"Run the straight race through G.o.d's good grace, Lift up thine eyes, and seek His Face..."

A little sob punctuated the lines. To the blind eyes of earth the straight race appeared so very very crooked!

CHAPTER EIGHT.

FIRST DAYS.

Darsie left home on the following Thursday, and in company with Aunt Maria and "my woman" took train for Arden, in Buckinghamshire. The journey was a nightmare, for Lady Hayes disliked travelling, and was in a condition of nervousness, which made her acutely susceptible to the doings of her companions. Within an hour of starting Darsie had been admonished not to sit facing the engine because of the draught, not to look out of the window in case she got a cinder in her eye, not to read in case she strained her eyes, not to rub her fingers on the pane, not to cross her knees because it was unladylike, not to shout, not to mumble, not to say "What?" not to yawn without putting her finger over her mouth, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

Being called to account so frequently was an exhausting process, and Darsie felt a thrill of joy at the announcement of lunch. A meal in a train would be a novel and exciting experience which would go far towards making up for the dullness of the preceding hour, but alas!

Aunt Maria refused with scorn to partake of food, cooked goodness knew how, by goodness knew whom, and had supplied herself with a few Plasmon biscuits, the which she handed round with the information that they contained more nourishment than ounces of beefsteak. They were very dull and very dry, however, and Darsie managed to get a crumb down the wrong way, and coughed continuously for the next hour in a tickling, aggravating manner, while Aunt Maria reiterated, "Really, my dear!

_Most_ unpleasant!" and seemed to consider herself personally aggrieved.

When Arden was reached the position improved, for stationmaster and porters alike flew to hover round the great lady of the neighbourhood, and Darsie sunned herself in the novel consciousness of importance.

Outside the station a cart was waiting for luggage, and a large, old- fashioned barouche with two fat brown horses, and with two brown- liveried servants upon the box. The village children bobbed curtsies as the carriage bowled through the village street, and Darsie smiled benignly and bent her yellow head in gracious acknowledgment. As niece and guest of the Lady of the Towers, these greetings were surely partly intended for herself. She felt an exhilarating glow of complacence, and determined to describe the scene to Vie Vernon on the earliest possible opportunity.

The Towers was a large, very ugly, stucco house, surrounded by a beautiful rolling park. Inside, the rooms were huge and square, and one and all characterised by a depressing pitch of orderliness, which made it almost impossible to believe that they could be used as ordinary human habitations!

Darsie was escorted to a bedroom with ponderous mahogany furniture, so complete a contrast from her own shabby, cheery little den that the sight of it added the final touch to her depression. She refreshed herself by a long splash in hot water, brushed out her tangled mane, put on her Sunday dress, and descended in state to partake of dinner, which was served an hour earlier than usual in consideration of the travellers' hunger and fatigue.

Despite her weariness and nervous exhaustion, Lady Hayes had made what appeared to Darsie's unsophisticated eyes a magnificent toilette for the meal, and she eyed the Sunday frock with a criticism which was anything but approving. "But it's the best I've got, except the party one, and I can't wear that for one old lady," said Darsie to herself as she followed meekly behind the _moire antique_ train, and seated herself at the end of the dining-table. Two men-servants stood at attention--two!

one for each diner, solemn, immovable-looking creatures who seemed to move on wheels and who kept their eyes glued upon every mouthful you ate, ready to pounce upon your plate and nip it swiftly and noiselessly away. They were stricken with dumbness also, if you were to trust the evidence of your senses, but had certainly ears, and could drink in every word you said.

For the rest, it might be soothing to one's pride to live in a big country house, but it was certainly abnormally dull. The day's programme never varied by a hair's breadth, and Aunt Maria, though kind, possessed the failing of all others most trying to the youthful mind.

_She fussed_! She fussed about clothes, she fussed about food, she fussed about draughts, she fussed about manners, deportment, speech, the way you sat down, the way you got up, the way you laughed, yawned, sneezed, crossed the room, and did your hair. From morning to night, "My dear, _don't_!" or "My dear, _do_!" rang in Darsie's ears, till she was almost beside herself with irritation.

Honestly and laboriously she tried to practise her father's advice: to put the thought of the seaside party aside, make the most of the good points of her own position, and "fight the good fight," but the effort seemed to exhaust her physically, as well as mentally, until by the end of the day she looked white and drooping, pathetically unlike her natural glowing self. Aunt Maria noticed the change, and fussed about that, too, but with an underlying tenderness that was upsetting to the girl's strained nerves.

"You look very tired to-night, my dear! Are you not well? Is there anything the matter?"

"Quite well, thank you. Only--lonely!" replied Darsie, with a plaintive accent on that last word which brought Lady Hayes's glance upon her in quick inquiry--

"Lonely! But, my dear, you haven't been a minute alone all day long."

"No," agreed Darsie meekly, and said no more, but the little monosyllable was more eloquent than any disclaimer. Lady Hayes flushed, and knitted her brows in thought.

"I must ask some young people to meet you. I have some nice young friends living about a mile away. They are visiting at present, but will soon be home. I will write. Naturally you miss the young society."

She was so kind, so considerate, that it seemed mean to feel bored and impatient; but, oh dear, how long the days _did_ seem, how dull and monotonous the morning drive, the afternoon needlework, the evening game of patience or bezique.

The climax came one rainy afternoon when the ordinary two-hours drive could not take place, and the hostess and her young guest had spent most of the day together in the library. Now it is trying for an old lady as well as for a young one to be deprived of the usual exercise, and if Darsie's impatience and rebelliousness of spirit were more acute than usual, Lady Hayes was also more nervous and exacting. In this instance the weight of the old lady's displeasure seemed to fall upon Darsie's unfortunate coiffure. Whatever turn the conversation might take, it returned with relentless certainty to "Your hair, my dear! When _I_ was young, young girls wore their hair neatly braided. I intensely dislike all this purring and elaboration. You would look a different girl if you brushed it smoothly."

"I should," agreed Darsie coolly. "I should look a sight. _My_ pompadour is the best pompadour in my cla.s.s. The girls all say so.

They ask me how I do it. I've taught lots of them to do their own."

"I'm sorry to hear it. Time enough when you come out to wear 'pompadours,' as you call them. And your bow! Ridiculous size! If it were neat and small--"

"They wear them twice as big in America. And in France. Sash ribbons!

I would, too, if I could afford. It's the fashion, Aunt Maria. Every one wears them big."

"Surely that is all the more reason why a sensible girl should set a good example by being neat and moderate herself! I don't approve of hair being allowed to grow long at your age, but if it _is_ long, it ought certainly to be kept in bounds. Yours is hanging all over your shoulders at this moment. Most untidy! I am speaking for your own good."

There was a moment's chilly silence, then Darsie asked in a tone of extraordinary politeness--

"Just exactly _how_ would you do my hair, Aunt Maria, if you were in my place to-day?"

Lady Hayes straightened herself briskly. "I should _brush_ it," she said emphatically. "It is naturally curly, no doubt, but I cannot believe that a good brushing would not reduce it to order! I should damp it and brush it well, and then tie it back so that it would not hang loose over your shoulders like a mane. It would be pleasant to see what a difference it would make. A neat head is one of the things which every young gentlewoman should strive to possess."

Darsie folded her needlework, put it neatly away in her bag, and, rising from her seat, marched slowly from the room. It was nearing the hour for tea, when she usually went upstairs to wash and tidy-up generally, so that there was nothing unusual in her departure; it was only when she was safe inside her room that the extraordinary nature of to-day's preparations was revealed.

She took off the lace collar and pretty bead necklace which gave an air of lightness to her plain dark dress, wrapped a dressing-jacket round her shoulders, and dipped her head deep into a basin of water. Then with a comb the _wet_ hair was parted accurately in the centre, and brushed to the ears till it had the air of being painted rather than real, so smooth and plastered was the effect. The ends, plaited with merciless tightness, were looped together with a fragment of a broken shoelace, so tightly that from the front no sign of their presence could be suspected. When all was finished and the dressing-jacket thrown aside the effect was positively startling to behold. It did not seem possible to believe that this prim, demure damsel could be the same brilliant-looking creature who had entered the room but ten minutes before, and Darsie herself was half-shocked, half-triumphant at the completeness of the transformation.

"'Spose I had a fever and lost my hair! How simply awful!" she said to herself in terror. "If they could see me at home, they'd never call me pretty again. I think even Aunt Maria will jump!"

She skipped with delight at the possibility, and the gesture seemed so singularly out of keeping with her appearance that she laughed again, restored to good temper by the delightful experience of taking part in a prank once more.

Ten minutes later, accurately at the moment when the tea equipage would be in course of arrangement in the drawing-room, Darsie composed her face into a "prunes and prism" decorum, and slipped noiselessly into the room.

To a certain extent all was as she had expected. Mason stood majestically over the tea-table; James, his satellite, approached with a tray of cakes and sandwiches; Aunt Maria sat waiting in her high-backed chair--so far all was just as she had planned; what she was all unprepared for, however, was the presence of three youthful visitors, two girls and a youth, who sat facing the door, staring at her in stunned dismay.

The Percivals! By all that was ill-timed and embarra.s.sing, the Percivals themselves, returned from their visit, choosing a wet afternoon to drive over and pay their respects to Lady Hayes's young guest! Sheer horror of the situation took away Darsie's breath; she stood stock still in the middle of the floor, felt her lips gape apart, the crimson rush to her face, saw in a mental flash a vision of the country b.u.mpkin she must appear--just for a moment, then Aunt Maria's voice said, in even, equable tones--

"Ah, here she is! Darsie, these are my young friends of whom I have spoken. I am pleased that you should become acquainted. My niece, Darsie Garnett. Noreen, Ida, and Ralph Percival... Now we will have tea!"

The voice, the manner, were absolutely normal. Was it possible that she had not _seen_? Darsie shot a quick glance at the old lady's face, met an unconcerned smile, and for the first time in the history of their acquaintance felt a thrill of admiration. Splendid to have such self- control, to show _no_ sign of surprise or irritation! She shook hands awkwardly with the three visitors, and sat down on the nearest chair.

"So awfully pleased to meet you!" cried Noreen gushingly. She was a smart-looking girl of sixteen, with brown eyes and a deeply dimpled chin. Darsie knew exactly what she was thinking--understood that the gushing manner had been adopted to disguise dismayed disappointment in the aspect of a possible companion. Ralph was quite old--eighteen at least, with well-cut features, thin lips, and small grey eyes, a dandy wearing a fancy waistcoat and resplendent white spats. His whole aspect breathed a loud, "I told you so! You _would_ drag me with you. _Told_ you how it would be. Lady Hayes's grand-niece! What could you expect?"

Ida was bubbling over with curiosity. What a fine story she would have to tell to the family party on her return!

Conversation would have dragged pitifully if it had not been for Aunt Maria's efforts, for the visitors seemed smitten with dumbness, and beneath no the fire of their glances Darsie's embarra.s.sment increased rather than diminished. She had no spirit left; a succession of monosyllables and an occasional "Oh, really!" made up the sum of her contributions to the conversation. It must have been a strong sense of duty which nerved Noreen Percival to offer the invitation which presumably was the object of her visit.

"We want to know if you will come to lunch with us on Thursday, and stay for the afternoon? If it's fine, we can have some tennis. We will drive you back after tea."

Darsie hesitated, but apparently the decision was not to be left to her.

Aunt Maria accepted with a gracious acknowledgment of Mrs Percival's kindness, and in answer to a scowl from Ralph his sisters rose and made a hasty adieu.

"We came in the governess cart. The pony gets restless--mustn't keep him waiting. Thank you _so_ much! Goodbye!"

They were gone; the outer door was shut behind them. Darsie, standing by the tea-table, caught a glimpse of her own reflection in a mirror at the opposite end of the room, a stiff, Dutch-doll of a figure, with plastered hair, crimson cheeks, and plain frock. She glanced at Aunt Maria reseating herself in her high-backed chair, and taking up the inevitable knitting. Now for it! now for the lecture! Well, after all, she had in only done what had been suggested, a trifle _more_ perhaps than had been suggested, but that was erring on the right side, not the wrong. Besides, if a naughty impulse to annoy and humiliate Aunt Maria had really existed, in the end she had been a thousand times more humiliated herself. And now, if you please, she was to be scolded and lectured into the bargain!

But Aunt Maria neither lectured nor scolded. All through that next hour when pride kept Darsie chained to her place, the older lady talked in her most natural manner, and even smiled at her companion across the patience-board without a flicker of expression to betray that the figure confronting her was in any way different from the one which she was accustomed to see.

Once more admiration vanquished irritation, and Darsie roused herself to join in the problem of "building," and ended in actually feeling a dawning of interest in what had hitherto appeared the dreariest of problems. When seven o'clock struck, and the old lady closed the board, and said, in her natural, every-day voice, "And now we must dress for dinner!" Darsie walked slowly across the room, hesitated, and finally retraced her steps and knelt down on a footstool by Lady Hayes' side.

"Aunt Maria--_please_! I should like to thank you!"