CHAPTER TWO.
Bed-time; my own room. May 14th.It is different from school! My room is simply sweet, all newly done upas a surprise for me on my return. White paint and blue walls, andlittle bookcases in the corners, and comfy chairs and cushions, and awriting-table, and such lovely artistic curtains--dragons making facesat fleur-de-lys on a dull blue background. I'm awfully well off, andthey are all so good to me, I ought to be the happiest girl in theworld, but I feel sort of achey and strange, and a little bit lonely,though I wouldn't say so for the world. I miss the girls.
It was awful this morning--positively awful. I should think there was aflood after I left--all the girls howled so, and I was sticking my headout of the carriage window all the journey to get my face cool before Iarrived. Father met me at the station, and we spanked up together inthe dog-cart. That was scrumptious. I do love rushing through the airbehind a horse like Firefly, and father is such an old love, and alwaysunderstands how you feel. He is very quiet and shy, and when anyoneelse is there he hardly speaks a word, but we chatter like anything whenwe are together. I have a kind of idea that he likes me best, thoughSpencer and Vere are the show members of the family. Spencer is theheir, and is almost always away because he is a soldier, and Vere isaway a lot too, because she hates the country, and likes visiting aboutand having a good time. She's awfully pretty, but--No! I won't say it.I hereby solemnly vow and declare that I shall never say nasty thingsof anyone in this book, only, of course, if they do nasty things, Ishall have to tell, or it won't be true. She isn't much with father,anyway, and he likes to be made a fuss of, because he's so quiethimself. Isn't it funny how people are like that! You'd think they'dlike you to be prim and quiet too, but they don't a bit, and the moreyou plague them the better they're pleased.
"Back again, my girl, are you? A finished young lady, eh?" said father,flicking his whip.
"Very glad of it, I can tell you. I'm getting old, and need someone tolook after me a bit." He looked me up and down, with a sort of anxiouslook, as if he wanted to see if I were changed. "We had good timestogether when you were a youngster and used to trot round with me everymorning to see the dogs and the horses, but I suppose you won't care forthat sort of thing now. It will be all dresses and running about fromone excitement to another. You won't care for tramping about in thickboots with the old father!"
I laughed, and pinched him in his arm. "Don't fish! You know very wellI'll like it better than anything else. Of course, I shall like prettydresses too, and as much fun as I can get, but I don't think I shallever grow up properly, father--enough to walk instead of run, and smilesweetly instead of shrieking with laughter as we do at school. It willbe a delightful way of letting off steam to go off with you for somelong country rambles, and have some of our nice old talks."
He turned and stared at me quite hard, and for a long time. He has sucha lot of wrinkles round his eyes, and they look so tired. I nevernoticed it before. He looked sort of sad, and as if he wantedsomething. I wonder if he has been lonely while I was away. Poor olddad! I'll be a perfect angel to him. I'll never neglect him for my ownamusement like Resolution number one! Sentence can't be finished.
"How old are you, child?" father said at last, turning away with a sighand flicking Firefly gently with the whip, and I sat up straight andsaid proudly--
"Nearly nineteen. I begged to stay on another half year, you know,because of the exam, but I failed again in that hateful arithmetic: I'ma perfect dunce over figures, father; I hope you don't mind. I can singvery well; my voice was better than any of the other girls, and thatwill give you more pleasure than if I could do all the sums in theworld. They tried to teach me algebra, too. Such a joke; I once got anequation right. The teacher nearly had a fit. It was the most awfulfluke."
"I don't seem to care much about your arithmetical prowess," fathersaid, smiling. "I shall not ask you to help me with my accounts, but itwill be a pleasure to hear you sing, especially if you will indulge mewith a ballad now and then which I can really enjoy. You are older thanI thought; but keep as young as you can, child. I don't want to lose mylittle playfellow yet awhile. I've missed her very badly these lastyears."
I liked to hear that. It was sad for him, of course, but I simply lovepeople to love me and feel bad when I'm gone. I was far and away themost popular girl at school, but it wasn't all chance as they seemed tothink. I'm sure I worked hard enough for the position. If a girldidn't like me I was so fearfully nice to her that she was simply forcedto come round. I said something like that to Lorna once, and she wasquite shocked, and called it self-seeking and greed for admiration, andall sorts of horrid names. I don't see it at all; I call it a mostamiable weakness. It makes you pleasant and kind even if you feelhorrid, and that must be nice. I felt all bubbling over with goodresolutions when father said that, and begged him to let me be not onlyhis playmate but his helper also, and to tell me at once what I coulddo.
He smiled again in that sad sort of way grown-up people have, whichseems to say that they know such a lot more than you, and are sorry foryour ignorance.
"Nothing definite, darling," he said; "an infinite variety of thingsindefinite! Love me, and remember me sometimes among the newdistractions--that's about the best you can do;" and I laughed, andpinched him again.
"You silly old dear! As if I could ever forget!" and just at thatmoment we drove up to the porch.
If it had been another girl's mother, she would have been waiting at thedoor to receive me. I've been home with friends, so I know; but mymother is different. I don't think I should like it if she did come!It doesn't fit into my idea of her, some way. Mother is like a queen--everyone waits upon her, and goes up to her presence like a throne-room.I peeped into the mirror in the hall as I passed, and tucked back someends of hair, and straightened my tie, and then the door opened, andthere she stood--the darling!--holding out her arms to welcome me, withher eyes all soft and tender, as they used to be when she came to say"good night." Mother is not demonstrative as a rule, so you simply loveit when she is. She looks quite young, and she was the beauty of thecounty when she was a girl, and I never did see in all my life anybodyso immaculately perfect in appearance! Her dresses fit as if she hadbeen melted into them; her skirts stand out, and go crinkling in and outinto folds just exactly like the fashion-plates; her hair looks as if ithad been done a minute before--I don't believe she would have a singleloose end if she were out in a tornado. It's the same, morning, noonand night; if she were wrecked on a desert island she would be a visionof elegance. It's the way she was born. I can't think how I came to beher daughter, and I know I'm a trial to her with my untidiness.
We hugged each other, and she put her hands on each side of my face, andwe kissed and kissed again. She is taller than I am, and very dark,with beautiful aquiline features, and deep brown eyes. She is veryslight--I'm sure my waist is about twice as big--and her hands look sopretty with the flashing rings. I'm awfully proud of my mother!
"My darling girl! How rejoiced I am to have you back. Sit down hereand let me see you. How well you look, dear--not any thinner yet, Isee! It will be delightful to have you at home for good, for Vere isaway so much that I have felt quite bereft. Sit up, darling--don'tstoop! It will be so interesting to have another girl to bring out!There are plenty of young people about here now, so you need not bedull, and I hope we shall be great companions. You were a sad littlehoyden in the old days, but now that you have passed eighteen you willbe glad to settle down, won't you, dear, and behave like the woman youare. Have you no little brooch, darling, to keep that collar straightat the neck? It is all adrift, and looks so untidy. Those littlethings are of such importance. I had such a charming letter from MissMartin, full of nice speeches about you. She says you sing so sweetly.You must have some good lessons, for nothing is more taking than a youngvoice properly trained, and I hope you have no foolish nervousness aboutsinging in public. You must
get over it, if you have, for I rely on youto help me when we have visitors."
"I want to help you, mother. I will truly try," I said wistfully. Idon't know why exactly, but I felt depressed all of a sudden. I wantedher to be so pleased at my return that she didn't notice anything butjust me, and it hurt to be called to order so soon. I looked across theroom, and caught a glimpse of our two figures reflected in a glass--sucha big, fair, tousled creature as I looked beside her, and my heart wentdown lower then ever. I shall disappoint her, I know I shall! Sheexpects me to be an elegant, accomplished young lady like Vere, and Ifeel a hoyden still, and not a bit a grown-up woman; besides, fathersaid I was to keep young. How am I to please them both, and have timeleft over to remember Miss Martin's lessons? It strikes me, UnaSackville, you have got your work cut out.
Mother brought me up to see my room. She has looked after it allherself, and taken no end of trouble making the shades. It looked sweetin the sunshine, and I shall love sitting in the little round windowwriting my adventures in this book; but now that it's dark I miss thegirls: I wonder what Lorna and Florence are doing now? Talking of me, Iexpect, and crying into their pillows. It seems years since we parted,and already I feel such miles apart. It seems almost impossible tobelieve that last night I was eating thick bread-and-butter for supperand lying down in the middle bed in the bare old dormitory. Now alreadyI feel quite grown up and responsible. Oh, if I live to be a hundredyears old, I shall never, never be at school again! I've been so happy.I wonder, I wonder shall I ever be as happy again?
The Heart of Una Sackville Page 2
