Blanche: A Story for Girls

andlives with the Marths, and she is a delightful girl Lady Harriot isreally my niece on the other side, for she is no relation to Sir Adam orAmy Lilford, whom you remember, of course?"

  "Yes," said Blanche's mother, "but not very well. Dear Sir Adam, _ofcourse_, I remember as well as I do my father. But I began to thinksomething must have happened to him--he never answered my first letter."And she went on to tell how she had written to ask Mrs Lilford abouthim, and had at last received a letter from himself. And then sherepeated her expressions of pleasure at meeting Mrs Selwyn.

  "I am only here for a few days," said the old lady. "In fact, I leaveto-morrow. I wish I could have seen more of you, but I fear it isimpossible. I shall be back in the autumn again, however, if I am stillalive. And you are sure to see Adam when he comes to England."

  "I hope so, indeed," said Mrs Derwent fervently.

  Mrs Selwyn looked at her with kind and understanding eyes.

  "You must feel rather strange," she said, "and perhaps a little lonely,after your long absence and the complete change of life. And someEnglish people are so dull, so slow to take in an idea. She," with aslight inclination of her head towards their hostess, "is a good womanin her way, but intensely dull and narrow. And I don't think you wouldcare much for Lady Marth. However, in this world one has to make thebest of one's neighbours, as well as of a good many other things. Nowtell me all you can about yourself and your children. But first--Archie, I want to introduce you to my very old friend's daughter--Blanche, did you say her name was, Stasy? How well it suits her!"

  "Archie" asked nothing better; and in another moment--for he had a greatgift of chatter--he was talking to Miss Derwent in his most charmingmanner, Blanche listening quietly, with a slight suspicion ofcondescension in her tone, which greatly amused the young man. For,after all, he was not so young as he looked. It set him on his mettle,however, and made him feel it a positive triumph when he succeeded indrawing out a smile of amusement, which lighted up her blue eyes intonew beauty.

  All this time--though, in reality, no very great stretch of minutes hadpassed since the mother and daughter first entered the room--Stasy waswaiting in the fly outside. But, after a while, the distractions ofwondering how her mother and Blanche were "getting on;" of listening tothe observations which the driver from time to time addressed in asleepy voice to his horse, while he lazily tickled its ears with the endof his whip; or of peering in as far as she could see, in hopes of agleam of primroses among the thick growing shrubs at one side of thehouse, began to pall upon her. And the tantalising possibility of theprimroses so near at hand carried the day.

  Out of the carriage stepped Miss Stasy.

  "If any one should meet me, or if mamma and Blanche were vexed, I couldsay I was getting too cold sitting still, which would be perfectlytrue," she said to herself.

  There was no getting in among the shrubs and trees from the immediatefront; but the yellow specks were more clearly visible, and Stasy wasnot a girl to be easily baffled when she had got a thing in her head.So she made her way round by a side path skirting the house at somelittle distance, saying to the driver as she passed him, that if theladies came out, he was to say she would be back immediately. The pathwas somewhat deceptive; it led her further than she knew, till shesuddenly came out on a broader one bearing away towards another drivesome way off at the back of the house, ending in a small lodge on theroad to Crossburn.

  A sort of curiosity led Stasy on.

  "I'll look for primroses as I go back," she said. "I do like findingout about places. I wonder if this way would take us back to Pinnertonacross the fields somehow."

  Everything was perfectly still. She stood some little way up the drive,looking towards the gate, and wishing she dared venture as far as theroad without risk of keeping her mother and Blanche waiting. The groundwas dry and crisp; last year's leaves were still lying thickly; and atthe other side of the drive a small fir-wood was attractively tempting.

  "I wish our woods at Pinnerton were more firs than all mixed kinds oftrees as they are," thought Stasy. "I do love cones so, and the pricksmake such a nice crackle when you walk on them. We used to get tired ofthe fir-woods at Arcachon, I remember. I think there is somethingfresher about them in England."

  And with a sigh at having to cut short the delights of her exploration,she was turning to retrace her steps, when a sound fell on her earswhich made her stop short.

  It was a woman's--a girl's--voice, singing softly, but clearly, the oldballad of "Robin Adair." Stasy had never heard it; but she was of asensitive and impressionable nature, and the indescribable charm of thesong fell upon her at once. She stood motionless, till, in anothermoment, the figure of the singer, advancing towards her, grew visible.

  "I knew it was a girl," thought Stasy. "I hope she won't leave off, Iwish I could hide."

  She glanced round her. There was no possibility of such a thing; and inanother moment the new-comer had seen her, and had left off singing.She stopped short as she came up to Stasy, and glanced at herinquiringly, with a slight, half-comical smile.

  "Have you lost your way?" she said. "Are you not one of the MissDerwents? It seems always my fate to be directing one or other of you.I met your little brother a day or two ago, looking as if _he_ had losthis way."

  "No," said Stasy laughing; "he had only lost _us_. And I have not lostmy way either, thank you. I am waiting in the fly at the door for mymother and sister, who are calling on Lady Harriot Dunstan."

  "_Are_ you?" said Lady Hebe. "_I_ should have said, do you know, thatyou were wandering about the woods at the back of the house, lookingfor--I don't know what."

  Stasy laughed again. There was something infectious about Hebe'scomical tone.

  "Primroses," Stasy replied promptly. "It was primroses that first luredme out of the fly, I think. But now I'm beginning to be afraid thatmamma and Blanche may be waiting for me; perhaps I had better go back."

  "They can scarcely be ready yet," said her new friend. "They had notcome in when I left the drawing-room, and I have not been long. I onlystopped a minute or two to speak to the dogs. There are some dear dogshere. And tea was just about coming in. No; you are safe for a fewminutes yet. Would you"--and she hesitated a little--"would you like towalk to the lodge with me, and a little way down the road I can show youanother way back to the front of the house?"

  Stasy was delighted.

  "We know who each other is--or are--oh dear, how can I say it?" shereplied as they walked on, "though we have never been introduced. I amonly sorry you were not in the house there when Blanche came in. Shewould have liked to see you so much."

  Lady Hebe's face flushed a little.

  "I wish I had been," she said. "We must have had the same feeling. Ihave wanted to meet your sister. I love her face, though I have onlyseen her twice. Perhaps, some day--" Then she hesitated. "I was ratherhurried," she went on; "I promised to meet--a friend, who will walk backto Crossburn with me."

  "Then you are not staying here, at Alderwood?" said Stasy.

  "Oh no; I am not staying anywhere, except at what is my home--EastModdersham, near you. I came over here this afternoon to see LadyHarriot, or, rather, to see a dear old lady who is staying here. I sentmy ponies on to Crossburn, as I am dining there, and shall dress there,and drive home late."

  "How nice!" said Stasy. "How delightful to have your own ponies and doexactly as you like! I do think English girls have such nice lives--somuch fun and independence. I should have liked England ever so muchbetter than France if I had been brought up in it, but as it is--" AndStasy sighed.

  Lady Hebe listened with great interest. "And as it is," she repeated,"do you not like it?"

  "It is so very dull," said Stasy lugubriously. "At least, _I_ shouldn'tfind it dull if I might amuse myself in ways mamma and Blanche would notlike."

  Hebe looked rather startled, but Stasy was too engrossed with her ownwoes to notice it. "I mean," she continued, "that there are some girlsat
the school I go to for classes, who are really nice, and there arelots who are very amusing. But mamma and Blanchie don't want me to makefriends with them, because, you see--well, they are not exactlyrefined."

  "I see," said Hebe gravely; "and, of course, I think your mother andsister are quite right. But I can quite understand that it must bedull--for your sister too, is it not? She is not much older than you."

  "No," said Stasy, "but she is _different_ She has always been so very,very good, you see. She _has_ never been--well, rather mischievous, andwanting a lot of fun, you know."

  "But she doesn't look dull," said Hebe. "She has a very brightexpression sometimes in her eyes. I am sure she has some fun in hertoo. I don't think I could have been so attracted by her if she had nothad fun in her; I am so fond of it myself," she added naively.

  "Oh yes," said Stasy, "Blanchie is _very_ quick, and very ready for funtoo. But she never grumbles. If things we want don't come, she is justcontent without I'm not like that. Next to fun, I like grumbling. Icouldn't live without it."

  Hebe smiled, but in her heart she was thinking that there _were_ somegrounds for complaint in the present life of these pretty and attractivegirls. They attracted her curiously; they were so unlike others--sorefined, and yet original; so perfectly well-bred, and yet sounconventional.

  "I wish," she began, but then she stopped. What she was going to wishwas nothing very definite, and yet it was better, perhaps, leftunexpressed.

  "When I am married," she thought, "I shall have more in my power in manyways. Norman will understand; he always does. I fear there would be nouse in trying to get Lady Marth to be kind to them. She would onlythink it one of my `fads.'"

  But suddenly Stasy started.

  "I am afraid," she said, "that I am going too far, and mamma and Blanchemay be looking for me. Perhaps I had better go back now."

  "I don't think they are likely to have come out yet," said Hebe. "But Idon't want to make you uneasy, so perhaps you had better go back.Good-bye, and--I hope we may meet again soon."

  She held out her hand, and Stasy, looking at her as she took it, feltthe indescribable charm of the sweet, sunshiny face.

  "Yes," she thought, "Blanche was right, and Herty was right. She islovely."

  "I do hope so," she replied eagerly, as they separated. Lady Hebewalked on, thinking. For she thought a good deal.

  "Poor little thing," she said to herself, "it must be very dull. Yetthey have each other, and their mother: the only things that have everbeen wanting to me, they have! But still, the strangeness and theloneliness, and the not having any clear place of their own. I wonderthey cared to settle in England; I wonder if there is nothing I can dofor them."

  She had reached the lodge gates by this time. A little further down theroad--scarcely more than a lane--was a stile, on the other side of whichlay the field path, which was the short cut to Crossburn.

  And leaning by the stile was a figure, which, at the first glimpse ofHebe emerging from the Alderwood grounds, started forward, hasteningacross with eager gladness; young, manly, full of life and brightness,he seemed almost a second Hebe, in masculine form.

  "Norman," she exclaimed, "I haven't kept you long waiting, have I?"

  "I enjoyed it, dear: not very long. I liked to watch for the firstgleam of you," he said simply.

  And together, in the long rays of the soft evening sunshine, the twoyoung creatures made their way across the fields.

  "What have I done," said Hebe Shetland to herself--"what have I done tobe so very, _very_ happy?"

  CHAPTER TEN.

  AT THE VICARAGE.

  The second event which about this time made a little break in themonotony of the lives at Pinnerton Lodge came out of the first; for itwas the result of much consideration on Lady Hebe's part as to what shecould do to enliven things for these two girls, who seemed in a sense tohave been thrown across her path.

  She knew that it was useless to appeal to Lady Marth, her guardian'swife--a woman who had deliberately narrowed her life and her sympathiesby restricting all her interests to a small and very exclusive clique,which was the more to be regretted as she was naturally intelligent andquick of discernment, without the excuse of poor Lady Harriot Dunstan'sintense native stupidity. But Hebe managed to have a good talk with MrsSelwyn--"Aunt Grace"--the very morning after the Derwents' visit toAlderwood, and Aunt Grace's own interest in the new-comers being keen,she was delighted to find Hebe's enlisted on their behalf.

  "I am very sorry I am leaving so immediately," said Mrs Selwyn. "Imight have been of a little use to them, even though very little. Yousee, no one is altogether to blame in a case like this. Life is short,and there are only so many hours in each day, and no one can be in twoplaces at once, or full of conflicting interests at the same time.People who are half their lives in London, in the thick of the things ofthe day, all have too much upon them; it _is_ difficult to get to knowmuch of those who are quite out of it. And the Derwents are only halfEnglish, too."

  "Then do you think it a mistake for them to have come to live here?"said Hebe.

  "I scarcely know; I can't judge. They have put themselves in a_difficult_ position, but there may have been excellent reasons fortheir leaving France. If they are very high-minded, superior women,they may be happy, and make interests for themselves, and not fret aboutthings they cannot have. Certainly they--the mother, I should say--isfar too refined to struggle or strain after society."

  "And the elder one is, I do believe, an extraordinarily high-mindedgirl," said Hebe, with a sort of enthusiasm. "Still, it isn't fair uponher to be shut out from things; and the little one, though she is astall as I"--with a smile--"says frankly that she finds it woefullydull."

  "And she is only sixteen," said Mrs Selwyn; "not out, and with Frenchideas about young girls. Dear me, it must be very dull indeed for agirl brought up on those lines to think it so."

  "She is not the very least French in herself," said Hebe. "Just a touchof something out of the common in her tone and manners, perhaps. But Inever met a more thoroughly English girl in feeling. Yes, indeed. Whatwill she think when she _is_ grown up?"

  "Let us hope that things may improve for them a little, before then,"said Mrs Selwyn.

  Then the two--the old woman and the young--put their heads together asto what they _could_ do; the result being that, three or four days afterthe drive to Alderwood, a note was brought to Blanche one morning,inviting her and her sister to afternoon tea at the vicarage.

  "I expect one or two young friends living in the neighbourhood," wroteMrs Harrowby, the vicaress, "whom you may like to meet, and who, ontheir side, have some hopes of getting you to help in their little localcharities."

  "Humph," said Stasy, when Blanche read this aloud; "I've no vocation forthat sort of thing. I think you had better go without me."

  "No, I certainly won't," said her sister, without much misgiving. Forshe saw that, notwithstanding Stasy's ungraciousness, she was secretlypleased at even this mild prospect of a little variety.

  Mrs Harrowby's attentions hitherto--though her good offices had beenbespoken for the Derwents by her brother at Blissmore--had been lessfriendly, and more, so to say, professional. She was a very busy woman,almost too scrupulous in her determination to be "the same toeverybody," to show no difference between her bearing towards theretired tradespeople of Pinnerton Green, and towards Lady Marth, orother county dignitaries; the result being, that no attention she everpaid to any one was considered much of a compliment. But she waswell-born and well-bred, though not specially endowed with tact.

  And she was honestly pleased when Lady Hebe appealed to her to suggest_something_ that might help to enliven the sisters at Pinnerton Lodge.

  "Yes," she agreed, "I have thought it must be very dull for them. Andyet I could not exactly take it upon me to suggest their making friendswith their neighbours here. Something in their manner has caused aslight prejudice against them. None of the families here have called." br />
  "What neighbours or families are you talking of, Mrs Harrowby?" saidHebe quickly. She knew the vicar's wife very well--knew, too, herpeculiar way of looking at social things, and was not in the very leastin awe of her. "Lady Harriot has called, though--"

  "Of course, I was not speaking of neighbours of that kind," replied MrsHarrowby, interrupting her. "I meant the Wandles at Pinnerton Villa,and the Bracys: I am sure Adela Bracy is as nice a girl as one couldwish to see, and Florence Wandle is good-nature itself. It is muchwiser, as well as more Christian, to throw aside those ridiculous ideasof class prejudice, and make the best of the people you live among."

  "Then why should not all the county people call upon the Derwents, aswell as the Wandles and Bracys?" said Hebe, with a very innocent air.

  Mrs Harrowby coloured a little.

  "I don't know. I don't see why you should blame them if they don't, asyou evidently don't blame the Derwents for standing off from the Greenpeople. But, the fact of the matter is, they would have nothing incommon with the Derwents. You know yourself, Hebe, Lady Marth_couldn't_ find anything to talk to Mrs Derwent about--now, could