Spring Days Part 9

"Be most careful what you say to my sisters. I would not trust them.

The temptation to get me cut out of everything might--I ought not to say that, but one never knows. I dare say no such accident could happen to any one else, but if I leave the smallest thing to chance I am sure to come to grief. They will question you. They will want to know what we did all day."

"I'll say we sat on the beach."

"That's it. Good-bye. I shall be home the day after to-morrow."

IV

When the young ladies at the Manor House did not get their dresses from London, a dressmaker came from Brighton to help them, and all together they sat sewing and chattering in the work-room. Maggie would take a bow or a flower, and moving it quickly, guided by the instinct of a bird building its nest, would find the place where it decorated the hat or bonnet best. Neither Sally nor Grace could do this, nor could they drape a skirt or fit a bodice, but they could work well and enjoy their work. But what they enjoyed more was the opportunity these working days afforded for gossip. Mrs. Wood had the Brighton scandal at her tongue's tip, and what she would not tell, her niece told them when her aunt left the room. Secrecy was enjoined, but sometimes they forgot, and in Mrs. Wood's presence alluded too pointedly to stories that had not yet found their way beyond the precincts of the servants'

hall, and then the dressmaker raised her mild eyes, and looked through large spectacles at Susan, who sat biting her lips. Susan told the young ladies of her love affairs; they told Susan of theirs; and the different codes of etiquette gave added zest to the anecdotes, in themselves interesting. The story of the young man who had said, "I am afraid that parcel is too heavy for you, miss," and had been promised a walk in the twilight on the cliff, evoked visions of liberty, and the story of the officer at the Henfield ball, with whom Sally had discovered a room that none knew of, did not fail to impress the little dressmaker. They talked a great deal about Frank. His face and manner called up the name, and after a few hesitations they used his Christian name as they did when he came to see them years ago.

"He is a very good fellow--I don't say he isn't. No one could say he wasn't nice-looking, but somehow he doesn't make you feel--you know, right down, you know, through and through."

"Electricity," said Maggie, with a low, subtle laugh, and her thread cracked through the straw of the hat.

"Yes," cried Sally boisterously. "Electricity, I never heard it called that before; but it isn't a bad name for it; it is like electricity.

When a man looks at you--you know, in a peculiar way, it goes right down your back from the very crown of your head."

"No, not down my back; I feel it down my chest, just like forked lightning. Isn't it horrid? You know that it is coming and you can't help it. Some men fix their eyes on you."

"It is just when you meet a man's eyes--a man you like, but haven't seen much of."

"I don't think liking has anything to do with it. I hate it; don't you?"

"No, I don't know that I do. I can't see anything so disagreeable as that in it. 'Tis rather a shock, a sort of pang."

Mrs. Wood raised her mild face and looked surprised through her thick spectacles; the merry niece bit her lips, and strove to stay her laughter. Then Maggie said: "Sue, have you ever felt electricity?"

"Oh, miss! I don't think I understand," and she glanced at her aunt over the hem she was running.

"Now, come, tell the truth. You mean to say you never felt electricity?"

"I don't think I ever did, miss."

"I don't believe you. Not when that nice young man you were telling us about looked at you? Come, now, tell the truth."

"Well, miss, I don't know--I thought it was very revolting."

Mrs. Wood said nothing; with her hand in suspended gesture and her spectacles a-glimmer with round surprise, she sat looking at Miss Maggie. Her reveries, however, were soon cut short, for Sally not only asked her if she had ever experienced the doubtful pleasure of electricity, but advised her when she returned home to try if her husband's looks could thrill her.

"I don't think the conversation at all nice," said Grace, who had up to the present taken no part either by looks, or words, or laughter.

"Who cares what you think? You used to be fond enough of sitting out dances with him. You mean to say he never gave you electricity?"

"No, never."

"Then I hope Berkins will," said Sally, with a coa.r.s.e laugh.

The a.s.sociation of Berkins with electricity proved so generally ludicrous that Mrs. Wood, conscious of the respect she owed Miss Brookes, pretended to look for her handkerchief, and it was for a moment doubtful if the spectacles would preserve their gravity. Tears started to Grace's eyes, and she bent over her work to hide them from her sisters, which was unnecessary, for Maggie and Sally were absorbed in past experiences.

"What about Frank?" Sally asked, and Susan looked up curious to hear Maggie's answer.

"Well," said Maggie, staring at the window, "Frank is very good- looking, but I don't think that he electrifies one... he did once."

"And when was that?" said Sally.

"You remember the first time he came to stay here? w.i.l.l.y brought him down from London. We went to bed early and left them playing billiards; I lay awake waiting to hear them come up the stairs, and as he pa.s.sed my room Frank stopped and I thought he was coming in. I felt it all down my spine, but never afterwards. You see, I didn't know him much then."

"And Jimmy?"

"I never liked Jimmy."

"If you don't like him why trouble about him?" Sally replied in her usually defiant manner. "You always take good care to trouble about my men. You tried all you could to get Jimmy away from me, yet you pretend to father that you never flirted with him."

"I didn't flirt with him; once a young man looks at you you think no one must speak to him but yourself. If young Meason asks me to dance with him, I cannot refuse; I am not going to make myself ridiculous though you were to look all the daggers in the world at me, but as for flirting with him, I never cared enough about him."

"And what about meeting him in London?"

Maggie coloured a little, and repudiated the accusation.

"You told him you were going to London, and you asked him if he were going, and what he would be doing that day. I don't know what more you could say."

"I never said any such thing."

"I have it from his own lips."

"It isn't true; I will ask him to your face if he ever said such a thing; I will tell father that."

"Well, there's no use in quarrelling," said Grace, "and I wouldn't advise you to worry father about it. You know he can't stand the name of Meason. It seems to me that neither of you care much whom you flirt with, you like so many young men."

"It is better to like a dozen young men than one old one."

"I shan't marry Mr. Berkins, no matter what you say. However, you can't accuse me of interfering in your affairs."

"No, _you_ don't."

"No more do I. If you want Frank, take him, only don't come sneaking after Charley. I don't want Frank; I don't care twopence about him. If you want to see it out with him, I shan't interfere; only don't you come interfering with me and Jimmy, or Charley either."

Maggie did not like the idea of Sally getting two to her one. She would have liked to have introduced a proviso about Alfred, but the t.i.tle Mount Rorke slipped between her thoughts, and she refrained. She knew the present treaty secured her immunity from Sally only so long as the affections and attentions of Jimmy and Charley showed no signs of declension, and she was aware that her promise would only hold good so long as Frank interested and Charley remained away in London.

The canary that had been twittering, now burst forth into long and prolonged shrillings. Grace folded up her work along her knees; and holding it in her hand like a roll of music, she said that they would never hear the end of this tennis party.

"I don't see why father should ever know anything about it, he has taken that horrid old Joseph with him, he never says more than a few words to the footman, and he never sees the cook or housemaid. We have all to-morrow to get the house straight."

"It is not certain that he is going to stay the night in London."