her," said Ella sleepily, with again the return uponherself as to her judgment of her sister. Suddenly a new idea struckher. "Hester," she said, "what sort of person is Sir Philip Cheynes?Is he nice, or is he conceited and stuck-up, and--flirting, you know--that sort of a man?"
"Bless you, no, Miss Ella, not as ever I've heard tell. What's put sucha notion in your head? If he was stuck-up, he'd not be so to his owncousins; and he does think all the world of them, that he does. And asfor being a flirting gentleman, he'd be uncommon clever to get MissMaddie or Miss Ermie to join in such like nonsense, though by what Ihear sometimes, young ladies--and young ladies who think a deal ofthemselves too--is not so partickler as they might be, now a days. Idon't hold with that tennis-playing, Miss Ella, and all that sort ofapeing gentlemen, as seems the fashion."
Ella laughed.
"Tennis is very dull, _I_ think. I shouldn't like to spend severalhours a day at it," she said.
"Sir Philip is evidently a prig of the first water," she decidedmentally. "But if so, he's not likely to admire _me_, so why do theywant to keep me out of his way, as I see they do? And they have got godmother to join them in it for some reason."
Ella's inward indignation sent her down stairs to breakfast in anythingbut a genial mood. And, as her moods were very apt to do, it found itsexpression in her outer woman.
"You do look so grim, Ella," said Ermine. "I am so tired of thatlinsey-woolsey frock of yours--couldn't you put a bit of scarlet aboutyourself somewhere? Even a red tucker would be an improvement."
Madelene glanced at her younger sister as Ermine spoke.
"You might wear your sailor serge every morning now, I think, Ella," shesaid. "That frock is getting shabby and it is a dingy shade. Youremember we couldn't get the grey we wanted. About Christmas time too,one likes to see people looking bright."
Ella surveyed her garments with a half indifferent air that was ratherirritating.
"I think it does very well," she replied. "Even aunty thought two newwinter frocks enough. I don't see that it matters so long as it iswarm, and indeed to tell the truth, I like this better than my Sundayfrock; it is so clumsily made."
Madelene said no more.
"Every step forward seems followed by two backwards with her," shereflected. "Ermine had better not build any castles in the air abouther and Philip--if she had the slightest suspicion that _we_ should likesuch a thing, it would, I do believe, make Ella detest him."
"I have sent over to the Manor, Ella," she said as she rose from thebreakfast-table; "the groom should be back by half-past twelve or so, asMrs Belvoir is sure to be at home. I am sure you are feeling anxiousabout the poor little slipper."
"I am," said Ella. "Thank you, Madelene."
And indeed it was partly distress of mind about the lost property whichwas making Ella indisposed this morning to take a roseate view of life.
"The weather seems really settling in for frost," said Ermine. "Afterthe rain it will make the roads very slippery. I hope the frost willlast till after Christmas, now it has begun. I wish I could go a goodlong walk this morning, but I fear we mustn't think of it--eh, Maddie?"
"No--there are arrears of things to see to even after being away onlytwo days," Miss St Quentin replied. "You might get Philip to take you awalk after luncheon, when I go to sit with papa."
"And Ella too," Ermine added. "Would you like a nice long walk, Ella?It would be a pleasant variety to have an escort for once."
"No, thank you," said Ella, stiffly, though in her heart she thoughtErmine much kinder than her elder sister. "I don't care for walking inthe afternoon. I shall go out after I've finished my practising thismorning."
"Not alone, Ella?" said Madelene; "or at least if you do go alone, itwill not be further than the grounds, I hope?"
"No," said Ella, "I don't mean to leave the grounds."
She spoke more amiably--for this sort of authority or interference onher sister's part did not irritate her, as it might have done somegirls. She resented nothing which gave her the sensation of beingconsidered a person of importance.
Twelve o'clock found her walking briskly down the drive which led to theprincipal entrance. The sharp clear air stimulated her nervespleasantly; she felt high-spirited and almost happy. As Madelene hadsaid truly, Coombesthorpe had a beauty of its own in every season.
"It is lovely," thought Ella, as she looked around her, down across thegently sloping lawns to where the first murmur of water told of thestream pursuing its way, lonely now, without the merry companionship ofits summer friends, the birds and gnats and butterflies; not to speak ofthe many quaint creatures who found their homes on its banks. "I wonderwhere they all go to?" she went on. "I suppose lots of them are asleep.I wish I knew more about country things. Ermine is so clever aboutthem. I could learn all sorts of things from her if I was sure she--they--wanted to like me--"
Then her gaze passed on from the thicket concealing the brook, up againto the hills rising beyond. There was snow on the higher peaks; to beguessed at rather than seen, for a thin wintry haze made hills andclouds melt into each other. Ella shivered a little.
"Fancy living up on those hills," she thought. "And they say there arecottages there where the people stay all the winter. The road to theManor passes round the foot of them. I wonder how soon the groom willbe back. Oh, I do hope he will bring the shoe." She had forgottenabout it for the moment; the recollection made her hasten her steps.She would ask the woman at the lodge if possibly the groom had alreadyreturned; if not, she would walk a little way down the road, which forsome distance beyond these first gates remained a private one, in hopesof meeting him, for it would be easy to ask if he was bringing back aparcel or only a note.
There seemed no one stirring about the lodge when she got there, whichwas unusual, as the couple who lived in it were the proud possessors oftwo very pretty children, one or other or both of whom were generally tobe seen peeping out of the doorway when any one came by.
"They seem all asleep," thought Ella, who had long ago made greatfriends with the little family. "I hope they're not ill."
She made her way to the door as she spoke, and tapped gently, at thesame time endeavouring to "lift the latch," like Red Riding Hood of old,and let herself in. But the door resisted; it was evidently fastenedinside.
Ella tapped more loudly, and almost before she finished doing so, afaint sound of weeping caught her ear, but no reply came to her knocks.
"Is any one in?" she called out, beginning to feel a little uneasy."Willie, Hetty, who is it crying? Mrs Rose, are you there?"
A sort of movement inside, sounding like the slow, enforcedly deliberateway in which a little, short-legged child gets down from a chair,followed by a pattering of small feet across the stone floor, becameaudible. Then a doleful voice replied to her questions:
"I'm all aloned. I'm Hetty. I dunno who you is. Mammy's took Williein Master Crocker's waggin to doctor's. Willie's eyes is bad. And thepot won't budge and the dinner's spilin."
Then ensued a louder burst of bitter wailing.
Ella rapped again impatiently.
"Let me in then, you silly child," she cried. "I'm Ella--Miss Ella fromthe hall. You know my voice, surely, Hetty. I'm not a wolf," sheadded, half laughing.
Thus adjured, Hetty cautiously approached.
"Miss Ella," she said in a tone of relief. "I'll try to loose the door,Miss, but its drefful hard. Mother locked it outside and pushed the keyin under the door. I weren't to open it till daddy comed home, butmammy didn't know Miss Ella'd be coming," she added, as if half invindication to herself of her departure from mammy's injunctions.
"Then do the same again," said Ella. "Push the key under the door andI'll open it outside. Your little hands can't turn it."
Hetty gave a sort of grunt of satisfaction at the brilliant idea. Thekey was pushed through, and in another moment, Ella stood on the openthreshold. Poor Hetty's face was swollen with crying and scorched bythe fire, and her
first greeting to Ella was a fresh burst of tears.
"'Tis the dinner--daddy's dinner," she exclaimed, and sure enough arather ominous smell of burning drew Ella's attention to the fire.Quick as thought the girl pulled off her thick jacket, tossed aside herfur cap--for the kitchen felt very hot after the keen clear airoutside--and stood for a moment investigating the formidable-lookingpot, which was the cause of Hetty's woe.
"Give me a towel or something, Hetty. I don't want to burn myself."
Hetty stuffed a substantial cloth into her visitor's hands.
"And a apern, Miss, or you'll smutty your nice gown. Here's one ofmammy's."
Ella took the hint and tied it on, and well for the linsey-woolsey thatshe did so, as it was not without various black streaks on the vicariousapron that she succeeded in safely depositing "daddy's dinner" on thehearth-stone.
"Goodness! how heavy pots are," she exclaimed, "and how the fire doesscorch one's face--even a little one like that. I don't think thedinner's _much_ burnt, Hetty," she went on, carefully investigating thecontents of the stew-pot with the aid of an iron spoon, and sniffingthem gingerly at the same time.
"Stir it about, Miss, please, so as it won't stick to the sides,"suggested Hetty; which Ella proceeded to do, thinking to herself thewhile, that if all other trades failed her, that of a cook would belittle to her mind.
"Now, Hetty," she said, "I think this'll take no harm, staying where itis. When does your father come home? It's about his time, isn't it?"as the clock struck the half hour to one.
"He should a' been home before, Miss Ella, else mammy wouldn't a' leftme and the pot aloned. But there's a deal to do in the houses, now it'sso cold, a' seein' to the fires,"--her father was one of thegardeners--"and maybe Mr Meakins has kept him late. But it's all rightnow, Miss, and thank you," said six-year old Hetty, remembering for thefirst time to bob her courtesy. "Would you like to wash your hands, andthere's a smut on your cheek? You've made it worser," as Ellainvoluntarily raised her hand to the indicated spot.
"Thank you, Hetty, perhaps I'd--" Ella began, when suddenly the sound ofhorse's feet approaching, reminded her of her original errand at thelodge. "There's the groom--the groom from the Manor," she said, flyingoff, forgetful alike of smutty marks and "mammy's" big apron in hereagerness, and heedless of Hetty's assurances that she could open thegate, anxiety as to which the little maiden supposed to be the cause ofthe young lady's excitement.
Ella's ears had not misled her. A horse was waiting at the gate, butscarcely had she called out to its rider--
"You've been at the Manor; what message is there?" when a glance upwardstold her that she had made some great mistake. It was no groom who satthere, gazing at her in speechless astonishment--it was a gentleman; somuch she perceived instantaneously; but this first flash of surprise wasas nothing compared with the shock of astonishment which succeeded itwhen in another half second her eyes told her brain what at first itrefused to accept--the rider was her partner--her partner _parexcellence_ that is to say, of two nights before at Mrs Belvoir'sdance.
But if Ella was surprised, what was the effect on the new-comer of thesudden apparition of the mysterious little personage who had made somuch impression on him? _Was_ it she--"Miss Wyndham," or was it only acase of extraordinary resemblance? Yet if not Miss Wyndham, who then?He knew the Roses at the lodge, as well as he knew himself--Mrs Rosewas the only daughter of one of his own tenants, and though a comelyyoung woman, in no way exceptionally pretty--this girl could be nosister or cousin of hers, he felt sure. Yet again his hasty glance hadshown him that she was not in the ordinary attire of a lady; she washalf covered by a huge and not over-clean apron, her hair was pushed offher forehead, her face was scorched-looking and a grimy streak crossedit on one side. "Miss Wyndham," if Miss Wyndham it were, must beplaying a part in a comedy, or else--could it be that the girl he hadbeen so struck with was _not_ a lady; that in some clever way she hadinveigled herself in among the smart people at the Manor, and that thiswas the meaning of her strange, half mysterious, half reticent manner?A curious and by no means agreeable thrill passed through the young manas this last idea drove its predecessors out of his mind with therapidity of lightning. Hetty meanwhile had run out and was fumbling atthe gate. The sight of the child brought Philip back tomatters-of-fact.
"I will open myself, Hetty," he said, for the elder girl stood as iftransfixed making no effort to help the little one. And in a moment hehad dismounted and was leading his horse through the gateway.
They both stared at each other for half a second. Ella was the first tospeak, though her cheeks glowed more and more as she did so. Happilyshe had forgotten all about the sooty mark on her cheek.
"I beg your pardon for mistaking you," she said. "I thought you werethe groom from--"
"I cannot beg your pardon," interrupted Philip, "for I am absolutely inthe dark as to whether I have mistaken you or not. Are you--" but herehe hesitated, though the tone of her voice and the manner of her speechhad almost satisfied him that his recognition had been correct--"_are_you Miss Wyndham, and if so--what in the world--"
It was by this time all Ella could do to repress her laughter.
"What in the world am I doing here?" she said, finishing his sentencefor him. "Did you not ask if you would find me scouring pots and pansif you came to see me? Well--I have been doing something of the kind--witness my apron, and my hands," staring ruefully at some black streakson her fingers.
"And your cheek, Miss Ella," interrupted Hetty, understanding thegesture though not the words. "It's a deal smuttier nor your hands."
Ella's face grew still more scarlet.
"Oh, you horrid little girl," she exclaimed, "why didn't you tell me?"and lifting a corner of the apron she began to rub her cheek soindignantly that Sir Philip could scarcely keep his countenance. Buthis bewilderment and curiosity overcame his amusement.
"Then," he said, for though Hetty's name for the young lady had vaguelycaught his ear, it had not as yet awakened any association, "then I amto conclude you _are_ Miss Wyndham?"
"No," said Ella sharply, for the consciousness of the smut on her facehad quite upset her temper, "I'm not, and I never said I was; and whyyou chose to call me by a name that was not mine I am sure I don't know.I didn't know yours, and I don't now, and you wouldn't tell it me, butfor all that I didn't call you by an imaginary one."
Sir Philip looked rather taken aback.
"When I had the honour of being introduced to you," he said stiffly, "Ithink I was told your name was Wyndham?"
"I am not responsible for other people's stupidity," said Ella. "I haveno objection to your knowing who I am. I--"
But at this moment little Hetty gave her a tug. "There's daddy acoming, Miss Ella," she said. "I see him over there in the long path.May I run to tell him what mammy said?" and hardly waiting forpermission, the child set off.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN.
ERMINE MISSES THE FUN.
A mist seemed suddenly to roll away from Sir Philip's brain.
"_Miss Ella_," he repeated, with a sort of gasp; "you don't mean tosay--you can't be little Ella St Quentin?"
"Why not?" Ella retorted, sharply still--the "little" was unfortunate."I am Ella St Quentin and I have never pretended to be any one else; butat my age people are not spoken of as if they were three or four yearsold."
"I beg your pardon," said Philip.
"And," she went on, "I don't understand why you should speak of me inthat way at all. I don't know who _you_ are."
But Philip did not at once reply--his thoughts for the moment werepursuing another train. "I can't make out," he said, speaking more tohimself than to her, "why they all mystified us. They must have knownwe were dancing together--Madelene, Ermine, certainly, and mygrandmother must have--was it with _her_ you came to the Belvoirs'?" heexclaimed suddenly. "Was _that_ the reason of Granny's strange freak?"
In her turn, Ella's face looked first astonished, then illumined.
"Are
you speaking of Lady Cheynes, my godmother?" she said. "Then areyou Sir Philip Cheynes? Oh, how fearfully stupid of me not to know!But," and her bewilderment took the same direction as his, "why did noneof them introduce us properly? Of course I never thought of you beinghere; I understood till yesterday that you were up in the northsomewhere. I did not hear your surname at all, and I was not sure if_you_ were `Sir Philip,' though I remembered that much. If I hadthought of it--it is not such a very common name--but I just neverthought of _you_, of my godmother's grandson, at all."
"I see," Philip replied; "and they all lent themselves tothe--`mystification,' that is plain. I confess I don't see much pointin it."
He spoke stiffly, but he was not resenting it on _her_--indeed he had noreason to do so, but when people are vexed they are not alwaysreasonable--so Ella remained gracious. Suddenly