"Ah-h!" cried Peggy, glowing with delight. "Of course! I knew he would be. Whatever Arthur does, he does better than anybody else. He will be a great man yet, won't he? Oh, do say he will! It was such a terrible disappointment for me when he had to give up the Army, and my only consolation has been the belief that he would distinguish himself in some other sphere. You do really believe that Arthur will be great before he dies, don't you, Mr Rollo?"

The grave man smiled down very kindly into the eager, young face.

"It is not always the best men who make the greatest mark in the world, and 'greatest,' as you mean it, has many drawbacks, my dear. I should like to advise you not to set your heart on worldly distinctions, but I suppose if I did, you would put me down as a prosy old fellow, who did not practise what he preached, so I'll make you happy instead, by telling you that I also expect great things of your brother. He is one of the most brilliant young men of his day, and some time soon we will send him into the House, and give him a chance there. I don't wonder you are proud of him. I should have been proud indeed, if Providence had seen fit to grant me such a son!"

The sigh with which the sentence ended gave a clue to the bitterest disappointment of this man's life. It was an abiding regret that he had no son to follow in his footsteps, and to carry on the good old name; but he never suspected that his quiet little daughter had divined his disappointment at her s.e.x, and that the consciousness thereof had been one powerful factor in damping her spirits. To know that we are a disappointment to our friends has a paralysing effect on our energies, and there are many people in the world who have failed simply from want of encouragement and appreciation. A word of honest praise is as good as a tonic, and it is too rarely spoken. We feel it our duty to find fault where blame is merited, but are not nearly so careful to acknowledge work well done, or to show our grat.i.tude for services willingly performed.

Mr and Mrs Rollo loved their daughter dearly, but were too much engrossed in their different pursuits to pay her much attention, and believed that, being of a naturally reserved disposition, she would not value outward demonstrations; wherein they erred, for it is the dumb, silent folk who most appreciate warm-hearted words and actions. What a much brighter world it would be if we were more generous in this respect; how happy we might make our friends, if we gave them the benefit of our loving thoughts, instead of locking them tightly in our own b.r.e.a.s.t.s!

Eunice opened like a flower beneath the sunny influence of Peggy's presence, and drove off to the garden-party with an animation most unusual under the circ.u.mstances. Garden-parties were, as a rule, unmitigated bores, but this one would be an exception! Peggy would be there, and where Peggy moved fun and brightness followed in her footsteps; and Arthur had been despatched by Mr Rollo to take his place in escorting the ladies. Eunice was persuaded that no man in the world was n.o.bler than her father, but, socially speaking, he had his defects!

It was a little trying to go about with a man who spent his time discussing politics with other old gentlemen, forgetting all about the poor, shy little daughter, who languished in a corner, shivering with cold, or grilling with heat, as the case might be, and striving, oh, so vainly I to look as if she were enjoying herself. Nor was Mrs Rollo a great improvement on her husband, for she also was weighed down with the responsibilities of Guilds, Causes, and Charities, and invariably found a fellow-member of committee with whom to discuss knotty problems. This afternoon, as Eunice sat facing her mother in the carriage, she could see the nervous fingers pull at the ends of the gloves, and the lips move in mechanical rehearsal of her next address, but the sight gave her none of the usual forebodings, for this afternoon, at least, she need not dread desertion. Arthur and Peggy would be her companions, and never a word of politics or guilds need they speak, from the time they arrived until the time they came away! Eunice rambled about the beautiful grounds with the glee of a child escaped from school, and played the part of appreciative audience with an enthusiasm which could not fail to be inspiring to her companions.

Arthur looked into the smiling face, and listened to the low sweet laughter with the incredulous amazement of one who has suddenly received his sight after a spell of blindness. "Bat," indeed, Peggy had rightly named him, since he had lived for months in the same house as this delightful creature, and never realised her charm. When they were resting together on a garden bench under the shade of a tree, Arthur cast surrept.i.tious glances at Eunice, and formed a new estimate of her attractions to take the place of the old. He understood little about dress, but he instinctively felt that the white frock was remarkably simple for the only child of such distinguished parents, and the simplicity was in accord with the pale, well-cut face whose chief characteristics were modesty and sweetness. A little white-gloved hand lay on her lap, and, as Arthur looked at it, a swift remembrance arose of the afternoon a few weeks back when he had seen that hand stretched out to comfort a companion in distress. His lip twitched beneath his moustache and his smile faded.

"Ah, well," he said to himself sadly, "we cannot all be alike; but it does one good to see her--dear, little, gentle thing! She'll make some one very happy some day, and he will think her beautiful, for he will see his home in her eyes."

He went off into a day-dream of his own, a troubled day-dream, poor fellow, as his day-dreams were apt to be at this time of his life; but his companions did not notice his adsorption, for one was listening rapturously, while the other entertained her with imaginary conversations supposed to take place between different members of the crowd by which they were surrounded. That she could hear no word of what was being said, was but an added stimulus to Miss Peggy's inventive genius, and so aptly did her dialogues follow the expressions and gestures of the strangers that Eunice shook from head to foot in irrepressible enjoyment.

"Goodness, Clementina, here's that impossible Mrs Jones! I thought we had avoided her so successfully. _Must_ speak now, I suppose. There's no way of dodging her. '_Dear_ Mrs Jones, how _do_ you do? Such _ages_ since we met. Is this your daughter? Grown out of knowledge!

It seems but the othah day she was a little girl in short frocks. Quite impossible, don't you know, to a.s.sociate _you_ with a grown-up daughter!

Sorry to hurry on, but really--so _many_ friends!' Oh, there's Lord Algernon Fitzn.o.body coming down that path! Don't let him pa.s.s! Waggle your parasol, Clementina! Cough! Sneeze! Do something to make him see us! 'Don't you remember me, Lord Algernon? How quite too naughty of you! Mrs Ponsonby de Tomkins, whose purse you picked up in the railway station in Lausanne. I have heard so much of you since then, for my sister's aunt's cousin's husband is quite an intimate friend of dear Lady Fitzroy--' Well, really, Clementina, he need not have rushed away in such a hurry! He seemed very distrait. He was looking round for somebody else all the time. Now, see, he is hurrying off to meet her.

_Ah-h_!"

The deep exclamation of understanding was uttered in the speaker's natural voice, as, following the direction of the good lady's glance, Peggy suddenly divined the reason of "Lord Algernon's" pre-occupation.

Rosalind Darcy was approaching, surrounded by the usual bevy of admirers, her parasol tilted over her shoulder, and her lips curved into a smile of artificial sweetness. It was easy to see that her affectation of interest in what was being said was of the thinnest possible description and Peggy wondered what could be the reason of her ill-humour, but only for a moment, for presently Rosalind's eyes wandered to the bench under the trees, and in a flash the sunshine came back into her face.

"She was looking for Arthur! She thought he was not here!" Arthur's sister said jealously to herself; and the next moment Rosalind was hurrying towards them, leaving the discarded admirers to digest their rebuff as best they might. Nothing could have been sweeter or more winsome than her greeting of her friends, but Arthur responded to her advances with a coldness which astonished his companions. They had not been present the night before, when Miss Darcy had found it convenient to ignore his presence, and to forget a promise given to him because a more distinguished partner had appeared on the scene. Arthur's pride in himself was by no means of the overweening description affected by his small sister, but he had too much self-respect to accept a smile one day at the expense of a snub the next, and Rosalind was given to playing fast and loose with her friends. It was true, she invariably repented herself of her rudeness, and endeavoured to make a gracious atonement, but it was becoming more and more difficult to appease Arthur's wounded dignity, and to-day she felt an unaccustomed thrill of nervousness at the sight of his grave, stern face.

"Arthur, come and walk wound with me!" she commanded with an unaccustomed note of timidity mingling with the imperious young voice.

"I want to talk to you. Those widiculous men have been boring me to distwaction, and I want to hear about Yew Hedge. Take me into the wose garden, and tell me all about Yew Hedge."

"Peggy can do that better than I, Rosalind. I have been down only for a few hours. We will all walk round together, and Peggy can give you the interesting details."

He stepped to Eunice Rollo's side as he spoke, and, addressing a remark so pointedly to her that it could not be answered by another, led the way forward in the direction indicated. Rosalind could have borne the rebuff more complacently if he had followed in the rear, when she could have played off her little airs and graces for his benefit, but to choose another girl before herself, and then to walk on ahead, without even troubling himself to see if she followed--this was too much for her composure. Her face clouded over, and though she made a valiant effort to preserve her composure, it was in vain, and she was glad to find an outlet for her irritation in pettish complainings.

"How I do detest garden-parties! Of all the senseless, dead-alive entertainments they are the worst. Evewy fwesh one is worse than the last."

"Why don't you stay away, then? The remedy is in your own hands,"

retorted Peggy coolly; but at this Rosalind's ill-humour broke out in another direction.

"Peggy Saville, I think it is vewy mean and unkind of you to wefuse to visit me when I asked you, and then to wush up from the countwee to stay with new fwiends who have not half the claim upon you that I have. If you would go to the Wollos', why not to me?"

"Because you did not ask me at the same time. A month ago it was impossible for me to get away, and even now I am here for three days only. I don't wish to appear unfriendly, Rosalind, but--"

"But you feel it," replied Rosalind, her voice changing suddenly into a note of honest pathos. "Oh yes, Mawiquita, you are no better at pwetending than you used to be, and I know quite well that you don't appwove of me. I hate myself too, and twy to be diffewent, but it is no use, circ.u.mstances are too stwong for me. But it's not the way to make me better, Peggy Saville, to toss your head at me, and tweat me as if I were beyond all hope of reformation."

"Rosalind--oh!" Peggy was breathless with consternation. It was a horrible accusation, and the worst of it was that conscience told her that it was true. She stared with penitent eyes into the accusing face, nodded her head once or twice, and said with conviction:

"I'm a little wretch! Who am I, I should like to know, to judge another girl? Dear old Rosalind, snub me all you can, and take no notice of my airs. I'm not good enough to help you, I'm afraid, but I can't help loving you, you dear, beautiful thing, and wishing to make you happy!"

"But, oh, Peggy, I'm misewable! I'm abjectly misewable!" sighed Rosalind in return. She gave a glance around, to make sure no one was within ear-shot, and then continued rapidly, "All my life long I've been bwought up to look forward to this time, and to work and plan and pwepare for it. Mother talked as if it would repay me for all my pains, but I've been out thwee seasons now, and I'm tired to death of the everlasting wound. I get so cross and irritated and weary of it all. I don't think I have ever been so misewable in my life as duwing the last year!"

Peggy looked at her thoughtfully. At the moment Rosalind looked dismal enough, but recalling the occasions when she had seen her in society, Peggy could not honestly say that "wretched" was the word which best described her demeanour. On the contrary, a most well-satisfied and complacent young woman had she appeared, and Miss Peggy shrewdly suspected that the present distaste was but a transient emotion.

"If you are so tired of it, why don't you go down to the country, or join your mother abroad?" she inquired with a stern directness which her companion found somewhat embarra.s.sing.

She shrugged her shoulders and gave a little impatient laugh.

"Because I should like that _worse_! I am bored to distwaction in the countwy, and poor dear mother would worry herself to death if I left town just now. She is as ambitious as ever, and will be tewwibly disappointed if I don't make a bewilliant match before the end of the season. She is expecting the news of my engagement by evewy letter, and is working herself up to a fever of anxiety as the time goes by--"

"And is there--is there some one in particular whom she expects you to marry?" queried Peggy calmly. Her heart had given a throb of nervousness at the introduction of the subject, and she had instinctively lifted her eyes to glance at the handsome figure a few yards ahead, but her pride would not allow her to show her discomfiture.

No one would have suspected that a personal interest lay behind the nonchalant question.

"Oh, of course there are sevewal!" admitted Rosalind naively, "but just now there is a Special Somebody! t.i.tle, estate, family, diamonds, all complete, just the vewy _parti_ mother had hoped for ever since I was born. He has spoken to father alweady, and is going to pwopose to me the first opportunity he gets. I know it quite well. Don't you always know, Peggy, when they are twying to speak out?"

"Always!" repeated Peggy, with a little gasp of dismay. "That's too wholesale a word for me, Rosalind! The only experience of the kind I have had happened in India, and I was entirely unprepared, for, as a matter of fact, I cherished a profound aversion for the victim! I didn't dislike him afterwards, though! I was so grieved for the poor fellow's distress, so grateful to him for liking me so much, that I felt quite tenderly towards him. It was the most unpleasant experience I have ever had, and I want only one more proposal--one to which I can say, 'Yes, please!' and settle down in peace and comfort. Do you care enough for the _parti_ to be able to say, 'Yes, please!' to him, Rosalind?"

"I don't dislike him. He is good-looking, and not nearly so stupid as many of the men one meets. Sometimes I think I could get on with him reasonably well, but at other times I can't--I weally _can't_ face it!

Then I keep out of his way, and am cold and weserved, and twy to put it off a little longer. But it will come, I know it will! I shall have to face it soon, and I feel as I used to do when I was a child and had a visit to the dentist before me. I twy to forget it, and be happy, but evewy now and then the wemembwance comes back like a sudden pain, and catches my bweath. Oh, Peggy, isn't it difficult--isn't it twying?

Aren't you sowwy for me?"

"No!" said Peggy Saville stoutly. "Not a mite!" She lifted her head and looked the other squarely in the face. Her eyes were astonishingly bright, and there was a patch of colour on each cheek. "Pray, why _should_ I be sorry? If you look upon the question as a pure matter of business, I cannot see that you deserve any sympathy. I am sorry for _him_! He seems to be an extremely good bargain, and it is hard on him to be regarded in the light of a disagreeable necessity. I suppose he is devoted to you, and hopes, poor wretch! that you are going to accept him for himself. For you _will_ accept him, Rosalind! That's certain.

You may imagine that you have not made up your mind, but you have! You could never have the courage to give up all those good things. Why should you, indeed? They mean more to you than anything else. You would never feel any temptation to love a man who was not rich!"

Peggy spoke in crisp, stinging little sentences, her distress on her brother's account goading her into unusual bitterness; but she was entirely unprepared for the result of her words, stricken dumb by the sight of Rosalind's pale glance of reproach, the sudden rush of tears to the eyes. Broken words struggled for utterance, but she could only distinguish, "Unjust! Untwue!" before, as Fate would have it, the couple in front wheeled round, and came back to join them.

"I wanted to know which way you would prefer to take--" began Arthur, and then stopped short, horrified at what he beheld. Something that Peggy had said had touched Rosalind on a tender point, for having once broken down, she found it impossible to control her distress, and though she had lowered her parasol so as to form a shield between herself and the pa.s.sers-by, she made no attempt to hide from Arthur, but stood gazing at him like a lovely, distressed child, with lips a-quiver, and eyes all drowned in tears. He seized her hand with an impulsive gesture, and questioned her rapidly as to the cause of her distress.

His voice vibrated with tenderness, and Rosalind clutched his arm with nervous fingers, and stammered pitiful explanations.

"Peggy--oh, so cruel! So unkind! I asked her advice, and she said--she said--such cruel things!"

Arthur cast one glance at his sister, and then appeared unconscious of her presence. A group of visitors was approaching, and his great desire was to take Rosalind into some quiet corner of the grounds, where she could have an opportunity of recovering her self-possession without being observed by curious eyes.

"Come with me!" he said gently. "Come down this path to the end of the shrubbery. If you are in trouble, can't I help you, Rosie? Won't you let me try?"

They disappeared from sight, and Peggy walked on in the opposite direction, her face white and set. The iron had entered into her soul, for oh, that glance--that glance of cold anger and reproach! Could it indeed have come from Arthur--Arthur, who never looked at her in anger before--Arthur, between whom and herself there had never hovered a shadow of a cloud in all their happy, loving lives? A stranger had complained of her, and he had accepted the complaint without giving her an opportunity of justifying herself! Another girl in Peggy's position might have blamed Arthur in return, and regarded herself as a martyr, but that was not Peggy's way. Far harder to bear than her own smart would have been the necessity of admitting a flaw in her idol. Her one desire was to justify Arthur, and place him beyond the reach of blame.

Before she had taken twenty steps forward, she was saying brokenly to herself:

"Yes, I deserved it! It is easy to be sharp, and say cutting things at another person's expense. I had the chance of speaking kindly, and of helping her to a better decision, but I let it go, and gave her a sneer instead. I deserved it, Arthur dear! I _did_ deserve it, but oh! you must forgive me soon. It's like red-hot knives sticking into my heart to think that you are angry with me!"

But Arthur was not thinking about Peggy. He was standing beside Rosalind at the end of the shrubbery, his eyes shining, his face beautified by a great tenderness.

"Now, Rosie!" he cried, "now! Tell me all about it!"

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

Rosalind gave a little sob and flicked her handkerchief across her eyes.