CHAPTER IX.
ROSALIND AND CELIA.
"A hero worshipped and throned high On the heights of a sweet romance, A faithful friend who was 'always the same' Till the clouds grew heavy and troubles came. But this is life, and this is to live, And this is the way of the world."
GERTRUDE CAREY.
Waveney sat on the bench feeling very forlorn and deserted until herfather came back to her. He had evidently pulled himself together, forhe looked at her with his old kind smile, though perhaps his lips werenot quite steady.
"Come, little girl, don't fret," he said, tenderly. "Least said issoonest mended, and we must just go through with it."
"But, father, are you sure you do not mind?" she returned, eagerly. "Weare very poor, but I would rather please you, dear, than have ever somuch money--you know that, do you not?"
Waveney's eyes were full of tears, and her little hands clasped his armappealingly. Mr. Ward's laugh was a trifle husky.
"I know I have two good children," he returned, feelingly. "Look here,my child, things have got a little mixed and complicated, and I find itdifficult to explain matters. It is my 'poverty and not my willconsents,' don't you know--and we must just pocket our pride and put agood face on it."
"Do you mean that I am to go to Miss Harford? Are you very sure that youmean that, dad?"
"Yes, certainly"--but his face clouded. "Did you not tell me that MissAlthea suffered with her eyes, and needed a reader and companion? Wewere good friends once, so why should I put an affront on her byrefusing her my daughter's services?"
Waveney sighed; she felt a little oppressed: her father took areasonable and practical view of the case, but his voice wasconstrained; he was a proud man, and at times he chafed sadly at hislimitations. He could not forget that he had come of a good old stock;he used to tell his girls to carry their heads high, and not allowthemselves to be shunted by nobodies.
"Your mother was a gentlewoman," he would say, "and yourgreat-grandmother had the finest manners I ever saw; she was a Markhamof Maplethorpe, and drove in a chariot and four horses when she went tothe county ball. It was your grandfather who ruined us all; hespeculated in mines, and so Maplethorpe was sold. I saw it once, when Iwas a little chap: I remember playing on the bowling green."
Everard Ward thought he was doing his duty in teaching his girls toconsider themselves superior to their neighbours, but sometimes Waveneywould joke about it. She would come into the room with her little nosetip-tilted and her head erect, and cross her mittened hands over herbosom. "Am I like my great-grandmother Markham?" she would say. "Standback, Mollie; I am going to dance the minuet;" and then Waveney wouldsolemnly lift her skirts and point her tiny foot, and her littleperformance would be so artless and full of grace that Mr. Ward wouldsit in his chair quite riveted.
"Father, I wish you would tell me how you first came to know the MissesHarford?" asked Waveney, rather timidly.
Mr. Ward had relapsed into silence, but he roused himself at thequestion.
"It was in my Oxford days, child. I was quite a young fellow then. Therewere a good many pleasant houses where I visited, but there was none Iliked so well as Kitlands.
"Mrs. Harford was alive then; she was rather an invalid, but we allliked her. I always got on with elderly women; they said I understoodtheir little ways. I knew your Fairy Magnificent, too; she was a greatbeauty. We young fellows used to wonder why she had never marriedagain."
"Oh, father, this is very interesting. My good little FairyMagnificent."
Then he nodded and smiled.
"When Mrs. Mainwaring came down to Kitlands there would be all sorts ofgaieties going on--riding parties and archery meetings in the summer,and dances and theatricals in the winter."
"Once we acted a pastoral play in the park--_As You Like It_. It wasvery successful, and the proceeds went to the county hospital. Iremember I was Orlando."
"Was Miss Althea Rosalind?"
"No, your mother was Rosalind. She acted the part charmingly; it was herfirst and last appearance. Althea"--his voice changed--"was Celia; hersister Doreen insisted on being Audrey, because she said she looked thepart to perfection."
"Then mother knew them, too?" observed Waveney, in surprise.
"Well, no, dear, one could hardly say that. We were in great distressfor a Rosalind, and the Williams heard of our difficulty, and they saidthey knew a young lady who had studied the part for some privatetheatricals that had never come off. I had already met your mother atthe county ball, and I was very glad to see her again. Rosalind"--helaughed a little--"and Orlando clenched the business."
"But, father, why have you dropped such nice friends?" It was evidentthat Mr. Ward had expected this question, and was prepared for it.
"Well, you see, my child, when I married your dear mother I was supposedby my friends to have done a foolish thing. It was difficult enough tohold our heads above water, without trying to keep in the swim. Peoplequietly dropped us, as we dropped them. It is the way of the world,little girl." And then in a would-be careless tone, he quoted,--
"A part played out, and the play not o'er, And the empty years to come! With dark'ning clouds beyond and above, And a helpless groping for truth and love, But this is life and this is love, And this is the way of the world."
It was a habit of Mr. Ward's to quote poetry; he often read it to hischildren; he had a clear, musical voice. But Waveney was not content tohave the subject so summarily dismissed.
"Father, dear, do you really mean to say that the Harfords gave you upbecause you were poor?" and her tone was a little severe.
"No, dear, it was I who gave them up. By the bye, Waveney, I wonder whythey left Kitlands?" and as the girl shook her head, he continued,thoughtfully, "It was a big place, and perhaps they did not care to keepit up after their mother's death; they always wanted to live nearertown. Well, have we finished our talk?" and then Waveney rosereluctantly. He had not told her much, she thought regretfully; but, allthe same, her girlish intuition went very nearly the truth.
There was something underneath; something that concerned Miss Althea.Why had her father looked so pained when she had mentioned the name? Butwith a delicacy that did her honour she was careful not to drop a hintof her suspicions to Mollie.
Mr. Ward thought he had kept his secret well. He was impulsive andreckless by nature, but his care for his motherless girls was almostfeminine in its tenderness. They were too precious for the roughworkaday world, so he tried to hedge them in with all kind of sweet oldobsolete fashions, for fear a breath should soil their crystallinepurity.
"Father would like to wrap us up in lavender, and put us under a glasscase," Waveney would say, laughingly, and it must be owned that neithershe nor Mollie were quite up to date. They did not talk slang; they werenot _blase_; and they had fresh, natural ideas on every subject, whichthey would express freely. Waveney was the most advanced; Mollie wasstill a simple child, in spite of her nineteen years.
Mollie was very curious on the subject of her father's intimacy with theHarfords, but Waveney managed to satisfy her without making any freshmysteries.
"It is all in a nutshell, Mollie," she said, quietly. "When father was ayoung man he went to a lot of nice houses, and Kitlands was one of them.They were rich people and very gay, and gave grand parties, and he hadquite a good time of it; and then he and mother married, and they werepoor; and then, somehow, all their fine friends dropped off."
"Oh, what a shame!" interrupted Mollie, indignantly.
"Well, the Harfords did not drop him, but somehow he left off goingthere; and he has never even heard of them for twenty years. I think itupset him rather to have his old life brought up before him so suddenly;it made him feel the difference, don't you see!" and Waveney's voice wasa little sad, she could so thoroughly enter into her father's feelings.What a change from the light-hearted young man of fashion, actingOrlando and making love to Rosalind in the green glades of Kitlands, tothe
shabby, drudging drawing-master, with shoulders already bowed withcontinual stooping.
Waveney wrote her little note of acceptance the next day. It brought akind answer from Miss Althea; she was very glad that Miss Ward haddecided to come to them. She and her sister would do their best to makeher feel at home. Erpingham was so near, and they so often drove intotown, that she could see her people constantly. "Please give our kindremembrances to your father, if he has not quite forgotten his oldfriends," was the concluding sentence.
Waveney handed the note silently to her father; he reddened over theclosing words. What a kind, womanly letter it was. The faint smell oflavender with which it was perfumed was not more fragrant than thewarm-hearted generosity that had long ago forgiven the slight.
Had he really wounded her by his desertion, or had her vanity merelysuffered? How often he had asked himself this question. They had onlymet once, a week before his wedding, and she had been very gentle withhim, asking after Dorothy with a friendliness that had surprised him;for, manlike, he never guessed how even a good woman will on occasionplay the hypocrite.
"She is a kind creature," he said, giving back the letter; but hismanner was so grave that even Mollie did not venture to say a word.
The girls had a good deal on their minds just then. Waveney's scantywardrobe had been reviewed, and Mollie had actually wept tears ofhumiliation over its deficiencies. "Oh, Wave, what will you do?" shesaid, sorrowfully. "And we dare not ask father for more than a fewshillings!"
"No, of course not;" but Waveney's forehead was lined with care as shesat silently revolving possibilities and impossibilities.
What would the Misses Harford think of her shabby old trunk, that hadonce belonged to her mother? Then she threw back her curly head andlooked at Mollie resolutely.
"Mollie, don't be silly. Life is not long enough for fretting overtrifles. The Misses Harford know we are poor, so they will not expectsmart frocks. I have my grey cashmere for Sundays, and I must wear myold serge for everyday. I will get fresh trimming for my hat, and a newpair of gloves, and----"
"And boots," ejaculated Mollie. "You shall have a pair of boots if I gobarefoot all the winter; and your shoes are very shabby too, Wave."
"Yes, I know. I will talk to father and see what is to be done. If hewould advance me a couple of pounds I could repay it at Christmas. Is itnot a blessing that I have one tidy gown for evenings?"--for some threemonths before they had gone to some smart school party, and theirfather, being flush of money just then, had bought them some simpleevening dresses. The material was only cream-coloured nun's-veiling, butMollie had looked so lovely in her white gown that all the girls hadbeen wild with envy.
The dresses had only been worn once since, and, as Waveney remarked,were just as good as new. "Shall you wear it every evening, Wave?"Mollie had asked in an awed tone; and when Waveney returned, "Why, ofcourse, you silly child, I have no other frock. In big houses peoplealways dress nicely for dinner; I found that out at Mrs. Addison's,"Mollie regarded the matter as quite decided--her oracle had spoken.
Mr. Ward had advanced the two pounds without any demur, and the sistersmade their modest purchases the following afternoon. As Waveney wasre-trimming her hat, and Mollie painting her menu cards, Ann flung openthe door somewhat noisily. "Mr. Ink-pen, miss," she announced, in a loudvoice; and the next minute Monsieur Blackie entered. He looked trim andalert, as usual; his face beamed when he saw Waveney.
"It is the right Miss Ward this time," he said, shaking hands with hercordially. Then he looked at Mollie, and his manner changed. "Will youallow your maid to hang these birds up in your larder?" and he held outa superb brace of pheasants to the bewildered girl.
Mollie grew crimson with shyness and delight.
"Do you mean they are for us?" she faltered.
"Yes, for you and your sister, and your father, and my young friend thehumourist. And please remember"--and now his smile became moreingratiating--"that they are from Monsieur Blackie. No, please do notthank me. They were shot by a friend of mine. I rather object to themassacre of the innocents myself, and I prefer doing it by deputy. Bythe bye, I find I have a new name--your maid is a humourist too.'Ink-pen'--there is something charmingly original and suggestive aboutthat. It makes Ingram rather commonplace."
"Oh, I think you have such a beautiful name!" returned Mollie,artlessly. "It is ever so much better than Ward."
Then Waveney nudged her.
"I think the pheasants ought to be hung up," she said, rather brusquely;and at this broad hint Mollie limped off, with very pink cheeks."Whatever made you say that, Mollie?" was her comment afterwards.
"I don't think it is quite nice to tell gentlemen that they havebeautiful names. I am sure I saw an amused look on Mr. Ingram's face."
But Mollie only looked puzzled at this.
"Ann is very stupid about names," remarked Waveney, as she took up herwork again. "She always calls me Miss Waverley and Noel, Master Noll.Somehow she does not seem to grasp sounds."
"Was your sister christened Mollie?" he asked, quickly; and he looked atthe menu cards as he spoke.
"Yes; it was mother's fancy, and I do so love the name," returnedWaveney, in her frank way. "I daresay you would not guess it--peopleseldom do--but we are twins. Strangers always think Mollie is theelder."
"I should have thought so myself," returned Ingram; and then he took upone of the cards. Waveney thought he was a little nervous--his mannerwas so grave. "These are very pretty," he said, quietly. "I thought sothe other day. The design is charming. May I ask if your sister evertakes orders for them?"
"Yes, indeed; a lady has commissioned Mollie to paint these. She is tohave twelve shillings for the set."
"Twelve shillings!" and here Ingram's voice was quite indignant. "MissWard," he continued, turning round to Mollie, who had just re-enteredthe room, "it is a shame that you should be so fleeced. Why, the designis worth double that sum. Now there is a friend of mine who wouldwillingly give you two guineas for a set of six. She is very artistic,and fond of pretty things, and if you are willing to undertake thecommission I will write to her to-morrow."
Willing! Mollie's eyes were shining with pleasure. If she could onlyearn the two guineas! They should furnish sop for Cerberus--_alias_Barker. Waveney's earnings would not be due until Christmas, and theconstant nagging of the aggrieved butcher was making Ann's lifemiserable.
"'Master says if meat's wanted it must be paid for, and he does not holdwith cheap cuts and long reckonings.' Drat the man! I hates the verysight of him," remarked Ann, wrathfully, to her usual confidante, Mrs.Muggins--for with toothache, a swollen face, and an irascible butcher,life was certainly not worth living.
"Then I will write to my--to the lady to-morrow." Both Mollie andWaveney noticed the little slip. "I wonder if he is married," Waveneysaid to herself. But Mollie's inward comment was, "Very likely Mr.Ingram is engaged, but he does not know us well enough to tell us so."
Mr. Ingram was trying to regain his airy manner, but a close observerwould have detected how keenly he was watching the two girls as hetalked. Nothing escaped him--the new hat trimmings, and the faded hat;Waveney's worn little shoe, and the white seams in Mollie's blue serge.
Cinderella--he always called her Cinderella to himself--was no whitsmarter than she had been the other day; her hair was rather rough, asthough the wind had loosened it. And yet with what ease andsprightliness they chattered to him! Their refined voices, their_piquante_, girlish ways, free from all self-consciousness, delightedthe young man, who had travelled all over the world, and had not foundanything so simple, and artless, and real, as these two girls. It wasWaveney to whom he directed his conversation, and with whom he carriedon his gay badinage; but when he spoke to Mollie, his voice seemed tosoften unconsciously, as though he were speaking to a child.
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