Tuesday--saw the whole partyscattered. Lady Cheynes returned home; Ermine started on her journey toShenewood Park, whither Philip was to follow her the next day fromCheynesacre. And Ella, as she stood at the window watching the lastcarriage disappear, felt that now was the real test of her promise toPhilip. The prospect of a whole fortnight alone with Madelene; Madelenequieter and "duller," as Ella expressed it, than she had yet known her,was not inspiriting. For curiously enough, though it was Ermine whomthe girl's fancy had erected into a rival, it was not on her, butentirely on her elder sister that she resented the fact.
"I could never dislike Ermine. She is so bright and open," thoughtElla, while a tear or two trickled unbidden down her face. "Even asPhilip's wife I don't think I could ever be jealous of her. But it isso different with Madelene; everything is calculation with her. She hassettled that it would be a good thing for them to marry, and she isdetermined to carry it out--whether _they_ care enough for each other ornot. _She_ has never cared for any one--that's certain."
The mood was not a very propitious one, for some vague warnings whichMiss St Quentin unluckily thought it her duty to give her youngersister. It was when they were sitting together in the already fadinglight that afternoon--Ella after fidgeting about restlessly the wholeday, having at last taken a book and settled herself in the librarywhere Madelene was already installed with what the younger girl mentallydubbed "that everlasting knitting of hers."
But the book did not prove very interesting. Ella yawned, then gave asort of groan, and ended by flinging it aside.
"Do you not care for that book?" asked Madelene calmly. "I think I likeit. But the other new Mudie books are in the drawing-room."
"I don't think I should like any book to-day," said Ella frankly. "I dofeel so stupid. Do you never feel that sort of way, Madelene?" she wenton with a sudden irresistible craving for sympathy. "As if--as if youdidn't care for anything."
Madelene glanced at her half curiously. Was this mere childishness--or--were her fears for poor little Ella's peace of mind alreadybeginning to be realised? Was this the first taste of the weary pain--the sickness of heart which she herself had not yet grown innured to?
"And in her case it would be ever so much worse," she said to herself,"if Philip does not really care for her. I at least have always beensure of Bernard, though even thus, heaven knows it has been hard tobear!"
Her heart ached for the young creature looking up at her with troubledeyes. But she must ignore what she still hoped was but superficial.
"Everybody knows that kind of feeling at times, I suppose," she saidplacidly. "It generally is a sort of reaction. We have had a littlemore excitement than usual, you see, and you enjoyed yourself very muchat Cheynesacre."
"I never was so happy in my life," Ella replied impulsively.
"I am glad you liked it. Philip is certainly a model host--he is afavourite everywhere, and deservedly, for he is very kind-hearted. Andit says a good deal for him that his being such a favourite--especiallywith women--has not quite spoilt him."
Ella looked up sharply.
"Do you mean that he is a flirt?" she asked abruptly.
Madelene hesitated.
"Not exactly that," she said. "He may flirt a little sometimes butthere is no harm in that. But he would never consciously,_intentionally go_ further than that. Still his very kind-heartednesshas its weak point; he cannot bear to see any one unhappy. And he isimpressionable and impulsive in some ways--I should be a little anxiousabout throwing any--very inexperienced girl much in his society."
"But you and Ermine have always been thrown with him," said Ella.
Miss St Quentin drew herself up a little.
"That is quite different," she said. "_I_ am, to all intents andpurposes, older than Philip."
"But Ermine is not," thought Ella bitterly, though aloud she onlyreplied, "Oh yes, of course."
Ermine's letters came nearly every day, bright and sunny, overflowingwith fun and enjoyment. Now and then Madelene gave one, or a part ofone to Ella to read, which the girl did eagerly, especially when SirPhilip's name was mentioned, as was constantly the case.
"How much Ermine seems to be enjoying herself," said Ella one morning."When I am what you consider _quite_ `out,' Madelene, I may pay visitslike this of hers, mayn't I?"
They were at the breakfast-table. Colonel St Quentin, who by this timewas as well as usual, overheard the remark.
"I hope so," Madelene was beginning with an ill-assured glance at herfather, when he suddenly interrupted her.
"I hope _not_, Ella," he said. "That sort of thing would only putnonsense in your head. It is quite different for Ermine."
Ella gazed at him in astonishment. His tone was not unkind, but verydecided. To his last words she could give one interpretation--it wasdifferent for Ermine because she was already tacitly engaged to Philip,and but for this her father evidently would not have approved of hervisiting by herself. Ella felt herself grow pale, but she did notspeak.
"Oh, papa," Madelene interposed, "that is too sweeping. Some day I hopeElla _may_ see something of country-house society--with _me_ you wouldtrust her?"
Colonel St Quentin murmured something, of which Ella only caught thewords--"Plenty of time--rational life for a girl."
But she felt now as if she did not care.
The next morning brought no letter from Ermine, the day after came onewhich Madelene read to herself with somewhat clouded brow.
"Ermine is so tiresome, papa," she said. "For some reason or other sheseems to have got a fit of homesickness. Just when I was so delightedto think she was enjoying herself. She actually talks of coming homethe day after to-morrow."
"Umph," said Colonel St Quentin, "that will be Friday. Tell her I can'tsend to the station that day--Brown is going to look at that new pair,and I won't trust Parker's driving in this weather; she must stay anyway till Monday. Is Philip still there?"
"No," said Madelene, going on with her letter. "At least he is leavingto-day."
"Ah, well, that settles it. She might have arranged to come back withhim had he been staying till Friday, if she is _really_ home-sick, poorchild. But as it is she must wait till Monday."
"I can't make her out quite," said Madelene, "But I will tell her whatyou say. Perhaps--if she is dull, I suppose she had better come home."
Ella went up stairs to her own room and stood gazing out at the cold,wintry landscape. It was a grey, sunless day. It seemed to her like animage of her own life.
"Why did I ever come here?" she said. "It would have been better, yes_far_ better, to have borne old Barton's impertinence. Only--pooraunty--it might have made _her_ unhappy! It would not now--I am sochanged. I should be meek enough. What a fool I have been--to dreamthat Philip Cheynes had fallen in love with me! He was only amusinghimself and thinking of Ermine all the time. But _why_ did he? He musthave seen I was a fool;" and her cheeks burnt as she recalled the littletrifles--trifles at least, if put into words--looks and tones more thanactual speech or action, which had seemed to her so significative.
"And Madelene suspects it. Yes, I know she does. Perhaps after all shehas meant to do her duty by me. If she had only been a little moreloving at the first I might have confided more in her; I might have beenguided by her. But it is too late now. I won't stay here, where no onecares for me. They may keep my share of the money and everything. Idon't want anything where I am not loved."
What should she do? She could not decide. For the next day or two herhead felt confused and dreamy--she longed to do something, to gosomewhere, but lacked the energy to determine upon anything, and avague, not unpleasing feeling came over her that perhaps she was goingto be ill, to have a brain fever and die possibly, and that in this caseit was not worth while planning to go away or anything.
She must be looking very ill, she said to herself with some complacency,for more than once she caught Madelene's eyes fixed upon her with ananxiety that was almost tender.
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p; "Are you feeling ill, Ella?" she said.
But Ella smiled and shook her head, and replied that she supposed it wasthe cold; she had never liked cold weather.
So passed two or three days; then came the goad to sting her intoaction.
Nothing further had been heard or said about Ermine's return, but onMonday morning Miss St Quentin exclaimed eagerly, as she opened theletter-bag, which she was accustomed to do if she was down before herfather.
"Ah, a letter from Ermine at last! That's right. Ella, dear, pleaseput these letters on papa's plate. Dear me--there is one with aShenewood envelope for him--whom can that be from?