Mrs Asplin gathered what branches of russet leaves still remained in the garden and placed them in bowls in the drawing-room, with a few precious chrysanthemums1 peeping out here and there; laid out her very best tea-cloth and d’oyleys, and sent the girls upstairs to change their well-worn school dresses for something fresher and smarter.
“And you, Peggy dear—you will put on your pretty red, of course!” she said, standing2 still, with a bundle of branches in her arms, and looking with a kindly3 glance at the pale face, which had somehow lost its sunny expression during the last two days.
Peggy hesitated and pursed up her lips.
“Why ‘of course,’ Mrs Asplin? I never change my dress until evening. Why need I do it to-day, just because some strangers may call whom I have never seen before?”
It was the first time that the girl had objected to do what she was told, and Mrs Asplin was both surprised and hurt by the tone in which she spoke4—a good deal puzzled too, for Peggy was by no means indifferent to pretty frocks, and as a rule fond of inventing excuses to wear her best clothes. Why, then, should she choose this afternoon of all others to refuse so simple a request? Just for a moment she felt tempted5 to make a sharp reply, and then tenderness for the girl whose mother was so far-away took the place of the passing irritation6, and she determined7 to try a gentler method.
“There is not the slightest necessity, dear,” she said quietly. “I asked only because the red dress suits you so well, and it would have been a pleasure to me to see you looking your best. But you are very nice and neat as you are. You need not change unless you like.”
She turned to leave the room as she finished speaking; but before she had reached the door Peggy was by her side, holding out her hands to take possession of twigs8 and branches.
“Let me take them to the kitchen, please! Let me help you!” she said quickly, and just for a moment a little hand rested on her arm with a spasmodic pressure. That was all; but it was enough. There was no need of a formal apology. Mrs Asplin understood all the unspoken love and penitence9 which was expressed in that simple action, and beamed with her brightest smile.
“Thank you, my lassie, please do! I’m glad to avoid going near the kitchen again, for when cook once gets hold of me I can never get away. She tells me the family history of all her relatives, and indeed it’s very depressing, it is,” (with a relapse into her merry Irish accent), “for they are subject to the most terrible afflictions! I’ve had one dose of it to-day, and I don’t want another!”
Peggy laughed, and carried off her bundle, lingered in the kitchen just long enough to remind the cook that “apple charlotte served with cream” was a seasonable pudding at the fall of the year, and then went upstairs to put on the red dress, and relieve her feelings by making grimaces10 at herself in the glass as she fastened the buttons.
At four o’clock the patter of horses’ feet came from below, doors opened and shut, and there was a sound of voices in the hall. The visitors had arrived!
Peggy pressed her lips together, and bent11 doggedly12 over her writing. She had not progressed with her work as well as she had hoped during Rob’s absence, for her thoughts had been running on other subjects, and she had made mistake after mistake. She must try to finish one batch13 at least, to show him on his return. Unless she was especially sent for, she would not go downstairs; but before ten minutes had passed, Mellicent was tapping at the door and whispering eager sentences through the keyhole.
“Peggy, quick! They’ve come! Rosalind’s here! You’re to come down! Quick! Hurry up!”
“All right, my dear, keep calm! You will have a fit if you excite yourself like this!” said Peggy coolly.
The summons had come, and could not be disregarded, and on the whole she was not sorry. The meeting was bound to take place sooner or later, and, in spite of her affectation of indifference14, she was really consumed with curiosity to know what Rosalind was like. She had no intention of hurrying, however, but lingered over the arrangement of her papers until Mellicent had trotted15 downstairs again, and the coast was clear. Then she sauntered after her with leisurely16 dignity, opened the drawing-room door, and gave a swift glance round.
Lady Darcy sat talking to Mrs Asplin a few yards away, in such a position that she faced the doorway17. She looked up as Peggy entered, and swept her eyes curiously18 over the girl’s figure. She looked older than she had done from across the church the day before, and her face had a bored expression, but, if possible, she was even more elegant in her attire19. It seemed quite extraordinary to see such a fine lady sitting on that well-worn sofa, instead of the sober figure of the vicar’s wife.
Peggy flashed a look from one to the other—from the silk dress to the serge, from the beautiful weary face to the cheery loving smile—and came to the conclusion that, for some mysterious reason, Mrs Asplin was a happier woman than the wife of the great Lord Darcy.
The two ladies stopped talking and looked expectantly towards her.
“Come in, dear! This is our new pupil, Lady Darcy, for whom you were asking. You have heard of her—”
“From Robert. Oh yes, frequently! I was especially anxious to see Robert’s little friend. How do you do, dear? Let me see! What is your funny little name? Molly—Dolly—something like that, I think—I forget for the moment?”
“Mariquita Saville!” quoth Peggy grandiloquently20. She was consumed with regret that she had no second name to add to the number of syllables21, but she did her best with those she possessed22, rolling them out in her very best manner and with a stately condescension23 which made Lady Darcy smile for the first time since she entered the room.
“Oh–h!” The lips parted to show a gleam of regular white teeth. “That’s it, is it? Well, I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, Mariquita. I hope we shall see a great deal of you while we are here. You must go and make friends with Rosalind—my daughter. She is longing24 to know you.”
“Yes, go and make friends with Rosalind, Peggy dear! She was asking for you,” said Mrs Asplin kindly; and as the girl walked away the two ladies exchanged smiling glances.
“Amusing! Such grand little manners! Evidently a character.”
“Oh, quite! Peggy is nothing if not original. She is a dear, good girl, but quite too funny in her ways. She is really the incarnation of mischief25, and keeps me on tenter-hooks from morning until night, but from her manner you would think she was a model of propriety26. Nothing delights her so much as to get hold of a new word or a high-sounding phrase.”
“But what a relief to have someone out of the ordinary run! There are so many bores in the world, it is quite refreshing27 to meet with a little originality28. Dear Mrs Asplin, you really must tell me how you manage to look so happy and cheerful in this dead-alive place? I am desolate29 at the idea of staying here all winter. What in the world do you find to do?”
Mrs Asplin laughed.
“Indeed, that’s not the trouble at all; the question is how to find time to get through the day’s duties! It’s a rush from morning till night, and when evening comes I am delighted to settle down in an easy-chair with a nice book to read. One has no chance of feeling dull in a house full of young people.”
“Ah, you are so good and clever, you get through so much. I want to ask your help in half a dozen ways. If we are to settle down here for some months, there are so many arrangements to make. Now tell me, what would you do in this case?” The two ladies settled down to a discussion on domestic matters, while Peggy crossed the room to the corner where Rosalind Darcy sat in state, holding her court with Esther and Mellicent as attendant slaves. She wore the same grey dress in which she had appeared in church the day before, but the jacket was thrown open, and displayed a distractingly dainty blouse, all pink chiffon, and frills, and ruffles30 of lace. Her gloves lay in her lap, and the celebrated31 diamond ring flashed in the firelight as she held out her hand to meet Peggy’s.
“How do you do? So glad to see you! I’ve heard of you often. You are the little girl who is my bwothar’s fwiend.” She pronounced the letter “r” as if it had been “w,” and the “er” in brother as if it had been “ah,” and spoke with a languid society drawl more befitting a woman of thirty than a schoolgirl of fifteen.
Peggy stood motionless and looked her over, from the crown of her hat to the tip of the little trim shoe, with an expression of icy displeasure.
“Oh dear me, no,” she said quietly, “you mistake the situation. You put it the wrong way about. Your brother is the big boy whom I have allowed to become a friend of mine!”
Esther and Mellicent gasped33 with amazement34, while Rosalind gave a trill of laughter, and threw up her pretty white hands.
“She’s wexed!” she cried. “She’s wexed, because I called her little! I’m wewwy sowwy, but I weally can’t help it, don’t you know. It’s the twuth! You are a whole head smaller than I am.” She threw back her chin, and looked over Peggy’s head with a smile of triumph. “There, look at that, and I’m not a year older. I call you wewwy small indeed for your age.”
“I’m thankful to hear it! I admire small women,” said Peggy promptly35, seating herself on a corner of the window-seat, and staring critically at the tall figure of the visitor. She would have been delighted if she could have persuaded herself that her height was awkward and ungainly, but such an effort was beyond imagination. Rosalind was startlingly and wonderfully pretty; she had never seen anyone in real life who was in the least like her. Her eyes were a deep, dark blue, with curling dark lashes36, her face was a delicate oval, and the pink and white colouring, and flowing golden locks, gave her the appearance of a princess in a fairy tale rather than an ordinary flesh-and-blood maiden37. Peggy looked from her to Mellicent, who was considered quite a beauty among her companions, and, oh dear me! how plain, and fat, and prosaic38 she appeared when viewed side by side with this radiant vision! Esther stood the comparison better, for, though her long face had no pretensions39 to beauty, it was thoughtful and interesting in expression. There was no question which was most charming to look at; but if it had come to choice of a companion, an intelligent observer would certainly have decided40 in favour of the vicar’s daughter. Esther’s face was particularly grave at this moment, and her eyes met Peggy’s with a reproachful glance. What was the matter with the girl this afternoon? Why did she take up everything that Rosalind said in that hasty, cantankerous41 manner? Here was an annoying thing—to have just given an enthusiastic account of the brightness and amicability42 of a new companion, and then to have that companion come into the room only to make snappish remarks, and look as cross and ill-natured as a bear! She turned in an apologetic fashion to Rosalind, and tried to resume the conversation at the point where it had been interrupted by Peggy’s entrance.
“And I was saying, we have ever so many new things to show you—presents, you know, and things of that kind. The last is the nicest of all: a really good big camera with which we can take proper photographs. Mrs Saville—Peggy’s mother—gave it to us before she left. It was a present to the schoolroom, so it belongs equally to us all, and we have such fun with it. We are beginning to do some good things now, but at first they were too funny for anything. There is one of father where his boots are twice as large as his head, and another of mother where her face has run, and is about a yard long, and yet it is so like her! We laughed till we cried over it, and father has locked it away in his desk. He says he will keep it to look at when he is low-spirited.”
Rosalind gave a shrug43 to her shapely shoulders.
“It would not cheer me up to see a cawicature of myself! I don’t think I shall sit to you for my portrait, if that is the sort of thing you do, but you shall show me all your failures. It will amuse me. You will have to come up and see me vewwy often this winter, for I shall be so dull. We have been abroad for the last four years, and England seems so dark and dweawy. Last winter we were at Cairo. We lived in a big hotel, and there was something going on almost every night. I was not out, of course, but I was allowed to go into the room for an hour after dinner, and to dance with the gentlemen in mother’s set. And we went up the Nile in a steamer, and dwove about every afternoon, paying calls, and shopping in the bazaars44. It never rains in Cairo, and the sun is always shining. It seems so wonderful! Just like a place in a fairy tale.” She looked at Peggy as she spoke, and that young person smiled with an air of elegant condescension.
“It would do so to you. Naturally it would. When one has been born in the East, and lived there the greater part of one’s life, it seems natural enough, but the trippers from England who just come out for a few months’ visit are always astonished. It used to amuse us so much to hear their remarks!”
Rosalind stared, and flushed with displeasure. She was accustomed to have her remarks treated with respect, and the tone of superiority was a new and unpleasing experience.
“You were born in the East?”
“Certainly I was!”
“Where, may I ask?”
“In India—in Calcutta, where my father’s regiment45 was stationed.”
“You lived there till you were quite big? You can remember all about it?”
“All I want to remember. There was a great deal that I choose to forget. I don’t care for India. England is more congenial to my feelings.”
“And can you speak the language? Did you learn Hindostanee while you were there?”
“Naturally. Of course I did.”
A gasp32 of amazement came from the two girls in the window, for a knowledge of Hindostanee had never been included in the list of Peggy’s accomplishments46, and she was not accustomed to hide her light under a bushel. They gazed at her with widened eyes, and Rosalind scented47 scepticism in the air, and cried quickly—
“Say something, then. If you can speak, say something now, and let us hear you.”
“Pardon me!” said Peggy, simpering. “As a matter of fact, I was sent home because I was learning to speak too well. The language of the natives is not considered suitable for English children of tender age. I must ask you to be so kind as to excuse me. I should be sorry to shock your sensibilities.”
Rosalind drew her brows together and stared steadily48 in the speaker’s face. Like many beautiful people, she was not over-gifted with a sense of humour, and therefore Peggy’s grandiose49 manner and high-sounding words failed to amuse her as they did most strangers. She felt only annoyed and puzzled, dimly conscious that she was being laughed at, and that this girl with the small face and the peaked eyebrows50 was trying to patronise her—Rosalind Darcy—instead of following the vicar’s daughters in adoring her from a respectful distance, as of course it was her duty to do. She had been anxious to meet the Peggy Saville of whom her brother had spoken so enthusiastically, for it was a new thing to hear Rob praise a girl, but it was evident that Peggy on her side was by no means eager to make her acquaintance. It was an extraordinary discovery, and most disconcerting to the feelings of one who was accustomed to be treated as a person of supreme51 importance. Rosalind could hardly speak for mortification52, and it was an immense relief when the door opened, and Max and Oswald hurried forward to greet her. Then indeed she was in her element, beaming with smiles, and indulging a dozen pretty little tricks of manner for the benefit of their admiring eyes. Max took possession of the chair by her side, his face lighted up with pleasure and admiration53. He was too thoroughly54 natural and healthy a lad to be much troubled with sentiment, but ever since one winter morning five years before, when Rosalind had first appeared in the little country church, she had been his ideal of all that was womanly and beautiful. At every meeting he discovered fresh charms, and to-day was no exception to the rule. She was taller, fairer, more elegant. In some mysterious manner she seemed to have grown older than he, so that, though he was in reality three years her senior, he was still a boy, while she was almost a young lady.
Mrs Asplin looked across the room, and a little anxious furrow55 showed in her forehead. Maxwell’s admiration for Rosalind was already an old story, and as she saw his eager face and sparkling eyes, a pang56 of fear came into his mother’s heart. If the Darcys were constantly coming down to the Larches57, it was only natural to suppose that this admiration would increase, and it would never do for Max to fall in love with Rosalind! The vicar’s son would be no match for Lord Darcy’s daughter; it would only mean a heartache for the poor lad, a clouded horizon just when life should be the brightest. For a moment a prevision of trouble filled her heart, then she waved it away in her cheery, hopeful fashion—
“Why, what a goose I am! They are only children. Time enough to worry my head about love affairs in half a dozen years to come. The lad would be a Stoic58 if he didn’t admire her. I don’t see how he could help it!”
“Rosalind is lovelier than ever, Lady Darcy, if that is possible!” she said aloud, and her companion’s face brightened with pleasure.
“Oh, do you think so?” she cried eagerly. “I am so glad to hear it, for this growing stage is so trying. I was afraid she might outgrow59 her strength and lose her complexion60, but so far I don’t think it has suffered. I am very careful of her diet, and my maid understands all the new skin treatments. So much depends on a girl’s complexion. I notice your youngest daughter has a very good colour. May I ask what you use?”
“Soap and water, fresh air, good plain food,—those are the only cosmetics61 we use in this house,” said Mrs Asplin, laughing outright62 at the idea of Mellicent’s healthy bloom being the result of “skin treatment.” “I am afraid I have too much to do looking after the necessities of life for my girls, Lady Darcy, to worry myself about their complexions63.”
“Oh yes. Well, I’m sure they both look charming; but Rosalind will go much into society, and of course,”—She checked herself before the sentence was finished; but Mrs Asplin was quick enough to understand the imputation64 that the complexions of a vicar’s daughters were but of small account, but that it was a very different matter when the Honourable65 Rosalind Darcy was concerned. She understood, but she was neither hurt nor annoyed by the inferences, only a little sad and very, very pitiful. She knew the story of the speaker’s life, and the reason why she looked forward to Rosalind’s entrance into society with such ambition. Lady Darcy had been the daughter of poor but well-born parents, and had married the widower66, Lord Darcy, not because she loved him or had any motherly feeling for his two orphan67 boys, but simply and solely68 for a title and establishment, and a purse full of money. Given these, she had fondly imagined that she was going to be perfectly69 happy. No more screwing and scraping to keep up appearances; no more living in dulness and obscurity; she would be Lady Darcy, the beautiful young wife of a famous man. So, with no thought in her heart but for her own worldly advancement71, Beatrice Fairfax stood before God’s altar and vowed72 to love, honour, and obey a man for whom she had no scrap70 of affection, and whom she would have laughed to scorn if he had been poor and friendless. She married him, but the life which followed was not by any means all that she had expected. Lord Darcy had heavy money losses, which obliged him to curtail73 expenses almost immediately after his wedding; her own health broke down, and it was a knife in her heart to know that her boy was only the third son, and that the two big, handsome lads at Eton would inherit the lion’s share of their father’s property. Hector, the Lifeguardsman, and Oscar, the Dragoon, were for ever running into debt and making fresh demands on her husband’s purse. She and her children had to suffer for their extravagances; while Robert, her only son, was growing up a shy, awkward lad, who hated society, and asked nothing better than to be left in the country alone with his frogs and his beetles74. Ambition after ambition had failed her, until now all her hopes were centred in Rosalind, the beautiful daughter, in whom she saw a reproduction of herself in the days of her girlhood. She had had a dull and obscure youth; Rosalind should be the belle75 of society. Her own marriage had been a disappointment; Rosalind should make a brilliant alliance. She had failed to gain the prize for which she had worked; she would live again in Rosalind’s triumphs, and in them find fullest satisfaction.
So Lady Darcy gloated over every detail of her daughter’s beauty, and thought day and night of her hair, her complexion, her figure, striving still to satisfy her poor tired soul with promises of future success, and never dreaming for a moment that the prize which seemed to elude76 her grasp had been gained long ago by the vicar’s wife, with her old-fashioned dress and work-worn hands. But Mrs Asplin knew, and thanked God in her heart for the sweetness and peace of her dear, shabby home; for the husband who loved her, and the children whom they were training to be good servants for Him in the world Yes, and for that other child too, who had been taken away at the very dawn of his manhood, and who, they believed, was doing still better work in the unseen world.
Until Lady Darcy discovered that the only true happiness rose from something deeper than worldly success, there was nothing in store for her but fresh disappointments and heart-hunger; while as for Rosalind, the unfortunate child of such a mother—Mrs Asplin looked at the girl as she sat leaning back in her chair, craning her throat, and showing off all her little airs and graces for the benefit of the two admiring schoolboys, gratified vanity and self-love showing on every line of her face.
“It seems almost cruel to say so,” she sighed to herself, “but it would be the best thing that could happen to the child if she were to lose some of her beauty before she grew up. Such a face as that is a terrible temptation to vanity.” But Mrs Asplin did not guess how soon these unspoken words would come back to her memory, or what bitter cause she would have to regret their fulfilment.
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1
chrysanthemums
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| n.菊花( chrysanthemum的名词复数 ) | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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twigs
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| 细枝，嫩枝( twig的名词复数 ) | |
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penitence
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| n.忏悔，赎罪；悔过 | |
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grimaces
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| n.（表蔑视、厌恶等）面部扭曲，鬼脸( grimace的名词复数 )v.扮鬼相，做鬼脸( grimace的第三人称单数 ) | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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doggedly
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| adv.顽强地，固执地 | |
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batch
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| n.一批(组，群)；一批生产量 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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trotted
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| 小跑，急走( trot的过去分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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attire
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| v.穿衣，装扮[同]array；n.衣着；盛装 | |
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grandiloquently
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syllables
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| n.音节( syllable的名词复数 ) | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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condescension
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| n.自以为高人一等，贬低(别人) | |
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longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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refreshing
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| adj.使精神振作的，使人清爽的，使人喜欢的 | |
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originality
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| n.创造力，独创性；新颖 | |
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desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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ruffles
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| 褶裥花边( ruffle的名词复数 ) | |
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celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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lashes
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| n.鞭挞( lash的名词复数 )；鞭子；突然猛烈的一击；急速挥动v.鞭打( lash的第三人称单数 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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prosaic
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| adj.单调的，无趣的 | |
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pretensions
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| 自称( pretension的名词复数 )； 自命不凡； 要求； 权力 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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41
cantankerous
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| adj.爱争吵的，脾气不好的 | |
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amicability
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| n.友善，亲善 | |
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shrug
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| v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
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44
bazaars
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| （东方国家的）市场( bazaar的名词复数 )； 义卖； 义卖市场； （出售花哨商品等的）小商品市场 | |
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regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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accomplishments
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| n.造诣；完成( accomplishment的名词复数 )；技能；成绩；成就 | |
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scented
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| adj.有香味的；洒香水的；有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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grandiose
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| adj.宏伟的，宏大的，堂皇的，铺张的 | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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51
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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52
mortification
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| n.耻辱，屈辱 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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furrow
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| n.沟；垄沟；轨迹；车辙；皱纹 | |
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pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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larches
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| n.落叶松（木材）( larch的名词复数 ) | |
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stoic
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| n.坚忍克己之人，禁欲主义者 | |
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59
outgrow
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| vt.长大得使…不再适用；成长得不再要 | |
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complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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cosmetics
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| n.化妆品 | |
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outright
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| adv.坦率地；彻底地；立即；adj.无疑的；彻底的 | |
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complexions
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| 肤色( complexion的名词复数 )； 面色； 局面； 性质 | |
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imputation
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| n.归罪，责难 | |
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honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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widower
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| n.鳏夫 | |
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orphan
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| n.孤儿；adj.无父母的 | |
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solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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advancement
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| n.前进，促进，提升 | |
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vowed
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| 起誓，发誓（vow的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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curtail
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| vt.截短，缩短；削减 | |
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beetles
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| n.甲虫( beetle的名词复数 ) | |
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belle
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| n.靓女 | |
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elude
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| v.躲避，困惑 | |
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