The Third Miss St Quentin

tone,which had lost all its sympathetic softness again. "I am delighted thatpapa seems relaxing a little about you, and by degrees I hope it will berather livelier for you here. If--" and here Madelene, cold, statelyMadelene for the second time that afternoon blushed a little--"if Ermine_were_ married, it would make everything seem brighter, I think."

  "Yes," said Ella, "to you I suppose it would do so, if she marriedsomebody you thoroughly liked. And--if she were to live near you, too."

  She spoke with a kind of clear cold precision which would have caughtMadelene's attention had she been less pre-occupied. But she was fullof pleasureable excitement about Ermine's plans, and it was almost withan effort that she listened to Ella.

  "Yes, of course," she replied half absently, "that would make it muchnicer."

  And Ella drew her own conclusions.

  It was with curiously mingled feelings that she looked forward to thevisit to her godmother's the next day.

  "Very likely," she thought, "Sir Philip will not be there. As Ermineisn't going Madelene and his grandmother won't mind whether he is ornot. No," she went on, "no, it isn't my godmother's doing. I won'tthink it. It is only Madelene--I don't even feel sure that Ermineherself wants it. She, I must say, always seems pleased to put meforward. I'll never forget Madelene's face when she saw whom I wasdancing with that evening at the Manor." Madelene however did not seemas devoid of interest in her young sister, as Ella in her present moodwould have liked to imagine. One of the prettiest of the frocks she hadbrought with her from her aunt's, was looked out and revived byMelanie's skilful hands, under Miss St Quentin's own supervision, andErmine herself assisted at Ella's toilet.

  "You look lovely,--doesn't she now, Maddie?" she exclaimed, whenMadelene glanced in to say that the carriage was round. "Now don't lookforbidding--let me spoil the child a bit for once. That shade of pinkdoes suit her--_almost_ better than white. It's the shade Philip likesso--now, Ella, don't forget to ask him _from me_ if it isn't hisfavourite colour."

  "Do you often wear it?" said Ella, meaningly.

  "Bless the child, what does Philip care what I wear?" exclaimed Ermine.

  But Madelene's displeasure was not to be mistaken this time.

  "Ermine," she said coldly, "you really must not run on so heedlessly.Of course Philip cares. Even if he were really our brother, as you liketo say he seems--he would care. And he will care about Ella too becauseshe is our sister. But you shouldn't talk such nonsense--I mean sendsilly messages like that. It would make Ella feel and look quitefoolish."

  And she turned back for an instant as she and Ella were going downstairs, to reprimand Ermine still more sharply.

  "Do you want to teach the child to flirt?" she asked. "You have agreedwith me that there was quite enough tendency of the kind about heralready. You will be getting into trouble, Ermine, if you don't takecare--making her fancy Philip is in love with her, and preparing greatunhappiness for her, poor child, perhaps."

  But Ermine only laughed.

  "Nonsense, Maddie," she said. "Why must you always be so gloomy abouteverything? You really needn't be so cross to me when I've given in_so_ sweetly about going to the Marchants--all to please you, you know."

  And Madelene could not resist her kiss, nor resent the whispered warningat the last moment--not to spoil Ella's evening by looking severe.

  Ella was scarcely in a humour to have been much depressed or impressedby her sister's looks. Her spirits rose with every yard that separatedthem from Coombesthorpe, and when they arrived at Cheynesacre and werereceived in the drawing-room by her godmother the girl flew into herarms as if she had been a caged bird escaping at last from its gloomyprison into sunshine and brightness.

  "Oh, dear godmother, dear, dear godmother," she whispered, "I am sopleased to be with you again." It was impossible not to be touched; shewas so genuinely sweet, and she looked so pretty. There were tears inthe old lady's eyes, as she kissed her god-daughter.

  "My dear little Ella," she said. "Then you have forgiven me?"

  "Forgiven you?" Ella repeated; "what for, dear godmother?"

  "For the trick I played you, or helped to play you and Philip here theother evening? Philip has forgiven me--it really was very funny."

  Sir Philip came forward from the other side of the screen where he hadbeen talking to Madelene. "Ella has done better than I, granny," hesaid, as he shook hands with her. "She has not only forgiven butforgotten, it appears."

  Ella started a little when he spoke of her by name. It was stilldifficult to disassociate him from the attractive "stranger" of theManor ball.

  "I think it _was_ rather too bad of them all," she said, "but I_couldn't_ have been vexed with godmother when it was all her doing--allthe deliciousness of going to the dance at all."

  She had no time to say more, barely to catch sight of the graveexpression with which Madelene was listening to her, when she wasinterrupted by the arrival of other guests.

  There was a party of fourteen, all strangers to Ella, though severalamong them recognised her as the lovely "Miss Wyndham" who had sopuzzled everybody at the Manor. Ella's squire was a man who declared hehad not yet recovered from the disappointment of her not having givenhim a dance on the occasion in question. He was evidently an adept atflirting and seemed very disappointed when a few words from his charmingcompanion proved that that was "not her style." Not so, Sir Philip,whose dark eyes spoke satisfaction when he overheard the ladylike littlesnub, for he had arranged with his grandmother that Ella should be hisneighbour on the left.

  "She will be so much of a stranger; it is really the first time she hasdined here properly," he said, and Lady Cheynes made no difficulty.

  That dinner was a very pleasant experience to Ella. Philip's manner wasperfect. He made her feel quite at home, even while taking care that noone present could have suspected such care was required.

  "It is the first time I have really felt as if I had _not_ been broughtup a stranger to them all," thought she to herself, and the only thingthat in the least marred her complete satisfaction was the catchingsight now and then of Madelene's eyes fixed upon her with an anxious,almost, Ella could have imagined, pitying expression.

  "She thinks I am having my head turned," thought Ella, with a slightinvoluntary toss of the said head. "And she is pitying me too forimagining that Sir Philip could possibly care about _me_, when all his_devoirs_ are, or should be, consecrated to Ermine." And it was withincreased determination to resist any attempt at restraint whichMadelene might try, that Ella responded in her sweetest and mostcharming manner to her "step"-cousin's attentions.

  Her godmother was not displeased, thus much was certain. For she calledthe girl to her in the drawing-room after dinner, to introduce her toher old friend Lady Beltravers, who with her husband made two of theguests, and made her sit beside her while she fondled and petted her.

  "I must make much of her, you see," she said half apologetically to LadyBeltravers. "She has been away from us for so long! It is not likehaving a godchild of one's own, never to see her, is it? Did Philiptake good care of you at dinner, my dear child?" she went on, turning toElla. "He would not give you up to any one else, I assure you, thoughby rights Mrs Monkerton should have been at his left side."

  Lady Beltravers smiled kindly at Ella.

  "I wish we had any young people about us," she said with a little sigh."My son has no children, you know--and then he is always so busy. Won'tyou bring Miss St Quentin--"

  "Call me `Ella,' please," interrupted the girl. "I'm not Miss StQuentin, and besides--any friend of dear godmother's--"

  "Ella, then," went on the old lady, completely _subjuguee_--"won't youbring Ella over to see me, while she is with you? We might make up alittle party--it is so near Christmas and there are a few young peoplein the neighbourhood just now--let me see, the day after to-morrow--"

  "But I am not staying here after to-morrow," said Ella gently, "mysister and I are going back to Coombesthorpe to-morrow morning."
>
  "Yes," said Madelene, who at that moment joined the group, "we must beoff early, too. There are such a lot of things to do just at Christmastime. We have to settle about Christmas day too, Aunt Anna. Papa doesso hope you and Philip will come to us."

  "On one condition," said Lady Cheynes quickly, "and that is that youwill leave me Ella till then. I will bring her back to you on Christmaseve, that is next Monday, without fail. Ermine leaves--let me see, whenis it?"

  "The day after Christmas," Madelene replied.

  "Ah, well then, it would of course be selfish to take Ella from you whenyou are alone. But till then--you and Ermine will have lots ofpreparations to make for her visit; this child here would only be in theway."

  Madelene murmured something about "papa." Her face was a curious study,so mingled were its expressions--of pleasure and even excitement, ofalmost wistful anxiety and misgiving. Ella watched her closely; themisgiving she was quick to see, not so the pleasure.

  "Of course she will find some reason against it," thought the girl.

  Lady Cheynes tapped Miss St Quentin on the arm.

  "Come, Maddie, my dear," she said, "you are keeping us all waiting.Lady Beltravers too."

  Madelene coloured.

  "I don't really think it is for me to decide, Aunt Anna," she replied."You have quite as much--more--voice in it than I. I should bedelighted for Ella to stay--and I am almost sure papa would be so too."

  "Then put it upon me," said the old lady decidedly. "Tell your father_I_ kept Ella--subject to his approval of course--if he doesn't like it,he may send over to fetch her home to-morrow afternoon."

  Ella crept to her godmother's side and threw her arms round Lady Cheynesecstatically.

  "Oh, godmother, how sweet you are! Oh, Madelene, you _will_ make papalet me stay, won't you?"

  Madelene smiled: it was impossible to resist Ella sometimes.

  "I do hope it will do no harm," thought the elder sister to herself.

  Just then Sir Philip and the other men came in; Madelene was asked toplay, and Ella to sing, her sister accompanying her. It was the firsttime Philip had heard her.

  "I had no idea you sang so beautifully," he said to her when the littleperformance was over, and Miss St Quentin was engaged in accompanyinganother member of the party.

  Ella's eyes sparkled.

  "Do you really think I sing well? I am so pleased," she said simply."I know you are a good judge. Ermine told me so. She and Madelene likemy singing, I think. It--it is one of the few things Madelene seems toapprove of in me," she added with bitterness that was real though shetried to say it lightly as if in jest.

  Philip looked at her with grave concern in his eyes.

  "Are you in earnest, Ella?" he said; "real earnest, as the childrensay?"

  Ella gave what in a less elegant and perfectly well-bred young personmight have been called "a wriggle."

  "I don't want to talk about it," she said.

  "About your sisters you mean?" he went on. "I certainly don't want todo so either if, as I fear, you are unfairly prejudiced against them.At least I should be sorry to hear you say anything unfair, which--whichmight," but here he hesitated. "Don't think I am setting myself up as ajudge," he went on, "but it is possible I might be able to make you seethings differently. I know my cousins so well, so thoroughly, and yet Ithink I can see that the position of things is difficult for you all."

  "I have nothing to say against Ermine," said Ella quickly, with a suddenaccess of generosity. "Ermine is very good to me--"

  She glanced at Philip as she spoke: a pleased look had stolen into hiseyes.

  "Ah," thought Ella.

  "I am glad to hear you say that," he said eagerly; "but Mad--"

  "Oh, for that matter," Ella went on, "I don't mean to say that_practically_ Madelene is not good to me too. But--it is she who isprejudiced it seems to me," she added with rather a wintry smile; "shedoes not judge me fairly. I don't understand her, nor she me--that isthe truth of it, I suppose. I don't think she has ever been young, orhad young feelings. She is so frightfully cold and measured, and shethinks every one should see things precisely as she does."

  Philip smiled too, but in his smile there was little more mirth than inElla's.

  "Madelene cold and unfeeling!" he exclaimed. "My dear child, how littleyou know her! I allow," he went on hastily, noticing an expression onher face which irresistibly reminded him of the days when she used tostamp her feet at "big Phil" if he refused to gallop about with her asmuch as she wanted, "I allow that Madelene's _manner_ is often againsther. Very often the very extent and depth of her feeling makes her seemcolder from the effort she puts on herself to be self-controlled."

  "That's what is always said of cold, stiff, reserved people," Ellaanswered. "Just _because_ you can't see or feel their feelings you aretold to believe in them doubly! I hate reserved people."

  Philip was a little taken aback.

  "I think they are rather to be pitied," he said quietly.

  The words were not without their effect on Ella, but she would not showit.

  "You--" she began, but a little quaver in her voice made her hesitate,"you won't make me like Madelene any better for taking her part againstme," she said with a sort of incipient sob.

  Philip laid his hand on her pretty white arm. "Dear Ella," he said withgenuine distress in his voice, "how can you mistake me so? If you onlyunderstood better! My only wish is that you should not make yourselfunhappy when there is no need for it."

  Ella swallowed down one or two tears before replying.

  "I am happy _here_," she said. "I am always happy with dear godmother.I wish, Sir Philip, you would let me forget about home troubles for alittle. I think you might--you are going away soon to amuse yourself;you needn't grudge me my little bit of holiday."

  Philip grew more and more annoyed.

  "I have done no good, I see," he said in a tone of vexation. "Indeed Ihave done harm--for I have made you indignant with me for meddling. Iwish to goodness--" but here he stopped.

  "What?" said Ella, gently.

  "I wish you were Miss Wyndham, or Miss Anybody except what you are," hesaid petulantly. "You will now always be thinking I am `taking parts,'or some nonsense of that kind."

  "No--I don't want to think that," she replied glancing up at him halfshyly with a sort of deprecation in her lovely eyes.

  "Thank you--thank you for saying that," he replied eagerly. "Indeed youwould be doing me the greatest injustice if you--" but at that moment ashe was bending towards Ella, speaking though earnestly, in a lower tonethan usual, a voice interrupted them. It was that of Miss St Quentin,who had risen from the piano.

  "Ella," she said in her quiet, impassive way, "I want you to takeErmine's part in that duet that she and I have just got. I am sure youcan manage it."

  Ella rose at once, though without speaking.

  "Upon my word," said Sir Philip to himself, "Madelene is strangelydeficient in tact. She might trust me to do the child no harm--sheknows how anxious I am to bring about a more cordial state of feeling."

  And his manner towards his cousin for the rest of the evening wasdecidedly a shade less cordial than it was wont to be.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

  OUT IN THE COLD.

  Ella woke the next morning with that most delightful of all delightfulfeelings--the vague consciousness of something nice having happened ereshe fell asleep. She slowly, half reluctantly opened her eyes--

  "I do hope it wasn't only a dream," she murmured, but as she caughtsight of the objects around her, the large bow-window with its curtainsof richer material than the old faded chintz of the Coombesthorpe"nursery," the toilet table with its marble top and large mirror, andthe wardrobe of beautiful inlaid wood--for Lady Cheynes made a point ofinstalling her little god-daughter in one of the "best" rooms--a smilecrept over her face, and she closed her sleepy eyes again with asensation of vivid satisfaction.

  No, it was no dream--she was to stay a whol
e week at Cheynesacre, withher dear godmother. Papa would never be so cruel as to send for herback again, whatever Madelene said, and Madelene had as good aspromised to plead her cause, and after all she, Ella, had no real reasonfor thinking her elder sister actually insincere. Then her mindreverted to what Sir Philip had said the night before.

  "He thinks so very highly of Madelene," thought Ella, "and he must knowher well. He speaks more of her than of Ermine, but--" and a slightfrown clouded her brow, "that _might_ mean that he cares most forErmine, really. How I wonder if he does! He shouldn't be--_quite_ likewhat he is to--to other girls, if he does. Perhaps he's one of thosemen that can't help being charming to everybody," and at this point inher cogitations poor Ella gave a deep sigh. "But any way," she went on,"Ermine doesn't care for him, not _that_ way, though of course she mightif it was put in her head."

  And then the quicksilver of her eighteen years refused to let her ponderany more.

  "I'm going to be happy--for a week at least, come what may," she saidaloud as she sprang out of bed. "And as I'm his guest it's Sir Philip'sbusiness to make me enjoy myself, and it would be very surly of me notto."

  Certainly it looked as if the host's task was not to be a very arduousone--never, in Madelene's sight at least--had the girl been so sweet andbright and happy.

  "Dear child, she seems in love with all the world," said her godmotherwhen she and Madelene were alone that morning for a few minutes beforeMiss St Quentin took her departure. "How I wish poor Ellen could seeher! It must make you feel happy, dear Maddie, to see her so bright andblooming." But Madelene did not respond as heartily as she reallywished she could do.

  "She is so different at home, Aunt Anna," she said. "She seems as ifshe could not trust us, me especially. It seems unnatural in one soyoung and impressionable," and she sighed.

  "It will all come right," said the old lady cheerily; "you are toogloomy, Maddie."

  She did not understand the new direction of Madelene's anxieties; hadshe overheard a word or two that passed between the cousins as Philipstood at the carriage door saying good-bye, she might have beenenlightened.

  "Philip," Miss St Quentin whispered, "I must say one word to you at therisk of offending you. I hope I am doing right in leaving Ella--Phildear, don't be angry with me--remember she is very, very young and--youknow you can be so very charming."

  The blood mounted to the young man's forehead.

  "Madelene," he said, "I really sometimes cannot understand you. Do youwant me to be actually unkind to your half-sister? Do you think _that_would mend matters?"

  And he turned coldly away.

  "I wish I had not gone," said Madelene to Ermine when the sisters weretogether again at Coombesthorpe. "It has only made Philip angry withme, and done no good to Ella. I wish Aunt Anna would adopt heraltogether."

  "Papa would never consent to that," said Ermine, "at least not in thesense you mean, though in _my_ sense, nothing could be more delightful.I am enchanted that she is staying there--it would have been too stupidof you to oppose it."

  "I would have done so if I could," Madelene replied. "I am so unhappyabout Ella for her own sake, Ermine. I can see that she is already verymuch attracted by Philip and--"

  "Well? What could you possibly have to say against it? It won't beyour doing."

  "I am afraid Philip is only amusing himself. You know how charming hecan be. And that would be dreadful for her, poor child. It has allcome of that absurd comedy at the beginning of their acquaintance."

  "Yes," said Ermine, "I hope it has."

  Colonel St Quentin made not the smallest objections to Ella's remainingat Cheynesacre, and once satisfied as to this, the girl gave herself upto full enjoyment of the present.

  "I have never been so happy before," she said to her godmother on thelast day of her stay. And she said truly. Sir Philip who was in theroom at the time glanced at her as she spoke.

  "We must have a jolly Christmas at Coombesthorpe," he said. "PoorMaddie and Ermine have had plenty of dull ones there."

  "Have they?" said Ella quickly. "Well it must have been their ownfault."

  "No, indeed it wasn't," Philip replied rather coldly, "unless you calltheir unselfishness and patience their `fault.'"

  Ella made no reply, but her bright face clouded over. An hour or twolater when Sir Philip and she were on their way to the pond for "a lastskate" as she said, he reverted to what had passed.

  "Ella," he began, "since I saw that it vexed you the other night I havesaid nothing more about your--well I can only call it prejudice againstyour sisters. But I see it is still there. I wish I could disabuse youof it--you don't know how earnestly I wish it. You are so sweet andaffectionate to every one else--I cannot really understand it."

  "It is often the case that near relations don't get on as well with eachother as with--strangers," said Ella somewhat primly.

  "But you don't count granny and me strangers, I hope?" he asked eagerly."And granny is not a person that _every one_ gets on with."

  "Perhaps not, but she loves me--I feel that she does. And I shouldn'tmind _anything_ she said, not even if she scolded me badly--just becauseof that. And I never can feel that way to Madelene. But I do get onvery well now with Ermine," she added though with a shade of reluctance.

  "Dear Ermine," said Philip. "I can scarcely imagine the possibility ofnot `getting on' with her. Everybody takes to her wherever she goes. Iam so delighted she is going to the Marchants," he added.

  "You are going too?" asked Ella, though she knew it already.

  "Yes. I hope to be there the first week of Ermine's visit, at least,"he replied.

  "Oh," said Ella, "that will be very pleasant."

  "Delightful," replied Philip absently.

  This time Ella made no observation.

  Suddenly Philip turned to her again.

  "Ella," he said, "do forgive me for harping on the subject, but don'tyou think all this might be put right? If you could show a little moreconfidence in Madelene, a little more affection in your manner, shewould, I feel certain, be quick to respond. I can't--" and here hehesitated, "I can't just yet tell you all I should like you to know--Iwish I could--but some day you will understand better."

  Ella felt choking. "Understand"--did she not understand? But pride andsome better feeling than pride, for after all she had no real grounds ofcomplaint against Sir Philip, came to the rescue.

  "I _will_ try to be gentler and pleasanter at Coombesthorpe, if youthink it would do any good," she said bravely. "And changes come--itmay not be for very long. I should like you and my godmother to know Ihad done my best, for--for the time we must be all together there."

  The tears trembled on her eyelashes, but she turned away to hide them:she did not see the expression on Philip's face as he heard her words.She only heard his answer.

  "Thank you, dear Ella," he said. "I know you will do what you say, andyou have made me very happy by speaking so, for I have been terriblyafraid of making things worse instead of better, by my interfering.No--it may not be for long as you say. But you are so young, Ella," andthere was a half regretful intonation in his voice, "you will see thingsdifferently afterwards, and you will like to look back and feel that youhave done your best."

  Ella glanced up at him. There was a look in his eyes which made hercheeks flush.

  "Dear Ella," he added softly.

  "I will do my best," she repeated. And to herself she said, believingthat she fully realised her words, that come what would she woulddeserve his approval. "Even if he is only to be--a sort of brother tome," she thought, "I would like him to see that I try to be good."

  And she believed it was as a reward for her heroism that the world allabout her looked so bright again, and some faint rays of wintry sunshinethat lighted up the frost-besprinkled fields and palely gilded the topsof the dark fir-trees, seemed to her to glow with the warmth andbrilliance of a midsummer sky.

  Christmas passed with cheerfulness, if not exact
ly with "jollity," atCoombesthorpe. Colonel St Quentin was still too much of an invalid tostand a large party, but a few old friends and neighbours joined thefamily circle. Madelene was quiet as ever, but gentle and almostaffectionate to Ella, who, true to her promise, received her eldersister's advances in good part and refrained from all sharp or icyretorts, even when, as must happen, however good the will on both sides,perfect unanimity of opinion was not the case. And Ermine was in suchtremendously good spirits that the infection of them was to some extentirresistible. She was so gracious to Philip that he, in his own mind,was a little puzzled by it, for a coldness, slight but yet to themselvestangible enough, still seemed to hang between Madelene and himself. Hiscousins for once seemed to be at issue, he fancied, and he was smallenough to try to punish Madelene by a show of even extra responsivenessto Ermine.

  And Ella watched and wondered; sometimes feeling certain that hermisgivings as to the state of things between Philip and Ermine werefounded on fact; sometimes rising to a flutter of delight andhopefulness at some slight incident which seemed to prove to herconclusively that there was "nothing in it."

  "If there were," she said to herself more than once, "would Madelene bevexed with him; as I am almost sure she is?"

  And yet--that there was perfect good feeling between him and Ermine shecould not doubt, and what that might not mean in reality she could notbear to think!

  Wednesday--for Christmas day had been a