"I owe a hundred apologies for my lack of ceremony to this fine, this very fine, this super-fine young lady! I'll turn over a new leaf for the future, and treat you with becoming ceremony. I can quite imagine the disgust of the budding _debutante_ at my cavalier ways. Confess now that your dignity was sorely wounded?"

His eyes were twinkling again. They are grey, and his face is so brown that they look lighter than the skin. I never saw anyone's eyes look like that before, but it is awfully nice. I thought there was a splendid opening, so I said--

"No; I was never vexed but once. I like being treated sensibly, but that morning when you left me, and went out of your way with Rachel Greaves--I was sorry then that you did not know that I was grown up."

"You thought if I had I would have walked with you instead? Why?"

I blushed a little, and it seemed to me that he blushed too--his cheeks certainly looked hot. It was a horrid question to answer, and he must have known for himself what I meant. I really and truly don't think many men would go out of their way for Rachel Greaves. I answered by another question--it was the easiest way.

"I didn't know then that you were old friends. I suppose you get to like her better when you know her well?"

"Naturally. That is always the case with the best people."

"And she is--"

"The best woman I have ever met, and the most selfless!" he said solemnly. "Have you spoken to Rachel about me? What has she told you?

I should like you to know the truth, though it is not yet general property. You can keep it to yourself for awhile?"

I nodded. I didn't want to speak, for I felt a big, hard lump swelling in my throat, and my heart thumped. I knew quite well what he was going to say, and I hated it beforehand.

"We are engaged to be married. It will probably be an engagement for years, for Rachel feels her present duty is at home, and I am content to wait her pleasure. I don't go up to the house very often, as the old gentleman is an invalid, and dislikes visitors, but we understand one another, and are too sensible to fret because we cannot always be together. Only when an opportunity occurs, as it did the other morning-- Why--you understand?"

"Yes, I understand," I said slowly. I was thinking it over, and wondering, if I were ever engaged, if I should like my _fiance_ to be content and sensible, and quite resigned to see me seldom, and to wait for years before we could be married. I think I would rather he were in a hurry!

Oh, I wish I were selfless, too! I wish I could be glad for them without thinking of myself; but I do feel so lonely and out in the cold.

I'm thankful that Vere is coming home next week, and the house will be filled with visitors. Engaged people are no use--they are always thinking about each other!

CHAPTER SIX.

_July 20th_.

Rachel was surprised when I told her that I knew her secret, and I don't think she was pleased.

"Will told you! Will told you himself!" she repeated, and stared at me in a puzzled, curious fashion, as if she wondered why on earth he should have chosen to make a confidante of me. "It is hardly a regular engagement, for father will not hear of my leaving home, and the waiting may be so long that I have told Will it is not fair to bind him. He says he is content to wait, but we agreed to speak about it as little as possible for some time to come."

"Oh, well, I'll keep the secret. You need not be afraid that I shall gossip about you," I told her. She wears no ring on her engagement finger, but always, always--morning, noon and night--there is a little diamond anchor pinned in the front of her dress. I suppose he has given her that instead, as a symbol of hope--hope that in ten or a dozen years, when she is an old thing over thirty, they may possibly be married! Well, I can imagine Rachel waiting twenty years, if it comes to that, and keeping quite happy and serene meantime; but Will Dudley is different--so quick and energetic and keen. I could not have imagined him so patient.

Yesterday Vere came home, bringing her friends with her, and already Rachel and her love affair seems far away, and we live in such a bustle and confusion that there is no time to think. I'm rather glad, for I was getting quite dull and mopey. They arrived about five in the afternoon, and came trooping into the hall, where tea was waiting. Two girls and three men, and Vere herself, prettier than ever, but with just the old, aggravating, condescending way.

"Hallo, Babs! Is that you transformed into a young lady in long dresses, and your hair done up? You dear, fat thing, how ridiculous you look!" she cried, holding me out at arm's length, and laughing as if it were the funniest joke in the world, while those three strange men stood by staring, and I grew magenta with embarra.s.sment.

One of the men was tall and handsome, with a long, narrow face, and small, narrow eyes; he laughed with her, and I hated him for it, and for having so little sympathy with a poor girl's feelings. Another was small, with a strong, square-set figure, and he looked sorry for me; and the third looked on the floor, and frowned as if something had hurt his feelings. He was the oldest and gravest-looking of the three, and I knew before he had been ten minutes in the room that he adored Vere with his heart, and disapproved of her with his conscience, and was miserable every time she did or said a thoughtless thing.

"I told you I had a smaller sister at home--here she is! Rather bigger than I expected, but not much changed in other respects. Don't be shy, Babs! Shake hands nicely, and be friends!" Vere cried laughingly, taking me by the shoulders and pushing me gently towards where the men stood; but, just as I was fuming with rage at being treated as if I were two, father came suddenly from behind, and said in his most grand seigneur manner--

"Allow me, Vere! If an introduction is made at all, it is best to make it properly. Captain Grantly, Mr Nash, Mr Carstairs, I have the honour of introducing you to my second daughter, Miss Una Sackville."

The change of expression on the men's faces was comical to behold.

Captain Grantly, the narrow-faced one, bowed as if I had been the Queen, and the nice little man smiled at me as if he were pleased--he was Mr Nash, and poor Mr Carstairs flushed as if he had been snubbed himself; I was quite sorry for him.

The girls were very lively and bright, spoke in loud voices, and behaved as if they had lived in the house all their lives, which is supposed to be good manners nowadays. Margot Sanders is tall and fair, and wears eye-gla.s.ses, and Mary Eversley, who is "Lady Mary," would have been considered very unladylike indeed at our polite seminary.

It seems to be fashionable nowadays for a girl to behave as much like a man as possible, and to smoke and shout, and stand with her arms behind her back, and lounge about anyhow on her chair. Well, I won't! I don't care if it's fashionable or not! I'd rather have been a boy if I'd had the choice, but as I am a girl I'll make the best of it, and be as nice a specimen as I can. Lorna says a girl ought to be like a flower-- sweet, modest and fragrant; she's a bit sentimental when you get her alone, but I agree with the idea, though I should not have expressed it in the same way. If I were a man I should hate to marry a girl who smelt of tobacco and shrieked like a steam whistle. I'd like a dear, dainty thing with a soft voice and pretty, womanly ways. I hereby vow and declare that I will stick to my colours, and set an example to those old things who ought to know better. Lady Mary must be twenty-five if she is a day. I don't expect she will ever be married now. With the clear-sighted gaze of youth, I can see that she is hiding a broken heart beneath the mask of mirth. Life is frightfully exciting when you have the gift of penetrating below the surface.

Will Dudley came to dinner; he was the only stranger, as he made the number even. I wore my new white chiffon, and thought I looked very fine till I went downstairs and saw the others. They were smart, and Vere looked lovely, and did the honours so charmingly that even mother seemed to make way for her. Poor mother! she looked so happy; she dotes on Vere, and is so proud of her; it does seem hard she doesn't have more of her society! I felt sad somehow, and sort of lonely as I watched them together--Vere fussing round and saying pretty, flattering little speeches, and mother smiling at her so tenderly. I feel nice things, too, but I can't say them to order; my lips seem all tight and horrid, as if they wouldn't move. I felt like the elder brother in the parable, because I really have denied myself, and been bored fearfully sometimes these last weeks doing fancy-work with mother, and driving about shut up in a horrid, close carriage, while Vere has been gadding about and enjoying herself; and then the moment she comes home I am nowhere beside her! Injustices like this sear the heart, and make one old before one's time.

I suppose I looked sad, for Will Dudley crossed over the room to talk to me.

"Aren't you well?" he asked, and his eyes looked so anxious and worried that it quite comforted me.

"I have rather a headache," I began, without thinking of what I was saying, and then, (somehow I never can help telling him exactly how I feel), I stopped, and contradicted myself flat. "I'm perfectly well, but I think I'm jealous. I have been the only child for so long, and now my poor little nose is out of joint, and I don't like it a bit. It aches."

I thought he would sympathise and protest that I could never be superseded, in his opinion at least, but he just sighed, and said slowly--

"Yes, she is very lovely! It must be a great responsibility to have a face as beautiful as hers, with all the influence over others that is its accompaniment!" and looked straight across the room to where Vere stood beneath the shaded lamp.

She was not looking in our direction; but, as if she felt his gaze without seeing it, she turned her head slowly round and raised her eyes to his, and so they stood while you could have counted ten, staring, staring, straight into each other's eyes, and I saw the colour fade gradually out of Vere's face, as though she were frightened by what she saw. That is the way people fall in love! I've read about it in books.

They sort of recognise each other when they meet, even if they are perfect strangers, and Lorna says it is the soul recognising its mate.

But I know well enough that Vere would never satisfy Will Dudley, and, besides, there is Rachel--poor patient Rachel, who trusts him so faithfully. I looked up quickly to see if he had turned pale also. He was rather white, but there was a curious little smile about the corners of his lips which quietened my fears. I should not have liked that smile if I had been Vere. There was something contemptuous in it despite its admiration, and a sort of defiance, too, as if he were quite, quite sure of himself and secure from all temptation; but then they do begin like that sometimes, and the siren weaves on them her spells, and they succ.u.mb. I wonder how it will end with Vere and Will Dudley!

CHAPTER SEVEN.

It is rather jolly having a house full of people; and father and mother and Vere are so clever at entertaining. There is never any fuss nor effort, and people are allowed to go their own way, but there is always something to do if they choose to do it. I must say that, for grown-up people, these visitors are very frivolous, and play about together as if they were children. Mr Nash began showing me tricks with pennies after breakfast the first morning, and I was so interested learning how to do them that it was half-past ten before I thought of joining father at the stables. It was too late then, and I wasn't altogether sorry, for it was livelier going about with these new people, and it wasn't my fault, for I should have gone if I'd remembered. I was extra nice to father at lunch to make up, and he didn't seem a bit vexed, so I needn't trouble another day. Really, I think it is my duty to help Vere all I can. She questioned me about Will Dudley the first time we were alone. I knew she would, and decided to tell her of his engagement. I had been told not to speak of it generally; but to my own sister it was different, and I had a feeling that she ought to know.

"Who is that Mr Dudley?" she asked, and when I told her all I knew, she smiled and dropped her eyes in the slow, self-confident fashion which other people think so fascinating but which always make me long to shake her.

"Really, quite an acquisition!" she drawled. "A vast improvement on the native one generally meets in these wilds. We must cultivate him, Babs!

He makes our number even, so we can afford to spoil him a little bit, as it is a convenience to ourselves at the same time. It will be a G.o.dsend for him to meet some decent people."

"As a matter of fact, he came to live in the country because he was sick of society and society people. He is not a country b.u.mpkin, Vere, and won't be a bit grateful for your patronage. In fact, I don't believe he will come oftener than once or twice. When a man is engaged it's a bore to him to have to--"

"Engaged!" she cried. "Mr Dudley! Who told you he was engaged? I don't believe a word of it. Some stupid local gossip! Who told you that nonsense?"

"He told me himself!"

"He did? My dear Babs, he was having a joke! No man would confide such a thing to a child like you!"

"You are mistaken there. He has told me heaps of things besides this, and I know the girl, and have spoken to her about it. You know her, too. Rachel Greaves, who lives at 'The Clift'."

"Rach-el Greaves! Oh! oh!" cried Vere, and put her hands to her sides in peals of derisive laughter. "Oh, this is too killing! And you _believed_ it? You dear, sweet innocent! That man and--Rachel Greaves!

My dear, have you seen her hair? Have you seen her hat? Could you really imagine for one moment that any man could be engaged to a creature like that?"

"I don't imagine--I know! They have been engaged for years. It will be years more before they are married, for old Mr Greaves won't give his consent. And Rachel won't leave home without it; but Mr Dudley is quite willing to wait. He says she is the best woman in the world."

"Oh, I daresay! She is frumpy enough for anything; and you call that an engagement? My dear, he will no more marry her than he'll marry the moon. It's just a stupid platonic friendship, and as he has not known anything else he thinks it is love. Imagine being in love with that solemn creature! Imagine making pretty speeches and listening to her correct copy-book replies! Wait! I should think she may wait! She'll have a surprise one of these days when he meets the right girl, and bids Rachel Greaves a fond farewell!"