Blanche: A Story for Girls

she?"

  "She could if she chose," said Hebe; "but I don't want to talk aboutJosephine"--she always called her guardian's wife, who was still acomparatively young woman, by her first name--"she and I don't agree onseveral points, but she is very good to me. I am not going to urge hercalling on Mrs Derwent, for she wouldn't, if I did. And I don't thinkthe Derwents could possibly like the only side of herself she would showthem. But putting her aside, I certainly don't see that the _Derwents_would have `anything in common' with the Wandles and people like that,if you take that ground."

  "Then they _should_ have," said Mrs Harrowby, who was apt to take refugein didactic utterances, when she found herself driven into a corner.

  Hebe laughed.

  "We have not come to the point at all, though we have been talking allthis time," she said. "What I was thinking of was some plan forenlivening the Derwent girls a little. _At present_," and she blushedslightly, "I can do nothing, but supposing we ask them to help us withour girls' guild? You do want to improve it, don't you? The lastmeetings have been so deadly dull. And we were speaking of some newthings--cooking lessons, was it?"

  "Yes, we spoke of that, but I think we must wait till one of theprofessional cooking ladies comes round. We were speaking of millinerylessons--the girls do make such vulgar guys of themselves."

  "That would be nice," said Hebe. "I daresay Miss Derwent could help us.And we must have some treats for the girls when the weather is quitewarm enough. Let us have a meeting, and talk it all over. You can askMiss Wandle and Miss Bracy, and I will get Norman's sister to come,though it is rather beyond their part of the country. For she might getleave to invite the guild to Crossburn. Yes, do let us have a niceafternoon-tea meeting _here_, and talk it over comfortably."

  Mrs Harrowby consented. There were not many people who could refuseHebe anything she had set her heart upon. Besides, the vicars wife hadno objection to the proposal. She was kind-hearted, if a trifledictatorial, and not without a pleasant strain of humour, as well as afair amount of sympathy.

  So, on the appointed afternoon, Blanche and Stasy made their way to thevicarage.

  "How pretty you look, Blanchie!" said Stasy, with a gush of sisterlyenthusiasm. "I do think you are getting prettier and prettier. Englandsuits you, I suppose," with a little sigh.

  Blanche laughed.

  "Suits my looks, I suppose you mean?" she said lightly. Stasy'sadmiration amused, but did not much impress her. Indeed she was not ofthe nature to be much impressed by any admiration. She knew she was"pretty," as she called it to herself, but the subject never dwelt inher thoughts. And she was entirely without vanity. Many a girl of farless beauty, of no beauty at all, gives a hundred times moreconsideration to the question of outward appearance than would have beenpossible under any circumstances for Blanche Derwent.

  There seemed to be quite a number of people in the vicarage drawing-roomwhen they entered it. Stasy--who, to tell the truth, was feeling atrifle shy, though wild horses would not have drawn such a confessionfrom her--had insisted on coming some minutes later than the hour atwhich they had been invited.

  "I don't want to seem so very eager about it," she said to Blanche."And if we go early, we are sure to be set down to talk to some of theGreen people. It would be horrid."

  To some extent, she was caught in her own trap. A chair was offered herbetween two girls, neither of whom she had seen before, and who, sheimmediately decided, must belong to the neighbours she certainly had noreason to feel friendliness towards. For, whatever had been the motive,and though very possibly their staying away was from the social point ofview more gratifying than their calling would have been, no kindlinessof any kind had been shown or attempted by the good folk of PinnertonGreen to the little family who had come as strangers among them.

  Stasy glanced cautiously at the girls beside her. One was plain, not tosay ugly, and dressed with almost exaggerated simplicity. Her featureswere heavy and ill-assorted; her nose was large, and nevertheless seemedtoo short for the curious length of her face; her eyes--no, she was notlooking Stasy's way--her eyes could not be pronounced upon.

  "She is really ugly," thought Stasy; "I haven't seen any English girl asugly as she is. And how very plainly she is dressed: I wonder if it isbecause she knows she is ugly. It cannot be that she's poor: all thesecommon people here are rich. Her dress is only"--Stasy gave anothercovert glance at the cloth skirt touching her own--"only--no, it's goodof its kind, though so plainly made, and yet--"

  Yes, there was a "yet," very decidedly, both as to dress, which was thevery best of its kind, and, when the girl slowly turned to Stasy withsome trivial remark, as to looks. For her eyes were beautiful, quitebeautiful, with the touch of pathos in them which one sometimes sees ineyes which are the only redeeming feature of an undeniably plain face.

  "Have a little indulgence for me--I cannot help myself," such eyes seemto say, and Stasy, sensitive as quicksilver, responded at once to theunspoken appeal.

  "Thank you," she said gently, "I have plenty of room--no, I don't mindbeing near the window," and then she salved over to herself her suavityto "one of those Wandle or Bracy girls," by reflecting that Blanche hadsaid it would be very wrong indeed to show anything but perfect courtesyand kindliness at a party especially arranged for a charitable object,though a slight misgiving came over her when the owner of the beautifuleyes spoke again in an evidently less conventional and more friendlytone.

  "That was your sister who came in with you, was it not? I am so glad tosee her more distinctly. She is so--so very lovely."

  Stasy, gratified though she felt on one side, stiffened slightly. MissWandle should not comment upon Blanche's appearance, however favourably.

  "Yes," she said, "every one thinks so. _I_ do, I can't deny."

  Then she turned to her neighbour on the right. She was a pretty girl,with wavy brown hair, and a charming rosebud of a face. But her dress,though much more studied than the austere but perfectly fitting tweed,jarred at once on Stasy's correct instincts. So did her voice, when inreply to the inquiry as to whether any guild business had yet beentransacted, she said:

  "Oh no, we always have tea first. Mrs Harrowby says it makes us feelmore at"--was there or was there not a suspicion of the absence of theaspirate, instantaneously and almost obtrusively corrected?--"at--at_h_ome; not so shy about speaking out, you know."

  "Oh indeed," said Stasy.

  Then she turned again to the heavy face and the luminous eyes, in whosedepths she now read a twinkle of fun.

  "I like you, whoever you are," she thought. And as at that moment Hebecame up with outstretched hand and cordial "How do you do? You foundyour way the other day, I hope?" an irrepressible little burst ofenthusiasm made its way through her caution.

  "Is she not charming? She is always so perfectly sweet and happy," shesaid.

  "Yes indeed," her neighbour replied, and the bright responsive smile onher face made one forget everything except the eyes. "Sheis--_perfectly_ charming. I like to see that she gives the sameimpression to strangers as to those who have known her long. I canremember her nearly all my life, and yet every time I see her thereseems something _new_. She is--I daresay you know?--she is going to bemarried to my brother Norman. Won't it be delightful to have her for asister?"

  And again the beautiful eyes gleamed with something brighter than theirordinary expression of appeal.

  Stasy gasped. Who, then, was this girl? For an instant, a wild,ridiculous idea rushed through her mind that Lady Hebe must be going tomarry one of the Wandles or Bracys, so prepossessed was she with herfirst guess about her plain-featured neighbour. But she dismissed it atonce, and she began to feel shocked at her own want of discernment.

  The colour mounted into her face as she replied to her companionsquestion.

  "I didn't know; at least," hesitatingly, "I am not sure. I think I didhear something, but I can't remember. I--Please don't think me rude,but I don't know your name."

  "I am
Rosy Milward. We live at Crossburn, the dearest old, old house inthe world," said the girl.

  "Oh!" said Stasy. "Yes, I have heard your name. It will be delightfulto have Lady Hebe for your sister."

  But her tone was slightly melancholy. She had been cherishing, halfunconsciously perhaps, dreams of special friendship, romanticfriendship, between Lady Hebe and herself (though she called it "us,"reluctant to leave out Blanche from anything so charming). And now herdreams seemed shattered. She--Hebe--was going to be married, and herewas a sister-friend all ready made for her. It was much better never toexpect to see or know any