Do notthink me small or childish, Blanchie, but--you know French peoplesideas? They are all already expecting, from one day to another, to hearof your making some grand marriage; they thought a good deal of us aswell-connected English people, you know. And, I confess, it wouldmortify me for them, any of them, to see how--how completely `out of itall' we are."
"Poor little mother!" said Blanche caressingly, "you really mustn't getgloomy. _You_ don't think I want to marry and leave you, do you? Ican't _imagine_ such a thing. I cannot in my wildest dreams picture tomyself the going away from you and Stasy! Never mind about that; but Ido understand that you would feel rather sore at any friends thinking wewere more friendless here than in France. There is no need to inviteany one at present. I think I had a vague idea that it might cheer youup a little. This house is so pretty; I should enjoy showing it off."
"I should like you to have the pleasure of doing so," said Mrs Derwentwistfully. "You are always so sweet, my Blanchie. I can't help feelingas if nothing and nobody would be good enough for you; the faintest ideaof any one in the very least looking down upon you is--"
"Mother dear, it is not that. These people don't know us, or anythingabout us. There is nothing mortifying or worth minding that I can seein people's ignoring you, when they know nothing about you. And as forrudeness--that always lowers the rude person, not the object of it."
Mrs Derwent looked up quickly.
"You don't mean that any one has been actually _rude_ to you, Blanchie?Was there anything this afternoon?"
Blanche hesitated. She was incapable of uttering a word that was nottrue; yet, again, she was determined to tell her mother nothing of LadyMarth's impertinence.
"Mamma," she said, "I am thinking a great deal about Stasy. _She_ wasrude, at least it was tacitly rude, this afternoon," and she related theincident we know of.
"It was unladylike and unkind," said Mrs Derwent. "Yes, I am anxiousabout Stasy. This uncertain position that we have got into is bad forher in every way."
"It may all come right," said Blanche cheerfully. "But I am glad youthink I spoke properly to Stasy. Let us hope it will all come right,mamma, if _we_ do our best to be kind and good."
CHAPTER TWELVE.
A SPRAINED ANKLE.
For a time it seemed as if Blanche's hopeful prognostications werelikely to be fulfilled. The meeting with Lady Hebe at the vicarage ledto one or two others, for though Blanche was naturally quick andorderly, it took longer than either she or her new friend had expectedto initiate her into work of which the whole idea and details werecompletely new to her. And the more the two girls saw of each other,the stronger grew the mutual attraction of which both had been conscioussince that first evening when they came together in the fog at VictoriaStation.
But Hebe was powerless to do more. She found it best to avoid allmention even of the Derwents' name at East Moddersham, so evident was itthat Lady Marth had conceived one of her most unreasonable prejudicesagainst the strangers.
"It is a good deal thanks to Archie Dunstan," thought Hebe. "He madeJosephine furious that day. It's really too bad of him, and if I can,I'll give him a hint about it. Of course, it doesn't matter to _him_whether people are nice to the poor Derwents or not, but he's quiteworldly wise enough to know that with a woman like Josephine, and,indeed, with all these good ladies here about, _his_ advocacy would dothem far more harm than good. Why, I've known Josephine jealous andangry when he or Norman refused to give up an engagement of longstanding, if she chose to want them. She doesn't think Archie shouldknow any one whom she hasn't taken up."
She did speak to Archie, and he listened attentively. But at the closeof her oration, when his silence was encouraging her to hope that shehad made some impression, he entirely discomposed her by inquiringcalmly if there were to be any more guild meetings at the vicaragebefore she went to town, as if so, he would make a point of looking inas he had done the week before.
"How can you, Archie?" said Hebe. "The very thing I have been trying.No," she broke off, "there are to be no more meetings, and if therewere, I would not let you know."
"All right," said Archie; "it doesn't matter in the least. I've littlebirds in my service who are much more reliable sources of informationthan your wise ladyship. And one of them has informed me that there isgoing to be a tea-fight in the garden at Pinnerton Lodge for the damselswho have the honour to belong to the guild. And I mean to be at it."
"Archie?" exclaimed Hebe, stopping short, and looking at him in a sortof despair. "You go too far sometimes in your love of fun and amusingyourself; you do, really. The Derwents are not people to take freedomswith. Just because Blanche--Miss Derwent, I mean--is so charming andlovely, and unlike the common run of girls, you're much mistaken if youthink that you can treat her with less deference than if she--"
"If she what?" said Archie.
"Than if she--well--belonged to our set, you know. Was quite _in_everything."
"How do you know that I've not fallen desperately, in love with her?" heinquired coolly, looking Hebe full in the face.
"For two reasons," she replied. "You don't know what really falling inlove means; and secondly, if such a thing had happened, you wouldn'ttalk about it like that."
Archie laughed.
"All the same," he said, "I am going to be at the Pinnerton Lodgetea-fight. See if I'm not."
Hebe turned away in indignation. She was fond of Archie, and they werevery old friends, almost on brother-and-sister-like terms, but hesometimes made her more nearly angry than was at all usual with her.
"How glad I am Norman is not like that!" she said to herself--"turningeverything into joke. I wonder if it would be any good to make himspeak to Archie, and warn him not to begin any nonsense about BlancheDerwent? No, I am afraid it might lead to disagreeables; Norman wouldbe so vexed with Archie for annoying me."
It was quite true that there was going to be an entertainment for themembers of the guild at Pinnerton Lodge. The idea had been started inone of the talks on the affairs of the little society between Lady Hebeand Blanche, and Mrs Derwent had taken it up with the greatestcordiality. She was glad of anything which promised some variety forher daughters, and delighted to be the means of giving pleasure toothers. Nor was she sorry to, as it were, assert her position in evenso simple a way as this.
"I shall be so glad to see your Lady Hebe at last," she said to Blanche.
"I am sure you will like her as much as I do," said Blanche. "Stasy haspromised me," she went on, "to be very nice indeed to those other girls,to make up for that day at the vicarage."
A few days later the little entertainment came off. It was almost theeve of the East Moddersham family's leaving for London. Hebe had beenstaying at Crossburn for a few days, only returning home the morning ofthe party, on purpose to be present at it. Rosy Milward accompaniedher, in order, as she said, to see how things went off, as she hadpromised an entertainment of the same kind herself to Hebe's girls alittle later in the season.
Rosy was a little shy of offering herself as a guest to the Derwents,for she had not succeeded in her endeavours to persuade her grandmotherto call at Pinnerton Lodge. Old Mrs Milward was becoming increasinglyfrail, and even a small effort seemed painful to her. Yet, as is oftenthe case with elderly people in such circumstances, she stoodincreasingly on her dignity, and would not hear of her grand-daughter"calling for her," as Rosy ventured to suggest.
"We know nothing of these people," she said, "except that Grace Selwynknew the mother as a child. But no one else is calling on them, and Ireally don't see why we need do so."
"Lady Harriot has called," said Rosy.
"I can't help that, my dear," was the reply. "Lady Harriot has no youngdaughters or grand-daughters, so her calling involves nothing."
"She has a _nephew_," Rosy said to herself, for she was far too quicknot to have noticed Archie Dunstan's evident admiration of Miss Derwent.But she had the discretion to keep this reflection to herself.
An
d, after all, Mrs Milward made no objection to her grand-daughter'saccompanying Lady Hebe to Pinnerton Lodge on the afternoon in question.
"That sort of thing," she remarked, with some inconsistency, "is quitedifferent. You can go anywhere for a fancy fair or a charityentertainment;" forgetting that her grand-daughter was sure to bespecially thrown into the society of the Derwent girls on such anoccasion, and little suspecting that Rosy intended to profit to theutmost by such an opportunity of seeing more of both Blanche and Stasy.For Hebe quite reassured her as to the welcome she would receive.
"They're so _thoroughly_ nice, so simply well-bred," Hebe said, "sopleased to give pleasure. Otherwise, I should have felt almost ashamedto go myself, for it is much more marked for Josephine not to call, thanyour grandmother--an old lady, and living at some distance."
All went well. The weather was mild, almost warm; there were nothreatening rain-clouds or clouds of any kind on the afternoon fixedupon; so, to Stasy's great delight, it was decided that the tea-tablesshould be set out in the garden, or rather on the tennis-lawn at oneside of the house. Lady Hebe and her friend were the first to arrive,and were full of admiration of the way in which the Derwents hadarranged their preparations.
"How pretty you have made the tables look!" said Hebe to Mrs Derwent."It'll be quite a lesson in itself to the girls. I'm afraid our part ofthe country is very deficient in taste. We are so dreadfullyold-fashioned and conservative."
"But many old-fashioned ways and things are in much better taste thannew-fashioned ones," Mrs Derwent replied. "Good taste seems to come incycles. I must say there was great room for improvement in such thingswhen I was a girl."
"You lived near here then, did you not?" said Hebe. "Yes, at Fotherley,near Alderwood, you know," said Mrs Derwent. "I was so happy there,that it made me choose this part of England in preference to any other,when the time came for us to make our home here."
She sighed a little.
"It is a very nice part of the world, I do think," said Hebe. "But Isuppose it takes a little time to get to feel at home anywhere. And itmust seem very strange to you to come back to the same place after somany years."
"It hardly seems like the same place," said Mrs Derwent, "but that wouldnot matter, if Blanche and Stasy get to feel at home here."
"I do hope they will," said Hebe, with such evidently sincereearnestness, that Mrs Derwent's heart was won on the spot. "If only Ihad anything in my power"--then she hesitated, and her colour deepened alittle--"I may have before long," she added with a smile. "I mean tosay," she went on, with some slight confusion, "if Miss Derwent cares tohave me as a friend, I look forward to being rather more my own mistressthan I am just now."
"You are very good," said Mrs Derwent simply; but at that moment Stasycame dancing over the grass, to say that the guests of the day, "theguild girls," had begun to arrive, and Lady Hebe was in request toorganise the games.
"Where is Herty?" said Mrs Derwent suddenly. "I haven't seen him forever so long!"
"He went off to the wood, to get some more ivy, just after luncheon,"said Blanche. "Yes, he should have been back by now. But you needn'tbe uneasy about him, mamma; he's sure to be all right."
"Still, I wish he would come back," said Mrs Derwent. "He was lookingforward to the fun of helping us with the tea and everything."
The next hour passed very busily--so busily, that, except Mrs Derwentherself, no one gave a thought to Herty's continued absence, and evenshe forgot it from time to time. But when the games had ceased for themoment, and everybody was no less busily but more quietly occupied atthe tea-tables, the thought of Herty returned to Blanche's mind, as wellas to her mother's.
"What can he be about?" she said to herself. "I don't want to frightenmamma, but I really think we must send some one to look for him."
She glanced round, and, thinking she would not be missed for a moment,she hastened across the lawn towards a side gate, whence they generallymade their way into the woods by a short cut. There she stoodlistening, hoping to hear the little boys whistle, or the sound of hisfootsteps hurrying over the dry ground. But all was silent, save thatnow and then there came the distant clatter of teacups mingled withcheerful voices, and now and then a merry laugh.
"They won't hear me," thought Blanche, "if I call. And possibly Hertymay, if he's still in the woods."
So she called clearly, and as loudly as she could: "Herty, Herty! whereare you? Her-ty, Her-ty!" No reply.
Blanche waited a moment or two, and then tried again. This time shethought she heard something like a far-off whistle. It was a peculiarlystill afternoon, and sound carried far. Soon, to her listening ears,came the consciousness of approaching steps, firm and decided, not thelight footfall of a child like Herty. Blanche still lingered.
"It may be some one coming through the wood, who has seen him," shethought; "at least I can ask." Another moment, and the new-comer was insight. But--Blanche had good eyesight--but for some seconds the figureapproaching her set her perception at defiance. What, who was it? Anold man with humped-up shoulders? A woodcutter carrying a load? No, itwas not an old man--it moved too vigorously; nor was it a peasant--thestep was too easy and well-balanced. And the load on its shoulders--amoment or two more, and it all took shape. The stranger was a youngman, and--yes, undoubtedly, a _gentleman_, and he was carrying a child!
Then Blanche's heart leaped into her mouth, as the saying goes, withhorror. The child was a little boy, and--yes, it was Herty. What, oh!what had happened to him?
She gave no thought to the person who was carrying him; she was over thestile by the gate in half a second, and rushing in frantic haste alongthe path, towards her little brother and his bearer.
"Herty, darling!" she exclaimed. "What _is_ the matter? Have you hurtyourself?" And then, as the child did not at once reply--"Has hefainted?" she went on. "Oh, do speak!"
"Don't make such a fuss, Blanchie," came in Herty's familiar,high-pitched voice, sweet as music to his sister's ears, despite hisingratitude. "Please put me down," he went on, to the person who wascarrying him; "I'm sure I can walk now. I don't like to look like ababy."
"I'm sure you can't walk, my little man," was the reply. "But you maytry for yourself if you like," and the person he addressed carefullylowered the child to the ground, while Blanche, for the first timeturning her attention to him, recognised in Herty's bearer the young manshe had met twice before--at Alderwood, and since then at PinnertonVicarage, and who had been introduced to her as Mr Archibald Dunstan.
"I beg your pardon," he said, lifting his cap as soon as his hand wasfree. "I'm afraid we've given you a fright, but--"
"I _was_ frightened for a moment," said Blanche, half apologetically,"but now I must thank you. Has Herty hurt himself? Where did you findhim?"
Mr Dunstan did not at once reply; he was looking at the child, who hadgrown very white, and nearly fell.
"There now," he said. "It's all very well to be plucky, but I told youyou couldn't manage for yourself," and he put his arm round the littlefellow.--"Don't be alarmed, Miss Derwent," he went on; "it's onlyslight, I think--a sprained ankle; but the pain would be worse if itwere bad. He was chatting quite cheerfully as we came along just now.I think the best thing to be done is for me to carry him home, if you'llallow me to do so."
"Thank you, oh thank you so much," said Blanche. "Our house is just onthe other side of the gate. I will run on and open it. We are ratherbusy this afternoon--Lady Hebe's girls are having tea in the garden, andI shouldn't like my mother to be frightened. So perhaps if you cancarry Herty straight to the house, that would be the best."
"Certainly," said Mr Dunstan, passing through the gate as she held itopen. "It _is_ unlucky that this should have happened when you're allso busy."
But his tone was remarkably cheerful in spite of his expressions ofsympathy. And Herty, now comfortably ensconsed again on the young man'sshoulder, began his explanations.
"I was stretching up for a
splendid spray of ivy," he said. "There wasa sort of ditch, and I lost my balance and rolled in. And when I triedto get up, my foot hurt me so, I couldn't stand. So I had to lie down,but I shouted a lot. And at last, after ever so long, _he_ came.--Wouldn't it have been dreadful if you hadn't?" he went on, patting MrDunstan affectionately: he had evidently taken a great fancy to hisrescuer. "Do you think I'd have had to stay there all night?"
"It _was_ lucky, indeed," said Blanche. "There is a short cut throughthe woods from Alderwood to East Moddersham, isn't there? You live atAlderwood, do you not? I suppose you were going to East Moddersham.You can go back the other way round if you like."
She spoke quite simply, a little faster perhaps than was usual with her,thanks to her late excitement and present relief. But there was no sortof curiosity or _arriere pensee_ in her questions.
What then--or was it her fancy?--what made the young man's colour deepenslightly as she put