"Oh, that would be a long story, and would take up too much time. For Rosalind's doings, see the society papers," he cried, with an indifference too elaborate to be genuine. "To-morrow's issue will no doubt inform you that she is at some big function to-night, wearing a robe of sky-blue silk, festooned with diamonds and bordered with rubies.

That's the proper style of thing, isn't it, for a society belle? I see her occasionally. Lord Darcy is the kindest of friends, and I have always a welcome at his house. I don't go very often, but I meet them out, and am vouchsafed a dance, or ten minutes' conversation, if n.o.body more important is on the scene. Rosalind is an important personage nowadays, and can't waste her time on the likes of me; but she is devoted to you, Peg, and will rush round to see you the moment you let her know that you are at home."

But Peggy set her lips, and privately resolved to be in no hurry to apprise Rosalind Darcy of her return. No one who considered herself too grand for Arthur should have the chance of a.s.sociating with his sister.

Dear, darling Arthur! Did he still care, then? Was Rosalind's beautiful face still a Will-o'-the-wisp to dazzle and ensnare his heart, and was it possible that she, or any mortal woman, could have the hardihood to resist Arthur Saville when he came to woo? Peggy sat silent, but her heart formed a voiceless prayer--a prayer that if in the future trouble must come, she might be the one to bear it, and that Arthur might be shielded from a second crushing disappointment.

CHAPTER FIVE.

The next day the Savilles lost no time in consulting the agent who had been commissioned to advertise for houses on their behalf, and he in his turn presented them with a list of a dozen places which were for sale, eight of which were obviously unsuitable, and none in the very least like Peggy's ideal abode. This was a bitter disappointment to the expectant trio, and the disappointment was not softened by the offhand and independent manner in which they were treated, for the agent hinted at inordinate expectations, smiled openly at Peggy's inquiry about a moat, and floated off to attend to another inquirer, as if any other subject were worth considering when the question of Colonel Saville's future home was on the _tapis_!

Mrs Saville left the office with a crestfallen air, but her husband and daughter stalked forth with their most military stride, and exchanged glances of kindling irritation on the doorstep.

"Insubordinate wretch!" cried the colonel, the ends of his moustache looking fiercer than ever, and his eyes gleaming with anger, for after ruling as despot over his regiment for so many years, the lack of deference shown by a mere civilian was a distinct trial to the flesh.

"There's a good deal to be said for our friends the natives after all, Peg! If one of them had dared to treat me like that--"

"Just so!" a.s.sented Peggy. "I'm with you, father. I _do_ like people to tremble at my nod, and in this land of freedom no one seems in the least afraid of us. It's disgraceful. We had better take the train, and look at this Uplands place. It seems the most likely of any on the list, so I suppose we ought to see it."

To the Uplands, then, the trio betook themselves, to find disappointment number two, for the name had evidently been bestowed in a spirit of satire on a house situated in a valley, and shut in by a network of trees. The rooms smelt like so many vaults, and presented a cheerful pattern of mould upon the walls, while even Peggy's ardour could not face the task of reducing a wilderness into a garden. A drive of three miles brought the explorers to yet another desirable residence of so uncompromisingly bleak and hideous an aspect that they drove away from the gates without examining the interior, and returned to town fatigued and discouraged.

"But we could not expect to find what we wanted the very first day,"

Peggy reminded herself cheerily. "Besides, Mellicent is coming! That is quite enough happiness for one day. In two more hours she will be here. I'll go downstairs at five o'clock, and wait for her in the hall."

When five o'clock arrived, however, a brother officer came to call upon Colonel Saville, and Peggy was delayed several minutes longer than she intended, so that when she repaired downstairs it was a little past the hour when Mellicent was due. It was quite likely that the train had been behind time, or that difficulties in getting luggage put on a cab might have delayed her arrival, and Peggy devoutly hoped that this had been the case, so that she might still be in time to give a friendly welcome. The hall was, as usual, crowded with visitors. An American contingent chatted merrily together in one corner; a French marquise stared around through a gold-rimmed lorgnette; and the usual array of family parties lolled on ottomans and sofas, scrutinising the pa.s.sers- by, and exchanging whispered criticisms, which were neither so complimentary nor so subdued as might have been desired. A stout lady and two slim daughters, looking more like fashion-plates than Peggy could have believed it possible for any human creatures to do, stood discussing a knotty point together in the centre of the floor, their voluminous skirts shutting out the view beyond.

Peggy made a _detour_ to the side, caught sight of a broad, blue serge back, looking broader than ever from contrast with sylph-like forms, a coil of yellow hair beneath a sailor hat, and the side of a crimson cheek. Mellicent! Of course it was Mellicent! There she stood, the poor dear thing, a statue of misery in the midst of the fashionable crowd, a roll of shawls clutched in one hand, her dress thick with dust, and her hair blown into disorder. The critics on the benches sn.i.g.g.e.red and whispered to one another, and the French marquise examined her through the lorgnette with unconcealed amaze; but at the sight of the familiar figure Peggy's heart leapt within her, for she saw again the ivy-covered vicarage, and the shabby, sunny schoolroom in which she had spent such happy days. A hand clutched Mellicent's arm in ecstatic grasp, and a tremulous voice spoke in her ear.

"Mellicent, _darling_! Is it really you?"

"Oh, my goodness, Peggy, have you come at last? n.o.body knew where you were, and they said they'd send, and it's simply awful the way these wretches stare!" cried Mellicent in a rush, "They sit round in rows, and glare as if they had nothing in the world to do but quiz the poor new arrivals as they come in at the door."

"Which, my dear, is precisely the state of the case. It _is_ disconcerting, especially when you arrive in the evening, after a tempestuous Channel pa.s.sage, and step into a hall aglow with diamonds and eye-gla.s.ses; but turn about is fair play!" cried Peggy rea.s.suringly.

"To-morrow you and I will quiz in our turn, and just think how we shall enjoy it. Father and I have sat together for hours, criticising and inventing histories, and you have no idea how entertaining it is.

You'll simply love it."

"No, I sha'n't. It's unkind and cruel, and must make people simply dread coming in. If I were the manager, I wouldn't allow it!" declared Mellicent in righteous wrath; then her eyes turned to her companion, and a tardy realisation of the position seemed to dawn upon her. "Oh, Peggy!" she cried, and again, "Oh, Peggy! I'm _so_ glad to see you again. It has seemed such a long, long time since you went away, and there was no one like you--no one who could ever take your place."

Peggy gave an affectionate little grip to the blue serge arm, but made none of the protests which usually follow such an announcement. Modesty not being her strong point, she saw no reason to dispute Mellicent's a.s.sertion, so smiled instead, and cried rea.s.suringly:

"Never mind, I'm back again now, and never going away no more! Dear old Chubs, you look so fresh, and pink-and-white and Englishy, that it does me good to see you. This is our sitting-room, and you must come in and say how do you do to father and mother, and have some tea. Father is going out with a friend presently, and mother will have a rest in her bedroom, so we shall have a cosy little chat by ourselves. Don't look alarmed! They are not a bit fierce, I a.s.sure you, but a most mild and agreeable old couple."

As she spoke Peggy threw open the door of the sitting-room, and the mild and agreeable couple bestowed the kindliest of greetings upon their young visitor; but the surroundings were all so strange and formal that country-bred Mellicent was overpowered, and could only blush and stammer in school-girl fashion. Her own perfect consciousness of the fact added fuel to her embarra.s.sment, and a full-length mirror at the opposite side of the room presented such an exasperating contrast of rustic awkwardness and dainty grace, as she and Peggy stood side by side, that her heart died down within her. Poor Mellicent! her new coat and skirt had been made by the very best dressmaker in the village, and had been considered a miracle of elegance by the admiring home circle; so that she had looked forward to making quite a triumphant entrance, and now here she was, looking her very worst, and conscious of a dozen shortcomings as she looked at her friend's graceful figure. Peggy's features still retained their miniature-like faultlessness of outline, her pretty hair was coiled about her head in fantastic fashion, she bore herself with even more than the old a.s.surance, and rustled about the room in a gown of Parisian manufacture. A little chill of strangeness and depression settled down on Mellicent's spirits. For the last month she had lived in constant expectation of this visit, had built a fairy edifice of dreams concerning it, and already the foundations were beginning to totter. The great hotel, with its crowd of critical inmates, was terrifying to the country-bred girl, the graciousness of her host and hostess appeared formal, when compared with the warm- hearted cordiality of her Irish mother, and even Peggy herself seemed transformed into another person. It was no longer Peggy, it was Mariquita, and Mariquita a dozen times more self-possessed and imposing than in the days of old.

When Colonel and Mrs Saville left the room, Mellicent watched with awed eyes an interview which took place between Miss Peggy and a waiter whom she had summoned to bring a supply of fresh tea. There were several other matters to discuss regarding the despatch of letters and parcels, and the severe though courteous manner in which the young lady conducted the conversation, reduced the listener to a condition of speechless amazement. When the door closed behind the man, Peggy met the stare of the horrified blue eyes, and put a laughing inquiry as to the nature of her offence.

"I don't know how you _dare_ talk to him like that!" stammered Mellicent in return. "He is ever so much older than you, and looks so--so dignified and grand, and you order him about, and tell him to be careful, and send him running up and downstairs. I don't know how you can do it. I'm nervous enough about finding fault with the servants at home, but with a stranger! A man! I could never summon up courage to find fault, no matter what mistakes he made. And you are so cool about it!"

"My dear, I'm used to it. Consider the position I have had to fill these last three years in Indiah!" drawled Miss Peggy, and leant her head against the cushions of her chair with an exhausted air, which seemed to imply that she had come straight from the duties of Government House itself. Then suddenly she straightened herself, and attacked the teapot.

"I forget if you take sugar in your tea. So few people do nowadays.

And cream? It's rather strong, I'm afraid. Be sure to tell me if it's exactly as you like."

"Thank you!" murmured Mellicent faintly. She put the cup down on a table close at hand, and fumbled nervously with her gloves.

"P-Peggy!"

"Yes, dear."

"Peg-gy!"

"Yes, Mellicent, what is it?"

"Oh, Peggy, I feel--I feel so uncomfortable! It's all so strange and different from what I expected. I thought I should feel at home the moment I saw you--but I don't, not a bit. You look so grown-up and proper, and your dress is so grand, and you have done your hair like the people in the fashion-books, and I never can make out how on earth they twist it in and out... We are the same age, but you seem ever so much older, and I don't feel that it is you at all."

"The inference is, that I never _was_ proper, nor tidy, nor well-dressed in the old days! Not very complimentary to me, I must say," began Peggy lightly, and then caught sight of a tear-drop glittering on Mellicent's eyelashes, which sobered her very quickly. Crying? No, surely not; yet tears were there, undeniable tears, filling the blue eyes, and rolling slowly down over the pink cheeks. Peggy dropped down on her knees, and clasped her hands round the plump blue waist.

"Why, Mill, what is it? What grieves you, dear? What have I done, or said, or looked--horrid thing that I am!--to vex you within ten minutes of your arrival? I never, never meant it!"

"You haven't done anything! It's my own fault. I'm sorry to be so silly, Peggy, but all this time I have been longing and longing to see you, and thinking that it would be just the same as in the old days; but, oh, Peggy, we've led such different lives, and it's not the same-- oh, it's not the same at all! I have stood still, but you have moved on, and there's such a big, big difference. I realised it all of a sudden, and began to cry like a baby, but it's not your fault. It's only because I am so fond--so fond of you, Peggy, and so sorry to think--"

"You dear, sweet goose! Stop crying this minute, and listen to me.

There is no difference between us, and it's going to be _exactly_ the same. You are Mellicent Asplin, and I'm Peggy Saville, and after my very own people I love the dear old vicaragers more than any one else in the world. I never change in my affections, and in other respects the day may yet dawn, my love, when you may wish that I had altered considerably more than I have. Will it help you to recognise me if I pull your hair, eli?--or tickle you under the chin, eh?--or give a nice little jolt to your elbow just as you lift your cup, eh?" cried Peggy, ill.u.s.trating each inquiry in practical fashion, while Mellicent giggled in the midst of tears, and dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief.

"D-o-on't! You'll spoil my dress. Oh, Peggy, it _is_ good of you, and I did so want to come, and will you really promise not to be ashamed of me, if I make stupid mistakes, and look dowdy and horrid when we go out together?"

"I'll be ashamed of you, and furious into the bargain, if you hint at such a thing again. I'm not a sn.o.b, thank goodness! Now sit up, my dear, and drop sentiment, and attend to tea. Take a cress sandwich, and don't cry over it, I beseech you! If there is one thing more objectionable than another, it is wet salad. Tell me all about home, and every one in it. Are they looking forward to my advent, and is cook remembering my favourite puddings? I've got a present for every one-- such a beautiful white shawl for Mrs Asplin, a tiger skin for your father's study, some old ma.n.u.scripts for Esther, as I could not think of anything she would like better, and--"

"And what for--How very nice! So kind of you, Peggy, to think of us!"

protested Mellicent, drawing herself up with sudden recollection, but palpitating with curiosity to hear what her own share might be. "Esther hopes to get home while you are with us, but she can't tear herself from her precious pupils for more than a week. She has three little boys whom she is training for school, and teaching Latin and Greek and mathematics and all sorts of horrid things. You would hate it, Peggy, and so would I, but Esther loves it, and grudges every moment she is away."

Peggy laughed.

"I can imagine it! The little rascals scrawling substantives on their slates--'O frog--To a frog--By, with, or from a frog!' and Esther's solemn distress over a wrong termination. Isn't it a blessing that we are made differently, and that some people are born with such wonderful patience and forbearance? I pity their poor little knuckles if _I_ were in charge. But then I was always hastily inclined. Your father used to say that Esther and Rob had far more of the scholarly spirit than Rex, though he must have worked hard to get through his examinations so well.

Dear old Rex, how I should love to see him again! It seems so funny to think of him as a full-fledged doctor, with a practice of his own! How does he like living in the North, and how does he get on?"

Mellicent shrugged her shoulders uncertainly.

"Pretty well, only it's such a disgustingly bracing place that no one is ever ill. Rex says it is most depressing to look out of the windows and see the healthy faces! He gets so tired waiting for patients who never come. I stayed with him for a week in the winter, and whenever the bell rang we used to rush out into the hall, and peer over the banisters to see who was there, and if it was a patient Rex kept him waiting for ten minutes by his watch, to pretend that he was busy, though he was really dying to fly downstairs at once. He makes very little money, and father has to help him a good deal; but last month something happened which he hopes will help him on. The mayor of the town had a carriage accident just opposite his house, and was nearly killed. Wasn't it luck for Rex?

He was so pleased! The mayor was carried into the house, and could not be moved for days, and the papers were full of 'Dr Asplin this, and Dr Asplin that,' as if he was the biggest doctor they had! The mayoress seems to have taken a fancy to him too, for she begs him to go to their house as often as he likes, without waiting to be asked. It will be nice for Rex to have some friends in the town, for he daren't go far from home. Oswald and his wife live within an hour's rail, and often invite him there, but he is afraid to go, in case a patient _should_ appear!"

"Oswald's wife! How strange it sounds! I have never heard anything about her, and am so curious to know what she is like! What account did Rex bring when he came home from the wedding?"

"He said he couldn't attempt to describe her, but that you could meet seventy-six girls exactly like her any day of the week. Rather pretty, rather fair, rather nice, rather musical! Everything _rather_, and nothing _very_! and thinks Oswald the most wonderful man in the world.

She can't be very clever herself, if she thinks that, can she? Oswald was always a regular dunce!"

"Oh, 'dunce' is too strong a word, Chubby! He was not brilliant, but you must remember that he suffered from contrast with his companions.

Rex was very bright, if he was not exactly clever, and it is not often that you come across such a really scholarly boy as Rob Darcy!"