Read Ebook: The Girl's Own Paper Vol. XX. No. 1021 July 22 1899 by Various

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Lucy was severely silent.

"And to open your house only to lower it, to get in people earning wages or salaries, or whatever they please to call them!" groaned Florence. "If you chose to do such a thing, you might have acted so differently! It might not have been a bad idea if you had worked it out wisely. I've known reduced ladies who have really kept their establishments going in this way, taking care never to receive anybody but those who could pay really well. There are always wealthy families ready to pay handsomely to secure a happy home for some member who was born with a want or whose mind has failed. Jem has some friends who pay three hundred pounds a year for the care of their sister, quite a gentlewoman and cultivated, but just a little 'touched.' I believe he could have secured her for you if we had dreamed of such a thing. But of course you'd have had to keep a second servant and a first-rate table. Still, if you'd managed well, I believe it might have paid you better than going to the Institute. And it would have kept you quite in touch with social life, instead of shutting you out of it, as your daily engagements do."

Florence poured her words out in such a rapid stream that Lucy could not launch a word on the current. "My dear sister," she said, "to my mind there is no shame in any honest work or domestic arrangement. But it seems to me that one imports pain into these domestic arrangements precisely in the degree in which money matters and 'profits' come into them rather than individual selection and personal harmony. And certainly while I can earn bread in any other way I shall not bring a half crazy woman to live in the house with Hugh."

"Well, still there are others," persisted Florence. "There's the Arcuts' son. He isn't an idiot; he is quite gentlemanly; he just has a want. Of course it is painful for his people, and they pay ever so much for a home apart for himself and his man-servant. They like him to live in a lady's house and to sit at her table, so as to keep up refined habits. Or there are many well-to-do married couples who like to board, because they don't get on very well alone together, or the wife doesn't care for the trouble of housekeeping. I believe Jem and I may do it, when we are old and the girls are married off."

"Florence," repeated Lucy patiently, "I tell you again, you miss the whole point of the position. I did not do this for money. I did it because under present conditions it seemed an opportunity for the interchange of neighbourly service. If Charlie had been at home, I am sure he would have asked the boy to be our guest for a week or two, till some fit home was found for him, which Charlie would have helped to find. I have done the next best thing--the one thing possible under present circumstances, and I receive a favour in giving one, which is always the most wholesome and pleasant thing for both parties concerned."

She bustled off leaving her sentence unfinished, Lucy meekly following her.

If Lucy's news had "shocked" Florence, Lucy was certainly startled by the new standpoint in the Brand establishment! If the five people to whom she was introduced--quite strange to her, and in most elaborate toilettes--were "one or two friends," what represented "formality" in the Brand ideas? Of course, the hostess's sister was introduced to them all--a murmur of names, a waving of bowing figures, amid which Lucy caught the name of Jinxson, and was able to associate it with a little woman, in emerald green brocade, a thatch of tawny curls beetling over a brow which needed no dwarfing. Then she found herself relegated to the more special society of a very tall man, very dark, with a sounding Highland name, whose prefix alone fastened itself upon her ears, so that ever afterwards she thought of him as "Mr. Mac." He opened conversation with her by asking first if she had seen the last opera, and then if she contemplated going "for the autumn" to the Highlands or to Norway? Then he murmured, "May I have the honour," and they fell into the procession filing into the dining-room.

The dining-room was a still further revelation of the long distance the Brands' customs had travelled during the few months since Lucy had last joined in their social life. Fine napery they had always had, but now the long table-cloth was edged with rich embroidery and heavy lace. The table centre was a creamy film over pale rose-satin, and that note of colour was carried out in every detail of china, glass and floral decoration. The latter was a wonderful arrangement, which Lucy at once knew it must have taken hours to work out. The menu was equally elaborate; one out-of-season delicacy followed another. The wines and liqueurs seemed to Lucy to be equally rare and choice, judging from their names whispered in her ear ever and again by two men in severely correct evening dress who "waited at table," and were in their turn waited upon by the housemaid and the parlour-maid.

One of the ladies exclaimed on the loveliness of the floral scheme. "What genius you have at your service, Mrs. Brand!" she cried.

"Oh, not at my service only," Florence replied nonchalantly. "I could not trust such a thing to my maids, and I could not spare time for it myself. Gosson, the florist, knows of one or two young women whom he recommends for such work."

"It needs much taste," said the Highland gentleman.

"Oh, I understand they are quite superior people," Florence answered. "When I asked if one could rely on their honesty, he gave me the history of the one he meant to send. The daughter of a doctor, I think Gosson said, who had found it so impossible to provide for his family by his profession that he was tempted into speculation, and, of course, lost everything and committed suicide. It looked odd to see the dismal-looking girl in black creating such visions of beauty."

"Ah, you have such a sensitive heart, dear Mrs. Brand," said Mrs. Jinxson. "I should not wonder you helped her with most valuable suggestions. I think I trace your exquisite taste." Florence smiled and did not reply.

Conversation on the whole was not very brisk. Possibly there was too much shifting of plates and variety of flavours to admit of that. Lucy found herself seated between her tall escort and a stout man with a closely shaven head. The former, finding it hard to discover any subject on which Lucy was readily responsive, devoted himself chiefly to Florence at the head of the table. His remarks concerned bags of game, a county hunt and a forthcoming military ball. Lucy's other neighbour, whose name she had never caught, made a polite effort to include her in a conversation going on between himself and Mr. Brand. It consisted of mutual congratulations as to the magnificent prospects of a certain "company," laudation of a man whom Lucy believed to be a most dangerous enemy to British freedom and honour, and scornful denunciations of another whom she regarded as their faithful champion. Lucy could not attempt expostulation or argument under such circumstances, but she was thankful that her silences were soon sufficiently understood to check any further appeals for her sympathy and concurrence. These were readily tendered by Mrs. Jinxson, who indeed went beyond the gentleman in her derogation of the statesman whose influence they deprecated.

When dessert made its appearance, little Muriel and Sybil came upon the scene. The one was a trifle older than Lucy's Hugh, the other as much younger. They were artistically dressed, with fair hair floating over their shoulders. "Just like little pictures!" cried Mrs. Jinxson ecstatically. Lucy's Highland escort began to pay court to Sybil as she stood between him and her mother. He heard her whispered appeal for a pear which lay in a dish immediately on his right hand.

"Yes, little lady, you shall have it at once," he said, "but you must pay me for it. Do you think you will be able to afford one little kiss?"

The child looked up at him with her hard blue eyes. "Give me the pear," she said.

"Certainly; I will trust my payment to my little lady's honour," said the gentleman.

Sybil snatched the pear from his hand.

"I will kiss oo when oo washes oor face," she said rudely in a sharp childish treble. The other guests laughed. The Highlander coloured beneath his swarthy complexion.

Muriel had worked her way round to her Aunt Lucy. "Why are you dressed in black?" she whispered. "The governess always wears black; but that's because she's only the governess. But then you're only a governess too, aren't you? Nurse said so."

"I think the lady opposite us wishes to speak to you," Lucy said, disregarding her niece's remarks, and noting that the elderly dame at the other side of the table was making enticing gesticulations.

Muriel shook herself. "I'm not going," she said, in a stage whisper. "I don't like her. I don't like people who wear spectacles."

"But, Muriel," pleaded Lucy, in a low tone, "you ought not to make personal remarks of that sort! And your mamma herself will have to wear spectacles if she lives long enough."

"Then I hope she won't," said Muriel. She was going to say something else, but interrupted herself to put out her tongue at Sybil at the other side of the table. Possibly Mrs. Brand herself noticed this performance, and as rebuke to such children at such a moment would have probably had still more compromising results, all she could do was to make the signal for the ladies' retreat into the drawing-room.

Mrs. Jinxson evidently held the position of intimate in the Brand mansion. She and Florence promptly began to exchange confidences, while Lucy took up her r?le of the hostess's sister by trying to interest the spectacled dame. That lady, however, preferred to strike into the other conversation.

"Do I hear you say you are changing your footman, Mrs. Jinxson?" she said.

"Yes," said that lady, turning to her with animation. "I was just congratulating dear Mrs. Brand on only keeping a page. It is far better to secure, for occasions, such perfect attendance as we have had to-night than to have to endure one's own man-servant, who is always either a clumsy raw hand or a finished villain--either quarrelling with one's maids or making love to them. But Mr. Jinxson will have his own way; he has always been used to men-servants, and he will not hear reason."

Mr. Jinxson's father, a very respectable man, had kept a pleasant little hotel in a provincial town.

"We are parting with our present footman," Mrs. Jinxson proceeded, "because he is so crude. Nothing will mellow him. When we have gentlemen's dinner parties--as we so often do--and story-telling and jokes are going, his face is covered with a broad grin. Once I actually heard him giggle." She turned to Lucy. "Such a thing is unendurable, is it not? It is the A B C of a servant's training, man or woman, that not a muscle shall move whatever is said or done. What right have they to take an interest in anything but their work?"

Now this very difficulty had occurred in some of the houses where Lucy's friend, Miss Latimer, had been governess. She and Lucy had discussed it together. Miss Latimer had told her that Dr. Thomas Guthrie, the great preacher, having heard such a complaint raised against a servant, had remarked that, for his part, if a servant were able to conceal all interest in family mirth or misery going on before his eyes, he should be inclined to wonder what else he had acquired equal skill in concealing. Lucy told this little story with a smile and without any comment.

The spectacled lady stared at her stonily. Mrs. Jinxson gave a polite sniff, and there was a little motion of Florence's head which effectually suppressed her sister.

But at that moment the gentlemen came upstairs, and the conversation drifted into chit-chat about books which nobody seemed to have read, and pictures which nobody seemed to have seen. Then there was "a little music"--the elderly spectacled dame contributing "My mother bids me bind my hair," and Mr. Jinxson following suit with "My love, she's but a lassie yet." Then somebody's carriage was announced, and the little party broke up, Lucy naturally being the last to leave.

"Flo, you've never asked me the details of my last news from Charlie," whispered Lucy--speaking playfully and meaning no reflection on her sister--as she and the Brands stood on the stairs waiting for the drawing up of Lucy's cab.

"Your cab, mum," said the page.

And Lucy hastily kissed Florence and kept her news to herself.

BOOKS BEFORE TRAVEL.

BY DORA DE BLAQUI?RE.

If we wander away from the more modern side of life in Italy, we are even more interested. The Etruscans and their cities, the early days of Rome, Rome in Christian days, and the wars and tumults of the middle ages, have all in turn swayed the Peninsula, and have all had their historians too. The Etruscans are the most mysterious people of antiquity, and in the Etruscan museum at Florence you will first be able to gauge the artistic products of this ancient people in bronze and earthenware. Their power attained its zenith in the sixth century B.C., and you ought to know something about them in order to comprehend better the Roman civilisation.

And now I must turn from Italy, as I think you will know quite enough about it for a short visit; and let me hope that you will not be one of the disappointed ones, to whom none of her attractions have appealed, who see nothing of her many-sidedness, and note none of that endless procession of people who made her history through the ages, and understand none of the things which make her everlasting charm. A well-known prelate said the other day, "General culture is sympathetic interest in the world of human intelligence," and this to me is a definition which explains much of the so-called "disappointment" we hear of to-day.

And now I think I may leave my task of guiding my readers into such reading of many books as will give them enjoyment in their travels in foreign lands. I have not done more than speak of some of the many works which have interested me, for I find others that have been perused, but which do not seem important nor useful enough to be mentioned. In many Continental cities there are fairly good libraries, from which you can procure books dealing with the city in which you are staying; and if you are a rapid reader, you can do much in the way of skimming-over the ground, and a few photographs will remind you of the objects you most desire to recall.

THE COURTSHIP OF CATHERINE WEST.

In after-life, when Catherine tried to review the events of that strange summer, although every detail of her stay in Switzerland stood out in startling distinctness, she could never remember anything about the journey home. It seemed to pass in a dream, and she saw, as in a vision, the flitting crowds at the railway stations, the swarms of strange, unknown faces, the gleams of sunlight on field and stream as the train rushed by them, and at last the sea and the white cliffs of England again. Ten days had changed her from an eager, impulsive girl to a mature woman, self-reliant, not only in intention, but in fact. The well-known approach to her old rooms convinced her of the reality of things. "And now," she thought, "for the old life, with its ordinary cares and business. Well, it has to be endured."

But her anticipations were destined to be falsified. Her landlady met her with mingled relief and surprise. A letter had come that morning marked "Immediate." She had not known where to send it, but now Miss West had come it would be off her mind.

"A letter for me!" cried Catherine, her thoughts at once rushing to Granville and Margaret, and then immediately reduced to order by a little common sense. "I so seldom have any letters, surely you must be mistaken."

But no, the letter was there, a large square envelope, sealed with a heavy crest. She opened it with a good deal of curiosity, and read:--

"The Parade, St. John's.

"DEAR NIECE,--You probably never heard of your aunt, or rather your father's aunt, Cicely. He and I quarrelled before you were born, and I never had any communication with him afterwards. But I have just discovered that I am suffering from an incurable complaint and have not many months to live, and it has come upon me that I should like to see you, and be reconciled to you as his representative. As soon, therefore, as you receive this I beg of you to come to me. I will, of course, defray all your expenses, and will see that you are met at the station. Telegraph the time of your arrival.

"Yours sincerely, "CICELY WEST."

The arrival of this letter was a positive relief to Catherine. It gave her something to do and something to occupy her mind, and she had so much dreaded those quiet days spent alone in her rooms before the school opened again. Now there was no time for regret. With feverish energy she looked out her train in Bradshaw, despatched her trunks, had some lunch, and started out again on her travels. The journey took some time. St. John's is a little watering-place on the south coast, almost suburban in character, so accessible is it from London, and with that peculiarly uninteresting and unfinished look distinctive of places that have been developed as a speculation. A bran new promenade and a flaunting "Kursaal" are its chief attractions, and at each end of the bay the giant scaffolding prophetic of some immense hotel or terrace projects its hideous outline between the sky and sea. Catherine, fresh from the magnificence of the Alps, shuddered as the train ran into the overcrowded little station.

She collected her belongings and was about to call a cab when a man in livery touched his hat, and, asking her if she were not for Frampton House, opened the door of a brougham that stood waiting. Catherine got in, and realised for the first time how tired she was; but she did not have much time for reflection, for in a very few minutes the carriage drew up at a large house facing the sea.

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