The Heart of Una Sackville

by Mrs. George de Horne Vaizey

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

  _October 4th_.Here I am! It is not a bit as I imagined, but ever so much nicer.Lorna looks sweet in grown-up things, and she thinks I look sweet inmine. She comes into my bed at nights, and we talk for hours. Thehouse is right in the middle of the town, in a dingy old square, wherethe trees look more black than green. It is ugly and shabby, but thereis plenty of room, which is a good thing, for I am sure it is needed.The doctor sits in his consulting-room all the morning seeing patients,who wait their turn in the dining-room, and if there are a great manyyou have to be late for lunch, but, as Lorna says, "That means anotherguinea, so we mustn't grumble!" They are not at all rich, because thesix boys cost so much to educate. They are all away at school andcollege, except the oldest and the youngest, of whom more anon.

  Dr Forbes is an old love. He has shaggy grey hair, and merry eyes, andthe funniest way of talking aloud to himself without knowing what he issaying. At lunch he will keep up a running conversation like this:"Nasty case--yes, nasty case! Poor woman, poor woman! Very littlechance--little chance--Very good steak, my dear--an admirable dinner youhave given me! Am-pu-ta-tion at eleven--mustn't forget the medicine.Three times a day. A little custard, if you please," and so on, and soon, and the others never take any notice, but eat away as if no one werespeaking.

  Mrs Forbes is large and kind, and shakes when she laughs. I don'tthink she is clever, exactly, but she's an admirable mother, and letsthem do exactly as they like.

  Wallace isn't bad. He is twenty-four, and fairly good-looking, and notas conceited as men generally are at that age. Personally, I preferthem older, but he evidently approves of me, and that is soothing to thefeelings. Julias, surnamed "Midas," is only twelve, and a most amusingcharacter. I asked Lorna and Wallace how he got his nickname, as we sattogether over a fire in the old schoolroom the first night. Theylaughed, and Wallace said--(of course, I call him Dr Wallace, really,but I can't be bothered to write it here)--

  "Because everything he touches turns to gold, or, to speak morecorrectly, copper! He has a genius for accumulating money, and has whatwe consider quite a vast sum deposited in the savings bank. My fatherexpects him to develop into a great financier, and we hope he maypension off all his brothers and sister, to keep them from theworkhouse. To do Midas justice, he is not mean in a good cause, and Ibelieve he will do the straight thing."

  "But how can he make money? He is only twelve. I don't see how it isto be done," I cried. And they laughed and said--

  "It began years ago--when he shed his front teeth. Mother used to offerus sixpence a tooth when they grew waggly, and we pulled them outwithout any fuss. We each earned sixpences in our turn, and all wentwell; but when Midas once began he was not content to stop, and workedaway at sound, new double teeth, until he actually got out two in oneafternoon. Then mother took alarm, and the pay was stopped. There wasan interregnum after that, and what came next? Let me see--it must havebeen the sleeping sickness. Midas grew very rapidly, Miss Sackville,and it was very difficult to get him to bed at nights, so as the materthought he was suffering from the want of sleep, she promised himthreepence an hour for every hour he spent in bed before nine o'clock.After that he retired regularly every night at seven, and on half-holidays it's a solemn fact that he was in bed at four o'clock, issuinginstructions as to the viands which were to be brought up for hisrefreshment! The mater stood it for a time, but the family financeswouldn't bear the strain, so she limited the hours and reduced the fee,and Midas returned to his old ways. What came after that, Lorna?"

  "I don't know--I forget! Of course there was Biggs--"

  "Ah, yes, Miss Biggs! Miss Biggs, you must know, Miss Sackville, is anancient friend of the family, whom we consider it a duty to invite for ayearly visit. She is an admirable old soul, but very deaf, very slow,and incredibly boring. Her favourite occupation is to bring downsheaves of letters from other maiden ladies, and insist upon readingthem aloud to the assembled family. `I have just had a letter fromLouisa Gibbings; I am sure you will like to hear it,' she will saycalmly, when the poor old parents are enjoying a quiet read afterdinner, and we youngsters are in the middle of a game. None of us havethe remotest idea who Louisa Gibbings may be, and don't want to know,but we are bound to listen to three sheets of uninteresting informationas to how `My brother in China contemplates a visit home next year.'`My garden is looking charming, but the peas are very poor this season.'`You will be grieved to hear that our good Mary still suffers acutelyfrom the old complaint,' etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. Last time shepaid her visit when Midas had his Easter holidays, and one day, seeingmother quite exhausted by her efforts at entertainment, he made thebrilliant proposal that he should take Miss Biggs off her hands for thesum of fourpence an hour. Mother agreed with enthusiasm, and Midas madequite a fortune in the next fortnight, with equal satisfaction to allconcerned. In the morning he took Miss Biggs out walking to see thesights, and gave her his advice in the purchase of new caps. In theafternoon the wily young wretch cajoled her into giving him an hour'scoaching in French, and in the evening he challenged her to draughts anddominoes, and made a point of allowing her to win. Mother had a chanceof attending to her work; father could read in peace; Midas was in acondition of such complacent good nature that he declared Miss Biggs wasa `ripping old girl,' and she on her part gave him the credit for being`the most gentlemanly youth she had ever encountered.' I believe she isreally attached to him, and should not wonder if she remembers himsubstantially in her will. Then Midas will have scored a doubletriumph!"

  Wallace and Lorna laughed as heartily as I did over these histories.They really are a most good-natured family, and Wallace treats Lorna aspolitely as if she were someone else, and not his own sister, which isvery different from some young men I could mention. I had put on myblue dress, and I knew quite well that he admired it and me, and thatput me in such good spirits that I was quite sparkling and witty. Hestayed talking to us until after nine, when he had to go downstairs towrite some letters.

  "Thank goodness! I thought he would never go. What a bore he is!"Lorna said, when the door closed behind him.

  I didn't feel like that at all, but I disguised my feelings, and toldher the details and the adventures of the last three months, and aboutVere, and the house, and my own private tribulations, and shesympathised and looked at everything from my point of view, in the nice,unprejudiced way friends have. It was very soothing, and I could havegone on for a long time, but it was only polite to return thecompliment, so I said--

  "Now we must talk about you! You said in your last letter that you hadmany troubles of which you could not write. Poor, sweet thing, tell meabout them! Begin at the beginning. What do you consider your verygreatest trial?"

  Lorna pondered. She is dark and slight, and wears her hair parted inthe middle, and puffed out at the sides in a quaint fashion that justsuits her style. She wrinkled her brows, and stared into space in arapt, melancholy fashion.

  "I think," she said, slowly, at last, "I think it is the drawing-room!"

  I was surprised, but still not surprised, for the drawing-room is awful!Big and square, and filled with heavy furniture, and a perfect shopfulof ugly ornaments and bead mats, and little tables, and milking-stools,and tambourines, and bannerettes, and all the kind of things that wereconsidered lovely ages ago, but which no self-respecting girl of our agecould possibly endure. Lorna told me thrilling tales of her experiencewith that room.

  "When I first came home, mother saw that I didn't like it, so she saidshe knew quite well that she was old-fashioned and behind the times, andnow that she had a grown-up daughter she would leave the arrangement ofsuch things to her, and I could alter the room as much as ever I liked.So, my dear, I made Mary bring the biggest tray in the house, and Ifilled it three times over with gimcracks of all descriptions, and sentthem up to the box-room cupboard. I kept about three tables instead ofseven, with really nice thing
s on them, and left a good sweep of flooron which you could walk about without knocking things down. I pulledout the piano from the wall, and lowered the pictures, and gathered allthe old china together, and put it on the chimney-piece, and--and--oh, Ican't tell you all the alterations, but you would hardly have known itfor the same room! It looked quite decent. When all was finished, Isent for mother, and she came in and sat down, and, my dear, she turnedquite white! She kept looking round and round, searching for thingswhere she had been accustomed to find them, and she looked as ifsomething hurt her. I asked her if she didn't like it, and she said--

  "`Oh, yes, it looks much more--more modern. Yes, dear, you have beenvery clever. It is quite--smart! A little bare, isn't it--just alittle bare, don't you think?'

  "`No, mother,' I said sternly, `not the least little bit in the world!It seems so to you because you have had it so crowded that there was noroom to move, but you will soon get accustomed to the room as it is, andlike it far better.'

  "`Yes, dear,' she said meekly, `of--of course. I'm sure you are quiteright,' and will you believe it, Una, she went straight into her ownroom, and cried! I know she did, for I saw the marks on her face lateron, and taxed her with it. She was very apologetic, but she said thelittle table with the gold legs had been father's first gift to herafter they were married, and she couldn't bear to have it put aside; andthe ivory basket under the glass shade had come from the first FrenchExhibition, and she had worked those bead bannerettes herself when I wasteething, and threatened with convulsions, and she did not dare to leavethe house. Of course, I felt a wretch, and hugged her, and said--

  "`Why didn't you say so before? We will bring them back at once, andput them where they were; but you have not tender associations with allthe things. You did not work that hideous patchwork cushion, forinstance, and--'

  "`No, but Aunt Mary Ryley did,' she cried eagerly, `and it is made outof pieces of all the dresses we wore when we were girls together. Ioften look at it and remember the happy times I had in the grey poplinand the puce silk.'

  "So, of course, the cushion had to come back too, and by the end of aweek every single thing was taken out of the cupboard, and put in itsformer place! They _all_ had memories, and mother loved the memories,and cared nothing for the appearance. I was sweet about it. I wouldn'tsay so to anyone but you, Una, but I really was quite angelic, until oneday when Amy Reeve came to call. She was staying with some friends afew miles off, and drove in to see me. You know how inquisitive Amy is,and how she stares, and takes in everything, and quizzes it afterwards?Well, my dear, she sat there, and her eyes simply roved round and roundthe whole time, until she must have known the furniture by heart. Isuffered," sighed Lorna plaintively, "I suffered _anguish_! I wouldn'thave minded anyone else so much--but Amy!"

  I said, (properly), that Amy was a snob and an idiot, and that itmattered less than nothing what she thought, but all the time I knewthat I should have felt humiliated myself, and Lorna knew it, too, butwas not vexed with me for pretending the contrary, for it is only rightto set a good example.

  "Of course," she said, "one ought to be above such petty trials. If afriendship hangs upon chiffoniers and bead mats, it can't be worthkeeping. I have told myself so ever since, but human nature is hard tokill, and I _should_ have liked the house to look nice when Amy called!I despise myself for it, but I foresee that that room is going to be acontinual trial. Its ugliness weighs upon me, and I feel self-consciousand uncomfortable every time my friends come to call, but I am not goingto attempt any more changes. I wouldn't make the dear old mother cryagain for fifty drawing-rooms!"

  I thought it was sweet of her to talk like that, and wanted so badly tofind a way out of the difficulty. I always feel there must be a way,and if one only thinks long enough it can generally be found. I satplunged in thought, and at last the inspiration came.

  "Didn't you say this room was your own to do with as you liked?"

  "Yes; mother said I could have it for my den. Nobody uses it now; but,Una, it is hideous, too!"

  "But it might be made pretty! It is small, and wouldn't take muchfurnishing. You could pick up a few odds and ends from other rooms thatwould not be missed."

  "Oh, yes, mother wouldn't mind that, and the green felting on the flooris quite nice and new; but the paint, and the paper-saffron roses--andgold skriggles--and a light oak door! How could you possibly makeanything look artistic against such a background?"

  "You couldn't, and it wouldn't be much fun if you could. I've thoughtof something far more exciting. Lorna, let us paper and paint itourselves! Let us go to town to-morrow, and choose the very, very mostartistic and up-to-date paper that can be bought, and buy some tins ofenamel, and turn workmen every morning. Oh, do! I should love it; andyou were saying only an hour ago that you did not know how to amuse mein the mornings. If we did the room together you would always associateme with it, and I should feel as if it were partly mine, and be able toimagine just where you were sitting. Oh, do, Lorna! It would be suchripping sport!"

  She didn't speak for a good half-minute, but just sat staring up inecstasy of joy.

  "You angel!" she cried at last. "You simple duck! How can you think ofsuch lovely plans? Oh, Una, how have I lived without you all thesemonths? Of course, I'll do it. I'd love to! I am never happier thanwhen I am wrapped up in an apron with a brush in my hand. I'veenamelled things before now, but never hung a paper. Do you reallythink we could?"

  "Of course! If the British workman can do it, there can't be much skillrequired, and we with our trained intelligence will soon overcome anydifficulty," I said grandiloquently. "All we want is a pot of paste,and a pair of big scissors, and a table to lay the strips of paper on.I've seen it done scores of times."

  "So have I," said Lorna. "And doesn't the paste smell! I expect, whatwith that and the enamel, we shall have no appetites left. It willspoil our complexions, too, very likely, and make us pale and sallow,but that doesn't matter."

  I thought it mattered a good deal. It was all very well for her, butshe wasn't staying with a friend who had an interesting grown-upbrother. Even the finest natures can be inconsiderate sometimes.