing of a coarse or jarring nature.The extreme reserve of her own manner she did not attempt to relax, forshe thought she saw that the housekeeper approved of it, though sheendeavoured to temper it by gentleness and courtesy on all occasions.

  "Do tell me," she said, to Mrs Shepton, a day or two after her arrival,"do you like the way I behave? I was never in the same positionbefore--among a number of others, you know, in a large house like this.There is no need for me to get intimate with any one, is there? Beinghere only for such a short time; and yet I would not like to seem tohold myself aloof in any stiff and unusual way."

  Mrs Shepton's own voice had a trifle of stiffness in it as she replied:

  "You have no need, my dear, to be either familiar or stand-off; ourupper servants are all of a superior class, and, indeed, the youngerones too are most respectably connected."

  Philippa in an instant saw her mistake.

  "Oh, pray," she said, eagerly, "pray don't think I was hinting atanything of that kind. I mean,"--and she could not help reddening asshe spoke--"any sort of `giving myself airs' as it is called. I reallywant your advice and opinion as to my behaviour."

  The housekeeper softened in a moment.

  "Any one could see," she said, "that you have been brought up in asuperior way. It is not giving yourself airs to be what you havenaturally come to be, and no one of this house will like you the lessfor the advantages it's plain you've had--" She hesitated and stopped.The good woman was as little of a gossip as it was possible for one inher position to be, but she had begun to look for some kind ofconfidence on the young girl's part, some allusion to her home andchildhood, to her parents and bringing up, in return for what sheherself had already related to "Phillis Ray" of her own past history.For something about Philippa had almost at once appealed to hersympathy, and this want of response was just a trifle disappointing.Mrs Shepton glanced at her again. Philippa's eyes were cast down;indeed, the spectacles at all times made it rather difficult to judge oftheir expression. More than once the housekeeper had been on the pointof begging her to lay them aside for a little, that she might see "howshe looked without them." Just now, however, it was impossible not tonotice by her whole attitude and bearing that she was somewhat anxiousand depressed, and the elder woman's kind heart was touched; there mightbe reasons why the girl _could_ not tell her more.

  "I think, perhaps," she went on after the little pause of halfexpectation, "as you wish me to speak frankly, that you might joinrather more in the conversation--at supper especially. There's thatmaid of Mrs Worthing's--I don't know her well, she's never been herebefore--has not looked at you very pleasantly sometimes, and it doesn'tdo in this world to make enemies if you can help it."

  Philippa started slightly.

  "Do you mean the one they call Miss Bailey?" she said. "I really havescarcely noticed her. I--"

  "That's just it," interrupted Mrs Shepton; "not being noticed offendssome people more than anything you could say to them."

  Philippa looked grave.

  "Thank you for warning me," she said. "I will try to be more am--morefriendly to Miss Bailey in future."

  But unfortunately the mischief was already done.

  "Mrs Shepton," Philippa began again, after a moment's pause, liftingher head impulsively, "Mrs Shepton, I know what you are thinking--thatI might tell you more about myself, and I cannot tell you how much Iwish I could. But there are reasons which make it quite impossible--Ican tell you one of them--it would displease my--Mrs Marmaduke,exceedingly, if I explained to you how I came to enter her service."

  "Say no more, my dear," interposed the housekeeper, cordially. "Sayingwhat you have shows your confidence in me, and that is enough. I haveseen too much of life, and in my position one comes across strangerstories than you would believe, not to know that the most candid andstraightforward people are sometimes forced, by no fault of their own,into positions where they can't be outspoken."

  "Yes," said Philippa, feeling rather guilty, though to the housekeeperher tone only sounded sad, "yes; that must be the case sometimes. I--honestly, I may say for myself that I am naturally _very_ frank. Iwould give anything at the present moment, dear Mrs Shepton, to tellyou all about myself and my friends." She raised her charming eyes tothe kind woman's face--charming they were, and not only so in respect oftheir undeniable beauty, but also, and in perhaps still greater measure,from their candid and true expression. And in spite of the interveningspectacles, Mrs Shepton read them aright.

  "I will not distrust her in any way," she thought, "whether I ever cometo understand her or not.--There is just one thing I should like tosay," she began again, after a little pause, "something I should likeyou to promise me--if you are in any trouble or difficulty while you arehere, something, perhaps, that you would not like to worry your ladyabout, don't be afraid of telling me. I will give you the best advice Ican."

  "Thank you," said Philippa, heartily. "I will certainly promise youwhat you so kindly ask, and I suppose it is possible, with my being soinexperienced, that I might make mistakes. But you don't think, Ihope," she continued, with a touch of anxiety, "that Mrs Worthing'smaid has taken a dislike to me? I should not like to get anybody'sill-will."

  That she had some reason for fear was evident, and it added to thehousekeeper's sympathy for her, little as she could understand it.

  Her reply was not altogether reassuring; she was too honest to make itso.

  "`Ill-will' is a strong word," she said, "but I can't say that I thinkMiss Bailey likes you; that was why I gave you the little warning aboutseeming so stand-off," "I will be very careful," said Philippa.

  And as the days went on, Miss Raynsworth felt more and more glad to havehad this conversation with the housekeeper, for, as she realisedincreasingly the complications to which by her rash action she wasexposing herself and her sister, she grew conscious of many littleawkwardnesses which she had never thought of or in the least foreseen,and which might have aroused the suspicion of a commoner-minded womanthan the good old housekeeper. Among these was the fact of herapparently receiving no letters, the importance of which she perhapsexaggerated, from Bailey's drawing attention to it once or twice whenthe servants'-hall correspondence was distributed at table. In realitythe letters she had received, under cover to Evelyn, had enormouslyadded to her anxiety and caused her the greatest distress--distresswhich was all the more hard to bear as she had to endure it
alone, forher parents charged her on no account to upset Evelyn, under thecircumstances of her present surroundings especially, by telling her oftheir very grave displeasure.

  "I cannot conceive," wrote her mother, "how you ventured to do such athing, so utterly to set at nought all your father and I _could_ not butfeel at a daughter of ours placing herself in such a position. Yourfather was on the point at first of setting off, at all costs, to bringyou back again, and it was only with the greatest difficulty that Ipersuaded him to give up doing so, by reminding him on whom the `costs'in this case