by L. T. Meade
CHAPTER III.
Sibyl and her mother went to Grayleigh Manor on the followingSaturday. Sibyl was wild with excitement. Nurse was going, of course,to look after her, but Miss Winstead was to remain at home. Sibyl feltthat she could manage nurse, but there were moments when Miss Winsteadwas a little obstinate. She would have a delightful time now in thecountry with her perfect mother. Of course, there was the pain ofparting with father, who was just as perfect, if not a little more so.In her heart of hearts Sibyl felt that she understood her father, andthat there were times when she did not quite understand her mother;but, never mind, her mother was the perfection of all feminine beautyand loveliness, and grace and goodness, and her father was theperfection of all masculine goodness and nobility of character. Sibylin her heart of hearts wished that she had been born a boy.
"I am much more like a boy than a girl," she thought, "and that is whyI understand father so well. But it will be lovely going to thecountry with mother, my ownest mother. I expect I'll have great fun;and, as mother doesn't care so very much whether I am perfect or not,perhaps I can be a little naughty on my own account. That will belovely. I can't be really naughty with father, it is impossible;father is so very tall up, and has such grand thoughts about things;but I can with mother."
So Sibyl watched the packing of her dainty frocks and gay sashes andpretty ribbons, and then ran down to the smoking-room to kiss and hugher father.
Ogilvie was very grave and silent, and did not say a word, nor drawher out in any way, and her mother was out most of the time eitherpaying calls or shopping, and at last the day dawned when they were togo away. Ogilvie had kissed Sibyl with great passion the night before.
"Don't forget me while you are away, little woman," he said, "and lookafter mother, won't you?"
"She won't need me to look after her, she's quite, quite perfect,"said Sibyl; "but I'm going to watch her, and try to copy her."
"Child, don't do that," said the man.
"Not copy my ownest mother? What do you mean, father?"
"Well, well, darling, God will look after you, I do believe. You arenot far from Him, are you, Sib? You know we call you the Angel. Angelsare supposed to have their home in heaven."
"Well, my home is right down here on earth," said Sibyl in a verycontented tone. "I'll have a real jolly time away, I 'spect."
"I hope there will be some nice little boys and girls there with whomyou can play; and go to bed early, Sib, just for father's sake, anddon't forget to pray for me."
"I will, I will," said the child; "I always thank God for you becausehe made you so beautiful and good."
"Well, I am busy now; go to bed, little woman."
That was the last Sibyl saw of her father before she went away, for hedid not go to see his wife and daughter off, and Mrs. Ogilvie lookeddecidedly cross as they stepped into the train. But they soon foundthemselves at Grayleigh Manor.
Sibyl and her nurse were hurried off to the nursery regions, very muchto the little girl's secret indignation, and Mrs. Ogilvie seemed to beswept into a crowd of people who all surrounded her and talked eagerlyand laughed noisily. Sibyl gave them a keen glance out of those veryblue eyes, and in her heart of hearts thought they were a poor lot.
She and nurse had two nice rooms set apart for their own special use,a sitting-room and a sleeping-room, and nurse proceeded to unpack thelittle girl's things, and then to dress her in one of her prettiestfrocks.
"You are to go to tea in the schoolroom," she said. "There are two orthree other children there, and I hope you will be very good, MissSibyl, and not spoil this beautiful frock."
It was a white cashmere frock, very much embroidered and surrounded bylittle frills and soft laces, and, while absolutely simple and quitesuited to the little girl, was really a wonder of expense and art.
"It's a beautiful dress," she said; "you are wearing money now."
"Money," said Sibyl, "what do you mean?"
"This frock is money; you look very nice in it. Be sure, now, youdon't spot it. It would be wicked, just as if you were throwingsovereigns into the fire."
"I don't understand," said Sibyl; "I wish it wasn't a grand frock. Didyou bring any of my common, common frocks, nursie?"
"I should think not, indeed. Your fine lady mother would be angry ifshe saw you looking a show."
"If you speak again in that tone of my mother I'll slap you," saidSibyl.
"Highty-tighty!" said the nurse; "your spirit is almost past bearing.You need to be broke in."
"And so do you," answered Sibyl. "If mother is good you are not, andI'm not, so we both must be broke in; but I've got a bit of a temper.I know that. Nursie, when you were a little girl did you have a bit ofa temper of your own?"
"That I did. I was a handful, my mother used to say."
"Then we _has_ something in common," said Sibyl, her eyes sparkling."I'm a handful, too. I'm off to the schoolroom."
"There never was such a child," thought the woman as Sibyl dashedaway, banging the door after her; "she's not shy, and she's as sweetas sweet can be, and yet she's a handful of spirit, of uppishness andcontrariness. Well, God bless her, whatever she is. How did thatheartless mother come by her? I can understand her being the master'schild, but her mother's! Dear me, I'm often sorry when I think howmistook the poor little thing is in that woman she thinks so perfect."
Sibyl, quite happy, her heart beating high with excitement, poked herradiant little face round the schoolroom door. There were threechildren already in the room--Mabel, Gus, and Freda St. Claire. Theywere Lord Grayleigh's children, and were handsome, and well cared for,and now looked with curiosity at Sibyl.
"Oh, you're the little girl," said Mabel, who was twelve years ofage. She raised her voice in a languid tone.
"Yes, I _are_ the little girl," said Sibyl. She came forward withbold, confident steps, and looked at the tea table.
"Where is my place?" she said. "Is it laid for me? I am the visitor."
Gus, aged ten, who had been somewhat inclined to sulk when Sibylappeared, now smiled, and pulled out a chair.
"Sit down," he said; "you had better sit there, near Mabel; she'spouring out tea. She's the boss, you know."
"What's a boss?" said Sibyl.
"You must be a silly not to know what a boss is."
"I aren't no more silly than you are," said Sibyl. "May I have somebread and butter and jam? I'll ask you some things about town, andperhaps you can't answer me. What's a--what's a--oh, I'll think ofsomething real slangy presently; but please don't talk to me too muchwhile I'm eating, or I'll spill jam on my money frock."
"You are a very queer little girl," said Mabel; but she looked at hernow with favor. A child who could talk like Sibyl was likely to be anacquisition.
"What a silly you are," said Gus. "What did you put on that thingfor? We don't want frilled and laced-up frocks, we want frocks thatgirls can wear to climb trees in, and----"
"Climb trees! Oh," cried Sibyl, "are you that sort? Then I'm yourgirl. Oh, I am glad! My ownest father would be pleased. He likes me tobe brave. I'm a hoyden--do you know what a hoyden is? If you want tohave a few big larks while I am here, see to 'em quick, for I'm yourgirl."
Gus burst into a roar of laughter, and Mabel smiled.
"You are very queer," she said. "I don't know whether our governesswill like our being with you. You seem to use strange words. We neverget into scrapes--we are quite ladylike and good, but we don't weargrand frocks either. Can't you take that thing off?"
"I wish I could. I hate it myself."
"Well, ask your servant to change it."
"But my nurse hasn't brought a single shabby frock with me."
"Are all your frocks as grand as that?"
"Some of 'em grander."
"We might lend her one of our own brown holland frocks," said Freda.
"Oh, do!" said Sibyl; "that will be lovely."
"We are going to do some climbing this afternoon, so you may as wellput it on," continued Freda.
Sibyl clapped her hands with delight. "It's a great comfort comingdown to this place," she said finally, "'cos I can give way a little;but with my father and mother I have to keep myself in."
"Why?"
"It's mostly on account of my most perfect of fathers."
"But isn't Philip Ogilvie your father?" said Gus.
"Mr. Ogilvie," corrected Sibyl, in a very proud tone.
"Oh, fudge! I heard father call him Philip Ogilvie. He's not perfect."
Sibyl's face turned white; she looked full at Gus. Gus, not observingthe expression in her eyes, continued, in a glib and easy tone:
"Father didn't know I was there; he was talking to another man. Ithink the man's name was Halkett. I'm always great at rememberingnames, and I heard him say 'Philip Ogilvie will do what we want. Whenit comes to the point he's not too scrupulous.' Yes, scrupulous wasthe word, and I ran away and looked it out in the dictionary, and itmeans--oh, you needn't stare at me as if your eyes were starting outof your head--it means a person who hesitates from fear of actingwrongly. Now, as your father isn't scrupulous, that means that hedoesn't hesitate to act wrong."
Sibyl with one swift, unerring bang struck Gus a sharp blow across thecheek.
"What have you done that for, you little beggar?" he said, his eyesflashing fire.
"To teach you not to tell lies," answered Sibyl. She turned, went upthe room, and stood by the window. Her heart was bursting, and tearswere scorching her eyeballs. "But I won't shed them," thought thechild, "not for worlds."
Sibyl's action was so unexpected that there was a silence in the roomfor a few moments, but presently Freda stole softly to Sibyl's sideand touched her on her arm.
"Gus is sorry he said anything to hurt you," she said; "we didn'tunderstand that you would feel it as you do, but we are all sorry, andwe like you all the better for it. Won't you shake hands with Gus andbe friends?"
"And I'll never say a word against your father again," said Gus.
"You had better not," answered Sibyl. "No, I won't shake hands; Iwon't make friends with you till I know something more about you. ButI'd like to climb trees, and to get into a holland frock."
