by Sara Seale
"You have no faith, Mark. I can see farther."
"My dear, it isn't only a question of faith," he said with a smile. "One has to look ahead in other ways. I had to work terribly hard, Gina, to get where I 'am now. When ray father died, Julie and I were each left with two hundred and fifty a year to live on. Julie got a job and we both slaved to make ends meet. Now I'm doing reasonably well, but I must look ahead for you and Sebastian, and, frankly, we can none of us afford to play about."
She sat back on her heels and regarded him bitterly. "Don't think that I, at any rate, don't see how beholden we are to you, Mark," she said. "It's the Irish temperament to think that other people's money is as good as your own. Sebastian doesn't mean it. Why should you keep us like this? Why should you? It's so humiliating."
Mark looked really startled for the moment. "Gina, for heaven's sake, child, don't begin to talk like that," he said in distressed tones. "I've often thought you were rather sensitive about our financial arrangements, but I can't bear you to feel like this. When you all came to live here, I simply handed over my share of our father's money to Julie, since I scarcely need it now, so you needn't think you are entirely dependent on me. With her own share, that gives her five hundred to play about with. That's not too bad."
"I'm not such a fool, Mark, that I don't know that there are a hundred and one things you do for us," she retorted. "Well, supposing there are. Does it matter so very much?"
"To me it does. Sebastian can repay you if he works. I can't ever. I'm no good to you as 'a business proposition."
"Gina dear!" His voice was gentle. "It's foolish to take these things so hardly. I don't want you to repay me for what I'm very glad to do. But if you feel like that about it, how about coming in with me on this scholarship question? You can help me a lot by working with me instead of against me, if you only will. After all, Sebastian can still work at his music when he's at Oxford. He'll find plenty of scope for new ideas there, and if at the end of, say, a couple of years he was still dissatisfied, we might see what could be done. How about it?"
She had been frowning deeply all the time he was speaking, and she was silent for a moment, then she smiled suddenly, and held out her hand to him. "All right. You win, Judge. I'll see that he gets his scholarship this time," she said, and they shook hands formally.
CHAPTER II
I
GINA and Sebastian hung over the paddock gate and contemplated the Southern Belle. Now that the hunting season was over and the mare safely turned out to grass, they could afford to be jocular.
"Honestly, Gina, why do we do it?"
"I dunno—Mark thinks we enjoy it. No son of Ireland could ever be happy without a horse."
Dogsbody, an Alsatian of impeccable pedigree, whose ears had never become erect, which Gina said made him look simple, stretched his lovely black and silver body and yawned.
"Dogsbody was a Turkish Sultan in another life," said Gina proudly.
"You said yesterday he was a trapeze artist," Sebastian reminded her. "It's after ten. I suppose I'd better be going back. Teacher will be waiting. What are you going to do?"
"Going with Sweeny and the donkey to see Micky Dooley."
"Look out Julie doesn't catch you, then. This isn't Ireland. Farewell, you blistering female!" Sebastian saluted the Southern Belle, who regarded him with a dubious eye, then he walked back to the house arm-in-arm with Gina.
It was the second week in August, and they both bemoaned the fact that it was a week of real hot weather when Sebastian had to begin his work under Mark's supervision. Mark was home for two months now, rather tired after a strenuous term, and neither of the young Gales realized that he had forgone a holiday abroad in order to keep a friendly eye on Sebastian. The boy was resigned to his position now, and although he kicked at the work involved, he had made up his mind to get started.
Gina met Sweeny down the road, in order not to be seen starting from the yard, and she perched herself beside the old man on the plank which did justice for a seat, and they rattled away down the country road, the donkey's little hoofs twinkling in the sun, Dogsbody loping behind.
Micky Dooley lived alone in a mean little cottage on the other side of the village. He was a known poacher and lived too near the Clevelands estates for the peace of mind of the keepers, but he couldn't be evicted and he was too clever to get caught. Sweeny had known him in Wicklow, twenty-five years before, when they had both been young men of the village, and he liked a yarn about old days once in a while. Gina, who still could feel homesick for the land of her birth, loved to sit listening to the two old men outdoing each other with tales of their youthful prowess.
Gina arrived home just before lunch to find the Hunters were guests.
The Hunters were near neighbours of Mark's and had an only son now finishing his last year at Cambridge.
"We left Evan lime-washing the kennel," Mrs. Hunter said, as they finally folded up their table-napkins. "He wondered if you would come back to tea with us and help him finish it. Barbara expects her puppies any time now."
"I'd love to," said Gina with alacrity. "Can I bring Dogsbody?"
"Can't stand Alsatians. Treacherous brutes. Yellow streak. Half wolves," said the colonel in a series of staccato jerks rather like machine-gun fire.
"But Dogsbody's beautiful! I must go and get the dust off him," Gina said, and vanished into the garden.
The Hunters lived in 'a pleasant Georgian house a mile the other side of Westham Street village, and Gina, looking fresh 'and cool in a clean summer frock, rode joyfully there in the dicky of Colonel Hunter's two-seater, Dogsbody sitting regally beside her, his floppy ears standing up like broken stalks in a vain attempt to prick correctly.
She found Evan in the stable yard surrounded by pails of lime and brushes, and thought, as she always did, coming suddenly upon him at any time, how handsome he was. Standing full in the afternoon sun, he presented a golden aspect, with his thick fair hair and eyebrows bleached to an even lighter shade, his long gold lashes and smooth gold skin. His friendly, candid eyes were vividly blue in a face that was almost too gentle for a man's, and his mouth had the sweetness of a woman's.
"Hullo, Gina!" he called as soon as he saw her. "So glad you came. I've done the ceiling. Would you like to take a wall?" He handed her a brush, and they set to work, splashing on the lime with enjoyment while they discussed the trifling news of the village. When they went back to the house for tea, there was a small sports car drawn up before the front door and Gina groaned.
"The Sprat's come to tea," she said.
"I didn't know," said Evan. "She must have just dropped in. I rather wanted to see her anyway about that new car she wants to get."
They went into the square high drawing-room, made cool and pleasant with a faded chintz. A girl was talking vivaciously to Mrs. Hunter on the sofa.
Nancy Pratt, who was at pains to change her unlovely surname as soon as possible, was considered the beauty of the district. Indeed, she was so pretty that she scarcely looked real. With her golden curls and peach-like complexion, her overworked dimples and little white teeth flashing together, she might have stepped straight from the cover of one of America's more expensive magazines. Her father, whose origin was dim, had plenty of money, and her clothes were the envy of every girl round West-ham Street.
"Hullo, Nancy," Evan said, smiling down into her charming face. "Nice of you to look in. We might talk about the car after tea. Gina and I have been lime-washing Barbara's kennel."
"Oh, have you? How awfully messy; but you love all those unfeminine things, don't you, Gina?" Nancy laughed. Dogsbody entered by the long window at that moment, and stretched himself beside Gina's chair, where he lay regarding her cake hopefully, little drops of moisture running off the end of his tongue. "Oh! You've got that dog with you. I always think you're so brave to have an Alsatian." Nancy gave a little shiver and accepted her tea from Evan's hands with a smile of thanks.
"Oh, but Gina is brave. She's like a boy in
lots of ways," said Evan.
Gina got up to help herself to a biscuit. "Is that supposed to be a compliment?" she remarked a little wryly.
She listened to Evan and Nancy discussing cars, and realized that Nancy had no genuine desire to learn the merits and demerits of different makes for her future guidance. She merely wanted the satisfaction of a good-looking young man taking her interests so much to heart.
She sat on talking to Evan long after the tea-things had been cleared away, and Mrs. Hunter, with some vague remark about leaving the young people to chatter, hustled the colonel out through the French window to look at the green-houses.
Nancy, having endeavoured in vain to out-sit Gina, rose to her feet with a regretful air, and pulled out a small powder-compact.
"I suppose I really ought to be going," she said, powdering her nose delicately. "I can give you a lift home, Gina."
"I've got Dogsbody, so I shall walk, thanks all the same," said Gina, sitting where she was.
"Oh!—well, good-bye for the present. I suppose I shall see you next at the church fete. Don't forget to be in good time to help decorate the stall. Mumsie's singing during tea. You must buy heaps of things from our stall, Evan. Don't forget."
"Rather not. I shall come and support you," he laughed, and Gina watched him escort Nancy to the door and listened crossly to their voices in the drive.
"She looks awfully well in that Alvis," Evan said when he came back to the drawing-room. "That pale blue and cream is frightfully effective."
II
Gina met her stepmother just as she was entering the Barn House at seven o'clock. Julie was going upstairs to change for dinner, but when she saw Gina, she turned back again, saying, "Really, Gina! Just look at you covered in paint! Please try to realise you can't behave now as you did when you were twelve."
Gina looked at her stepmother's uncompromising mouth without speaking at once, then she said a little forlornly, "Julie, I know we're terrible thorns in your flesh, but we can't help it. Why do you try to change us all the time?"
Julie tucked a hairpin more firmly into her dark hair before she answered a little contemptuously, "My dear Gina, you surely don't think that you and Sebastian are so unique as to never need correction? Irish charm doesn't carry you that far, you know." Gina's pale cheeks flamed into sudden bright colour. "I don't know why you're always sneering at Ireland," she said in low tones, "but if you felt like that, why did you marry Father? He was no less peculiar than we are. You came into my life when I was nearly fifteen, and you think that gives you the right to interfere and sneer and alter my whole nature." Her voice began to rise excitedly. "But you can't change people like that, I tell you. You'll hurt yourself in the end."
"My dear—really!" Julie drawled. "And all this because I ventured to complain that you were a little—injudicious in your behaviour."
There was a slight sound behind them and they turned to see Mark standing motionless in the doorway. They neither of them had any idea how long he had been there, and Julie said in as natural a voice as she could manage, "You'd better go up and change, Gina; time's getting on."
The girl never gave another look in Mark's direction, but went quite quietly up the stairs and along the gallery to her own room.
Mark stood looking at his sister intently, his hands in his pockets. "Julie, my dear, that's not the way," he said gently.
She gave an exclamation of impatience, and her colour heightened a little. "It's all very well for you, Mark. You don't have to contend with things as I do," she said quickly. "It's nothing but complaining, complaining from morning till night."
"I know. But why should it be?" he said. "Surely you can let some things pass?"
"But the girl must be taught."
"Yes, but the question is what is worth teaching and what isn't? She's right, you know, you can't 'alter people's natures, and I don't know that you have any right to try."
She regarded him with a curious expression for a moment or two before she said, "Oh, my dear Mark, I know that you'd always stick up for Gina, whatever she did. I suppose if it came to a case of her word against mine, you'd believe her first."
"That's absurd," he said impatiently. "You mustn't confuse the issue like this. You're talking now as if the child had done something serious instead of merely being young and a bit obstreperous."
"Well, you hear how she talks to me."
"Yes, my dear, and I hear how you talk to her," he answered quietly. "You shouldn't speak as you do, Julie. You're very sharp with that little girl. It's not fair to let your personal feelings get the better of your good judgement. She's quite right. You'll only end in hurting yourself."
She was silent, then she said more gently, "Oh, I suppose I'm no good at coping with my own sex. I can manage Sebastian all right. Even at his most tiresome moments he manages to be charming."
Mark smiled in spite of himself, then he said seriously, "Obviously you and Gina rub each other the wrong way all the time, anyone can see that. But it's up to you to try, Julie. I think the child is much more sensitive and easily hurt than you imagine. She's very repressed."
"Repressed! My dear Mark, that's just what she's not!" Julie cried. "She's had too much freedom, that's her trouble."
"No, my dear, you mistook my meaning. Never mind," her brother returned, and went into his study and shut the door.
III
Sebastian lay in the high grass of the Long Meadow 'and tried to concentrate on Cicero's Letters.
He was heartily bored with his work, regretted bitterly his decision to sit again for his scholarship, and thought seriously of cutting loose 'altogether and setting out to make his way in the world as a jazz musician. He came to the conclusion that Mark was no better than Julie when it came to trying to explain oneself, and Gina, who had of old been a sure support on all occasions, had suddenly sided against him. Presently he heard the swishing noise that grass makes as some object moves through it, and saw the waving tips of Dogsbody's black ears coming toward him. In a minute he emerged completely and flung himself down panting, beside Sebastian, followed closely by Gina.
Sebastian joyfully threw away Cicero, and prepared to be lazy. "You look blue," he remarked. "What's up?"
His sister sat bunched together, her thin bare arms clasped tightly about her knees. She wore a faded green linen frock and no stockings,
"Oh, I don't know. Life in general is becoming too much for me," she said gloomily.
"Mark been upsetting you again?"
"Oh, Mark's really very decent. Julie's the one who dislikes me so."
"Oh, Julie—I shouldn't let her worry me."
Gina smiled. "You don't anyhow. Consequently she doesn't try so hard."
"Yes, she's pretty hard on you at times." Sebastian admitted. "But what do you care?"
"I shouldn't, of course," she agreed promptly, "I don't in the sense that I want her to like me. I can see she could never do that. I don't blame her. But I can't stand being eternally nagged 'at. If they'd only leave me alone."
"They?"
"Oh, Mark's decent enough," she said again. "I suppose I naturally lump him in with Julie. At least you can appeal to Mark as a person. You can't to Julie."
"I find just the opposite. Julie will often listen to me where Mark won't."
Gina laughed a little shortly. "We each find the strain less with opposite members of our sexes," she said. "All it amounts to is this. They both get heartily fed up with us, only Julie hides it best when she's dealing with you, and Mark when and if he's dealing with me, only it's generally Julie, unfortunately for me."
"Oh, old Mark is fond of you, Ginny, there's no getting away from that," said her brother shrewdly. "It isn't only duty with him. I never know whether you really dislike him as you seem to."
She was silent a moment, pulling a strand of grass and chewing it. "Sometimes I dislike him," she said slowly. "Principally as a benefactor, I think. I hate being under an obligation."
"Meekness of spirit and a ch
astened yoke is what you need, darling," Sebastian gibed.
She fell upon him, rolling him in the cool grass and tickling him mercilessly.
"Let's chuck everything and go off for the day," she said quickly. "Just bunk, and let them stew."
"Where to?"
"Anywhere. Let's take a bus into Eastcliff and bathe and eat winkles and put pennies in the slot-machines on the pier."
"How about teacher?"
"Oh, let him rot. He won't wait for you more than half an hour. If we sneak in through the kitchen, we can leave Dogsbody there and borrow some money off Sweeny."
"Right! Come on!" cried Sebastian, springing joyously to his feet. "I was feeling exactly like this before you turned up."
It was nearly ten o'clock when they got back in the evening, and Sebastian swaggered a little as they went into the drawing-room. Julie looked up quickly as they came in, and her eyes hardened, but she said nothing.
"Hullo!" said Sebastian generally. "Hope you didn't worry about us. We've been to Eastcliff and had a grand time." He had drunk three cocktails on the way home and was feeling talkative. "You should have seen Ginny in her hired bathing-suit! It sagged in front and behind and was hardly decent. She's not built for comfort, you know. You would have been amused, Julie. We behaved just like trippers."
Still Julie said nothing, which was so unusual that Gina concluded Mark must have enjoined silence. She glanced across at his thin, dark face. He had risen when she entered the room, a courtesy which she felt to be out of place in this ridiculous atmosphere of childish bravado they had brought in with them.
