III.
Since her return to Leipzig, Ephie's spirits had gone up and down likea barometer in spring. In this short time, she passed through morechanges of mood than in all her previous life. She learned whatuncertainty meant, and suspense, and helplessness; she caught at anystraw of hope, and, for a day on end, would be almost comforted; sheinvented numberless excuses for Schilsky, and rejected them, one andall. For she was quite in the dark about his movements; she had notseen him since her return, and could hear nothing of him. Only thefirst of the letters she had written to him from Switzerland hadelicited a reply, and he had left all the notes she had sent him, sincegetting back, unanswered.
Her fellow-boarder, Mrs. Tully, was her only confidant; and that, onlyin so far as this lady, knowing that what she called "a little romance"was going on, had undertaken to enclose any letters that might arriveduring Ephie's absence. Johanna had no suspicions, or rather she hadhitherto had none. In the course of the past week, however, it hadbecome plain even to her blind, sisterly eyes that something was thematter with Ephie. She could still be lively when she liked, almostunnaturally lively, and especially in the company of Mrs. Tully and hercircle; but with these high spirits alternated fits of depression, andonce Johanna had come upon her in tears. Driven into a corner, Ephiedeclared that Herr Becker had scolded her at her lesson; but Johannawas not satisfied with this explanation; for formerly, the master'sblame or praise had left no impression on her little sister's mind.Even worse than this, Ephie could now, on slight provocation, bethoroughly peevish--a thing so new in her that it worried Johanna mostof all. The long walks of the summer had been given up; but Ephie hadadopted a way of going in and out of the house, just as it pleased her,without a word to her sister. Johanna scrutinised her keenly, and theresult was so disturbing that she resolved to broach the subject to hermother.
On the morning after Maurice's visit, therefore, she appeared in thesitting-room, with a heap of undarned stockings in one hand, herwork-basket in the other, and with a very determined expression on herface. But the moment was not a happy one: Mrs. Cayhill was deep in WHYPAUL FERROL KILLED HIS WIFE; and would be lost to her surroundingsuntil the end of the book was reached. Had Johanna been of an observantturn of mind, she would have waited a little; for, finding theintermediate portion of the novel dry reading, Mrs. Cayhill was gettingover the pages at the rate of three or four a minute, and would soonhave been finished.
But Johanna sat down at the table and opened fire.
"I wish to speak to you, mother," she said firmly.
Mrs. Cayhill did not even blink. Johanna drew several threads across ahole she was darning, before she repeated, in the same decided tone:"Do you hear me, mother? There is something I wish to speak to youabout."
"Hm," said Mrs. Cayhill, without raising her eyes from the page. Sheheard Johanna, and was even vaguely distracted by her from the web ofcircumstance that was enveloping her hero; but she believed, fromexperience, that if she took no notice of her, Johanna would notpersist. What the latter had to say would only be a reminder that itwas mail-day, and no letters were ready; or that if she did not put onher bonnet and go out for a walk, she would be obliged to take anotherof her nerve-powders that night: and Mrs. Cayhill hated moralpersuasion with all her heart.
"Put down your book, mother, please, and listen to me," continuedJohanna, without any outward sign of impatience, and as she spoke, shedrew another stocking over her hand.
"What IS the matter, Joan? I wish you would let me be," answered Mrs.Cayhill querulously, still without looking up.
"It's about Ephie, mother. But you can't hear me if you go on reading."
"I can hear well enough," said Mrs. Cayhill, and turning a page, shelost herself, to all appearance, in the next one. Johanna did notreply, and for some minutes there was silence, broken only by theturning of the leaves. Then, compelled by something that was strongerthan herself, Mrs. Cayhill laid her book on her knee, gave a loud sigh,and glanced at Johanna's grave face.
"You are a nuisance, Joan. Well, make haste now--what is it?"
"It's Ephie, mother. I am not easy about her lately. I don't think shecan be well. She is so unlike herself."
"Really, Joan," said Mrs. Cayhill, laughing with an exaggeratedcarelessness. "I think I should be the first to notice if she weresick. But you like to make yourself important, that's what it is, andto have a finger in every pie. There is nothing whatever the matterwith the child."
"She's not well, I'm sure," persisted Johanna, without haste. "I havenoticed it for some time now. I think the air here is not agreeing withher. I constantly hear it said that this is an enervating place. Ibelieve it would be better for her if we went somewhere else for thewinter--even if we returned home. Nothing binds us, and health is thefirst and chief----"
"Go home?" cried Mrs. Cayhill, and turned her book over on its face."Really, Joan, you are absurd! Because Ephie finds it hard to settledown again, after such a long vacation--and that's all it is--you wantto rush off to a fresh place, when ... when we are just so comfortablyfixed here for the winter, and where we have at last gotten us a fewfriends. As for going home, why, every one would suppose we'd gonecrazy. We haven't been away six months yet--and when Mr. Cayhill iscoming over to fetch us back--and ... and everything."
She spoke with heat; for she knew from experience that what her elderdaughter resolved on, was likely to be carried through.
"That is all very well, mother," continued Johanna unmoved. "But Idon't think your arguments are sound if we find that Ephie is reallysick, and needs a change."
"Arguments not sound! What big words you love to use, Joan! You letEphie be. She grows prettier every day, and she's a favourite wherevershe goes."
"That's another thing. Her head is being turned, and she will soon bequite spoilt. She begins to like the fuss and attention so wellthat----"
"You had your chances too, Joan. You needn't be jealous."
Johanna had heard this remark too often to be sensitive to it.
"When it comes to serious 'chances,' as you call them, no one will bemore pleased for Ephie or more interested than I. But this is somethingdifferent. You see that yourself, mother, I am sure. These young menwho come about the house are so foolish, and immature, and they havesuch different ideas of things from ourselves. They think so...so"--Johanna hesitated for a word--"so laxly on earnest subjects. Andit is telling on Ephie--Look, for instance, at Mr. Dove! I don't wantto say anything against him, in particular. He is really more seriousthan the rest. But for some time now, he has been making himselfridiculous,"--Johanna had blushed for Dove on the occasion of his lastvisit. "No one could be more in earnest than he is; but Ephie onlymakes fun of him, in a heartless way. She won't see what a grave matterit is to him."
Mrs. Cayhill laughed, not at all displeased. "Young people will beyoung people. You can't put old heads on young shoulders, Joan, or shutthem up in separate houses. Ephie is an extremely pretty girl, and itwill be the same wherever we go.--As for young Dove, he knows wellenough that nothing can come of it, and if he chooses to continue hisattentions, why, he must take the consequences--that's all. Absurd!--aboy and girl flirtation, and to make so much of it! A mountain of amolehill, as usual. And half the time, you only imagine things, anddon't see what is going on under your very nose. Anyone but you, I'msure, would find more to object to in the way young Guest behaves thanDove."
"Maurice Guest?" said Johanna, and laid her hands with stocking andneedle on the table.
"Yes, Maurice Guest," repeated Mrs. Cayhill, with complacent mockery."Do you think no one has eyes but yourself?--No, Joan, you're not sharpenough. Just look at the way he went on last night! Every one but youcould see what was the matter with him. Mrs. Tully told me about itafterwards. Why, he never took his eyes off her."
"Oh, I'm sure you are mistaken," said Johanna earnestly, and was silentfrom sheer surprise. "He has been here so seldom of late," she addedafter a pause, thinking aloud.
"Just for that very reason," replied
Mrs. Cayhill, with the same air ofwisdom. "A nice-minded young man stays away, if he sees that hisfeelings are not returned, or if he has no position to offer.--Andanother thing I'll tell you, Joan, though you do think yourself soclever. You don't need to worry if Ephie is odd and fidgety sometimesjust now. At her age, it's only to be expected. You know very well whatI mean. All girls go through the same thing. You did yourself."
After this, she took up her book again, having, she knew, successfullysilenced her daughter, who, on matters of this nature, was extremelysensitive.
Johanna went methodically on with her darning; but the new idea whichher mother had dropped into her mind, took root and grew. Strange thatit had not occurred to her before! Dove's state of mind had been patentfrom the first; but she had had no suspicions of Maurice Guest. Hismanner with Ephie had hitherto been that of a brother: he had neverbehaved like the rest. Yet, when she looked back on his visit of theprevious evening, she could not but be struck by the strangeness of hisdemeanour: his distracted silence, his efforts to speak to Ephie alone,and the expression with which he had watched her. And Ephie?--what ofher? Now that Johanna thought of it, a change had also come overEphie's mode of treating Maurice; the gay insouciance of the early dayshad given place to the pert flippancy which, only the night before, hadso pained her sister. What had brought about this change? Was it pique?Was Ephie chafing, in secret, at his prolonged absences, and was she,girl-like, anxious to conceal it from him?
Johanna gathered up her work to go to her own room and think the matterout in private. In the passage, she ran into the arms of Mrs. Tully,whom she disliked; for, ever since coming to the PENSION, this lady hadcarried on a kind of cult with Ephie, which was distasteful in theextreme to Johanna.
"Oh, Miss Cayhill!" she now exclaimed. "I was just groping my way--itis indeed groping, is it not?--to your sitting-room. WHERE is yoursister? I want SO much to ask her if she will have tea with me thisafternoon. I am expecting a few friends, and should be so glad if shewould join us."
"Ephie is practising, Mrs. Tully," said Johanna in her coolest tone."And I cannot have her disturbed."
"She is so very, very diligent," said Mrs. Tully with enthusiasm. "Ialways remark to myself on hearing her, how very idle a life like mineis in comparison. I am able to do SO little; just a mere trifle hereand there, a little atom of good, one might say. I have notalents.--And you, too, dear Miss Cayhill. So studious, so clever! Ihear of you on every side," and, letting her eyes rest on Johanna'shead, she wondered why the girl wore her hair so unbecomingly.
Johanna did not respond.
"If only you would let your hair grow, it would make such a differenceto your appearance," said Mrs. Tully suddenly, with disconcertingoutspokenness.
Johanna drew herself up.
"Thanks," she said. "I have always worn my hair like this, and at myage, have no intention of altering it," and leaving Mrs. Tullyprotesting vehemently at such false modesty, she went past her, intoher own room, and shut the door.
She sat down by the window to sew. But her hands soon fell to her lap,and with her eyes on the backs of the neighbouring houses, shecontinued her interrupted reflections. First, though, she threw aquick, sarcastic side-glance on her mother and herself. As so oftenbefore, when she had wanted to pin her mother's attention to a subject,the centre of interest had shifted in spite of her efforts, and theyhad ended far from where they had begun: further, she, Johanna, had away, when it came to the point, not of asking advice or of faithfullydiscussing a question, but of emphatically giving her opinion, or ofstating what she considered to be the facts of the case.
From an odd mixture of experience and self-distrust, Johanna had,however, acquired a certain faith in her mother's opinions--theseblind, instinctive hits and guesses, which often proved right whereJohanna's carefully drawn conclusions failed. Here, once more, hermother's idea had broken in upon her like a flash of light, even thoughshe could not immediately bring herself to accept it. Maurice andEphie! She could not reconcile the one with the other. Yet what if thechild were fretting? What if he did not care? A pang shot through herat the thought that any outsider should have the power to make Ephiesuffer. Oh, she would make him care!--she would talk to him as he hadnever been talked to in his life before.
The sisters' rooms were connected by a door; and, gradually, in spiteof her preoccupation, Johanna could not but become aware how brokenlyEphie was practising. Coaxing, encouragement, and sometimes evenseverity, were all, it is true, necessary to pilot Ephie through thetwo hours that were her daily task; but as idle as to-day, she hadnever been. What could she be doing? Johanna listened intently, but nota sound came from the room; and impelled by a curiosity to observe hersister in a new light, she rose and opened the door.
Ephie was standing with her back to it, staring out of the window, andsupporting herself on the table by her violin, which she held by theneck. At Johanna's entrance, she started, grew very red, and hastilyraised the instrument to her shoulder.
"What are you doing, Ephie? You are wasting a great deal of time," saidJohanna in the tone of mild reproof that came natural to her, inspeaking to her little sister. "Is anything the matter to-day? If youdon't practice better than this, you won't have the ETUDE ready byFriday, and Herr Becker will make you take it again--for the thirdtime."
"He can if he likes. I guess I don't care," said Ephie nonchalantly,and, seizing the opportunity offered for a break, she sat down, andlaid bow and fiddle on the table.
"Have you remembered everything he pointed out to you at your lastlesson?" asked Johanna, going over to the music-stand, and peering atthe pages with her shortsighted eyes. "Let me see--what was it now?Something about this double-stopping here, and the fingering in thisposition."
Ephie laughed. "Old Joan, what do you know about it?"
"Not much, dear, I admit," said Johanna pleasantly. "But try and masterit, like a good girl. So you can get rid of it, and go on to somethingelse."
Ephie sat back, clasped her hands behind her head, and gave a longsigh. "Yes, to the next one," she said. "Oh, if you only knew how sickI am of them, Joan! The next won't be a bit better than this. They areall alike--a whole book of them."
Johanna looked down at the little figure with the plump, white arms,and discontented expression; and she tried to find in the childish facesomething she had previously not seen there.
"Are you tired of studying, Ephie?" she asked. "Would you like to leaveoff and go away?"
"Go away from Leipzig? Where to?" Ephie did not unclasp her hands, buther eyes grew vigilant.
"Oh, there are plenty of other places, child. Dresden--or Weimar--orStuttgart--where you could take lessons just as well. Or if you aretired of studying altogether, there is no need for you to go on withit. We can return home, any day. Sometimes, I think it would be betterif we did. You have not been yourself lately, dear. I don't think youare very well."
"I not myself?--not well? What rubbish you talk, Joan! I am quite well,and wish you wouldn't tease me. I guess you want to go away yourself.You are tired of being here. But nothing shall induce me to go. I loveold Leipzig. And I still have heaps to learn before I leave offstudying.--I don't even know whether I shall be ready by spring. It alldepends. And now, Joan, go away." She took up her violin and put it onher shoulder. "Now it's you who are wasting time. How can I practisewhen you stand there talking?"
Johanna was silent. But after this, she did not venture to mentionMaurice's name; and she had turned to leave the room when sheremembered her meeting with Mrs. Tully.
"I would rather you did not go to tea, Ephie," she ended, and thenregretted having said it.
"That's another of your silly prejudices, Joan. I want to know why youfeel so about Mrs. Tully. I think she's lovely. Not that I'd have goneanyway. I promised Maurice to go for a walk with him at five. I knowwhat her 'few friends' means, too--just Boehmer, and she asks me alongso people will think he comes to see me, and not her. He sits there,and twirls his moustache, and makes eyes at her, and she m
akes themback. I'm only for show. No, I shouldn't have gone. I can't bearBoehmer. He's such a goat."
"You didn't think that as long as he came to see us," expostulatedJohanna.
"No, of course not. But so he only comes to see her, I do.--Andsometimes, Joan, why it's just embarrassing. The last afternoon, why,he had a headache or something, and she made him lie on the sofa, witha rug over him, so she could bathe his head with eau-de-cologne. Iguess she's going to marry him. And I'm not the only one. The other dayI heard Frau Walter and Frau von Baerle talking in the dining-roomafter dinner, and they said the little English widow was veryHEIRATSLUSTIG."
"Ephie, I don't like to hear you repeat such foolish gossip," saidJohanna in real distress. "And if you can understand and remember aword like that, you might really take more pains with your German. Itis not impossible for you to learn, you see."
"Joan the preacher, and Joan the teacher, and Joan the wise old bird,"sang Ephie, and laughed. "I think Mrs. Tully is real kind. She's goingto show me a new way to do my hair. This style is quite out in London,she says."
"Don't let her touch your hair. It couldn't be better than it is," saidJohanna quickly. But Ephie turned her head this way and that, andconsidered herself in the looking-glass.
Now that she knew Maurice was expected that afternoon, Johanna awaitedhis arrival with impatience. Meanwhile, she believed she was not wrongin thinking Ephie unusually excited. At dinner, where, as always, theelderly boarders made a great fuss over her, her laughter was so loudas to grate on Johanna's ear; but afterwards, in their ownsitting-room, a trifle sufficed to put her out of temper. A new hat hadbeen sent home, a hat which Johanna had not yet seen. Now that it hadcome, Ephie was not sure whether she liked it or not; and all the criesof admiration her mother and Mrs. Tully uttered, when she put it on,were necessary to reassure her. Johanna was silent, and this unspokendisapproval irritated Ephie.
"Why don't you say something, Joan?" she cried crossly. "I suppose youthink it's homely?"
"Frankly, I don't care for it much, dear. To my mind, it's overtrimmed."
This was so precisely Ephie's own feeling that she was more annoyedthan ever; she taunted Johanna with old-fashioned, countrified tastes;and, in spite of her mother's comforting assurances, retired in a petto her own room.
That afternoon, as they sat together at tea, Mrs. Cayhill, who for sometime had considered Ephie fondly, said: "I can't understand youthinking she isn't well, Joan. I never saw her look better."
Ephie went crimson. "Now what has Joan been saying about me?" she askedangrily.
Johanna had left the table, and was reading on the sofa.
"I only said what I repeated to yourself, Ephie. That I didn't thinkyou were looking well."
"Just fancy," said Mrs. Cayhill, laughing good-humouredly, "she wassaying we ought to leave Leipzig and go to some strange place. Evenback home to America. You don't want to go away, darling, do you?"
"No, really, Joan is too bad," cried Ephie, with a voice in which tearsand exasperation struggled for the mastery. "She always has some newfad in her head. She can't leave us alone--never! Let her go away, soshe wants to. I won't. I'm happy here. I love being here. Even if youboth go away, I shall stop."
She got up from the table, and went to a window, where she stood bitingher lips, and paying small attention to her mother's elaborate proteststhat she, too, had no intention of being moved.
Johanna did not raise her eyes from her book. She could have wept: notonly at the spirit of rebellious dislike, which was beginning to showmore and more clearly in everything Ephie said. But was no one butherself awake to the change that was taking place in the child, day byday? She would write to her father, without delay, and make him insiston their returning to America.
From the moment Maurice entered the room, she did not take her eyes offhim; and, under her scrutiny, the young man soon grew nervous. He satand fidgeted, and found nothing to say.
Ephie was wayward: she did not think she wanted to go out; it lookedlike rain. Johanna refrained from interfering; but Maurice was mostpersistent: he begged Ephie not to disappoint him, and, when thisfailed, said angrily that she had no business to bring him there forsuch capricious whims. This treatment cowed Ephie; and she went at onceto put on her hat and jacket.
"He wants to speak to her; and she knows it; and is trying to avoidit," said Johanna to herself; and her heart beat fast for both of them.But she was alone with Maurice; she must not lose the chance ofsounding him a little.
"Where do you think of going for a walk?" she asked, and her voice hadan odd tone to her ears.
"Where? Oh, to the ROSENTAL--or the SCHEIBENHOLZ--or along the river.Anywhere. I don't know."
She coughed. "Have you noticed anything strange about Ephie lately? Sheis not herself. I'm afraid she is not well."
He had noticed nothing. But he did not face Johanna; and he held thephotograph he was looking at upside down.
She leaned out of the window to watch them walk along the street. Atthis moment, she was fully convinced of the correctness of her mother'sassumption; and by the thought of what might take place within the nexthour, she was much disturbed. During the rest of the afternoon, shefound it impossible to settle to anything; and she wandered from oneroom to another, unable even to read. But it struck six, seven, eighto'clock; it was supper-time; and still Ephie had not come home. Mrs.Cayhill grew anxious, too, and Johanna strained her eyes, watching thedark street. At nine and at ten, she was pacing the room, and ateleven, after a messenger had been sent to Maurice's lodging and hadfound no one there she buttoned on her rain-cloak, to accompany one ofthe servants to the police-station.
"Why did I let her go?--Oh, why did I let her go!"