Lady Connie Read online

  CHAPTER II

  "My dear Ellen, I beg you will not interfere any more with Connie'sriding. I have given leave, and that really must settle it. She tells methat her father always allowed her to ride alone--with a groom--inLondon and the Campagna; she will of course pay all the expenses of itout of her own income, and I see no object whatever in thwarting her.She is sure to find our life dull enough anyway, after the life she hasbeen living."

  "I don't know why you should call Oxford dull, Ewen!" said Mrs. Hooperresentfully. "I consider the society here much better than anythingConnie was likely to see on the Riviera--much more respectable anyway.Well, of course, everybody will call her fast--but that's your affair. Ican see already she won't be easily restrained. She's got an uncommonlystrong will of her own."

  "Well, don't try and restrain her, dear, too much," laughed her husband."After all she's twenty, she'll be twenty-one directly. She may not bemore than a twelvemonth with us. She need not be, as far as my functionsare concerned. Let's make friends with her and make her happy."

  "I don't want my girls talked about, thank you, Ewen!" His wife gave anangry dig to the word "my." "Everybody says what a nice ladylike girlAlice is. But Nora often gives me a deal of trouble--and if she takes toimitating Connie, and wanting to go about without a chaperon, I don'tknow what I shall do. My dear Ewen, do you know what I discoveredlast night?"

  Mrs. Hooper rose and stood over her husband impressively.

  "Well--what?"

  "You remember Connie went to bed early. Well, when I came up, and passedher door, I noticed something--somebody in that room was--smoking! Icould not be mistaken. And this morning I questioned the housemaid.'Yes, ma'am,' she said, 'her ladyship smoked two cigarettes last night,and Mrs. Tinkler'--that's the maid--'says she always smokes two beforeshe goes to bed.' Then I spoke to Tinkler--whose manner to me, Iconsider, is not at all what it should be--and she said that Conniesmoked three cigarettes a day always--that Lady Risborough smoked--thatall the ladies in Rome smoked--that Connie began it before her motherdied--and her mother didn't mind--"

  "Well then, my dear, you needn't mind," exclaimed Dr. Hooper.

  "I always thought Ella Risborough went to pieces--rather--in thatdreadful foreign life," said Mrs. Hooper firmly. "Everybody does--youcan't help it."

  "I don't know what you mean by going 'to pieces,'" said Ewen Hooperwarmly. "I only know that when they came here ten years ago, I thoughther one of the most attractive--one of the most charming women I hadever seen."

  From where he stood, on the hearth-rug of his study, smoking anafter-breakfast pipe, he looked down--frowning--upon his wife, and Mrs.Hooper felt that she had perhaps gone too far. Never had she forgotten,never had she ceased to resent her own sense of inferiority anddisadvantage, beside her brilliant sister-in-law on the occasion of thatlong past visit. She could still see Ella Risborough at the All Souls'luncheon given to the newly made D.C.Ls, sitting on the right of theVice-Chancellor, and holding a kind of court afterwards in the library;a hat that was little more than a wreath of forget-me-nots on her darkhair, and a long, lace cloak draping the still young and gracefulfigure. She remembered vividly the soft, responsive eyes and smile, andthe court of male worshippers about them. Professors, tutors young andold, undergraduates and heads of houses, had crowded round the motherand the long-legged, distinguished-looking child, who clung so closelyto her side; and if only she could have given Oxford a few more days,the whole place would have been at Ella Risborough's feet. "Sointelligent too!" said the enthusiastic--"so learned even!" A member ofthe Roman "Accademia dei Lincei," with only one other woman to keep hercompany in that august band; and yet so modest, so unpretending, so fullof laughter, and life, and sex! Mrs. Hooper, who generally found herselfat these official luncheons in a place which her small egotism resented,had watched her sister-in-law from a distance, envying her dress, hertitle, her wealth, bitterly angry that Ewen's sister should have a placein the world that Ewen's wife could never hope to touch, and irrevocablydeciding that Ella Risborough was "fast" and gave herself airs. Nor didthe afternoon visit, when the Risboroughs, with great difficulty, hadmade time for the family call on the Hoopers, supply any more agreeablememories. Ella Risborough had been so rapturously glad to see herbrother, and in spite of a real effort to be friendly had had so littleattention to spare for his wife! It was true she had made much of theHooper children, and had brought them all presents from Italy. But Mrs.Hooper had chosen to think the laughing sympathy and evident desire toplease "affectation," or patronage, and had been vexed in her silentcorner to see how little her own two girls could hold their own besideConstance.

  As for Lord Risborough, he had frankly found it difficult to rememberMrs. Hooper's identity, while on the other hand he fell at once intokeen discussion of some recent finds in the Greek islands with EwenHooper, to whom in the course of half an hour it was evident that hetook a warm liking. He put up his eye-glass to look at the Hooperchildren; he said vaguely, "I hope that some day you and Mrs. Hooperwill descend upon us in Rome;" and then he hurried his wife away withthe audible remark--"We really must get to Blenheim, Ellie, in goodtime. You promised the Duchess--"

  So ill-bred--so snobbish--to talk of your great acquaintances in public!And as for Lady Risborough's answer--"I don't care twopence about theDuchess, Hugh! and I haven't seen Ewen for six years,"--it had beenmerely humbug, for she had obediently followed her husband, allthe same.

  Recollections of this kind went trickling through Mrs. Hooper's mind,roused by Ewen's angry defence of his sister. It was all very well, butnow the long-legged child had grown up, and was going to put her--EllenHooper's--daughters in the shade, to make them feel their inferiority,just as the mother had done with herself. Of course the money waswelcome. Constance was to contribute three hundred a year, which was asubstantial addition to an income which, when all supplementalearnings--exams, journalism, lectures--were counted, rarely reachedseven hundred. But they would be "led into expenses"--the maid wasevidently a most exacting woman; and meanwhile, Alice, who was just out,and was really quite a pretty girl, would be entirely put in thebackground by this young woman with her forward manner, and her title,and the way she had as though the world belonged to her. Mrs. Hooperfelt no kinship with her whatever. She was Ewen's blood--not hers; andthe mother's jealous nature was all up in arms for her ownbrood--especially for Alice. Nora could look after herself, andinvariably did. Besides Nora was so tiresome! She was always ready togive the family case away--to give everything away, preposterously. And,apropos, Mrs. Hooper expressed her annoyance with some silly notionsNora had just expressed to her.

  "I do hope, Ewen, you won't humour and spoil Constance too much! Norasays now she's dissatisfied with her room and wants to buy somefurniture. Well, let her, I say. She has plenty of money, and wehaven't. We have given her a great deal more than we give our owndaughters--"

  "She pays us, my dear!"

  Mrs. Hooper straightened her thin shoulders.

  "Well, and you give her the advantage of your name and your reputationhere. It is not as though you were a young don, a nobody. You've madeyour position. Everybody asks us to all the official things--and Connie,of course, will be asked, too."

  A smile crept round Dr. Hooper's weak and pleasant mouth.

  "Don't flatter yourself, Ellen, that Connie will find Oxford societyvery amusing after Rome and the Riviera."

  "That will be her misfortune," said Mrs. Hooper, stoutly. "Anyway, shewill have all the advantages we have. We take her with us, for instance,to the Vice-Chancellor's to-night?"

  "Do we?" Dr. Hooper groaned. "By the way, can't you let me off, Ellen?I've got such a heap of work to do."

  "Certainly not! People who shut themselves up never get on, Ewen. I'vejust finished mending your gown, on purpose. How you tear it as you do,I can't think! But I was speaking of Connie. We shall take her,of course--"

  "Have you asked her?"

  "I told her we were all going--and to meet Lord Glaramara. She didn'tsay a
nything."

  Dr. Hooper laughed.

  "You'll find her, I expect, a very independent young woman--"

  But at that moment his daughter Nora, after a hurried and perfunctoryknock, opened the study door vehemently, and put in a flushed face.

  "Father, I want to speak to you!"

  "Come in, my dear child. But I can't spare more than five minutes."

  And the Reader glanced despairingly at a clock, the hands of which werepointing to half past ten a.m. How it was that, after an eight o'clockbreakfast, it always took so long for a man to settle himself to hiswork he really could not explain. Not that his conscience did notsometimes suggest the answer, pointing to a certain slackness andsoftness in himself--the primal shrinking from work, the primalinstinct to sit and dream--that had every day to be met and conqueredafresh, before the student actually found himself in his chair, orlecturing from his desk with all his brains alert. Anyway, the Reader,when there was no college or university engagement to pin him down,would stand often--"spilling the morning in recreation"; in other words,gossiping with his wife and children, or loitering over the newspapers,till the inner monitor turned upon him. Then he would work furiously forhours; and the work when done was good. For there would be in it a kindof passion, a warmth born of the very effort and friction of the willwhich had been necessary to get it done at all.

  Nora, however, had not come in to gossip. She was in a white heat.

  "Father!--we ought not to let Connie furnish her own rooms!"

  "But, my dear, who thinks of her doing any such thing? What do youmean?" And Dr. Hooper took his pipe out of his mouth, and stoodprotesting.

  "She's gone out, she and Annette. They slipped out just now when mothercame in to you; and I'm certain they've gone to B's"--the excited girlnamed a well-known Oxford furniture shop--"to buy all sorts of things."

  "Well, after all, it's my house!" said the Reader, smiling. "Connie willhave to ask my leave first."

  "Oh, she'll persuade you!" cried Nora, standing before her father withher hands behind her. "She'll make us all do what she wants. She'll belike a cuckoo in the nest. She'll be too strong for us."

  Ewen Hooper put out a soothing hand, and patted his youngest daughteron the shoulder.

  "Wait a bit, my dear. And when Connie comes back just ask her to step inhere a moment. And now will you both please be gone--at once?--quickonce?--quick march!"

  And taking his wife and daughter by the shoulders, he turned them bothforcibly out, and sat down to make his final preparations for a lecturethat afternoon on the "feminism" of Euripides.

  * * * * *

  Meanwhile Connie Bledlow and her maid were walking quickly down theBroad towards the busy Cornmarket with its shops. It was a brilliantmorning--one of those east wind days when all clouds are swept from theair, and every colour of the spring burns and flashes in the sun. Everyoutline was clear; every new-leafed tree stood radiant in the brightair. The grey or black college walls had lost all the grimness ofwinter, they were there merely to bring out the blue of the sky, theyellow gold, the laburnum, the tossing white of the chestnuts. Thefigures, even, passing in the streets, seemed to glitter with the treesand the buildings. The white in the women's dresses; the short blackgowns and square caps of the undergraduates; the gay colours in thechildren's frocks; the overhanging masses of hawthorn and lilac thathere and there thrust themselves, effervescent and rebellious, throughand over college walls:--everything shimmered and shone in the Maysunlight. The air too was tonic and gay, a rare thing for Oxford; andConnie, refreshed by sleep, walked with such a buoyant and swinging stepthat her stout maid could hardly keep up with her. Many a passer-byobserved her. Men on their way to lecture, with battered caps and gownsslung round their necks, threw sharp glances at the tall girl in black,with the small pale face, so delicately alive, and the dark eyes thatlaughed--aloof and unabashed--at all they saw.

  "What boys they are!" said Constance presently, making a contemptuouslip. "They ought to be still in the nursery."

  "What--the young men in the caps, my lady?"

  "Those are the undergraduates, Annette--the boys who live in thecolleges."

  "They don't stare like the Italian young gentlemen," said Annette,shrugging her shoulders. "Many a time I wanted to box their ears for theway they looked at you in the street."

  Connie laughed. "I liked it! They were better-looking than these boys.Annette, do you remember that day two years ago when I took you to thatriding competition--what did they call it?--that gymkhana--in the VillaBorghese--and we saw all those young officers and their horses? Whatglorious fellows they were, most of them! and how they rode!"

  Her cheek flushed to the recollection. For a moment the Oxford streetpassed out of sight. She saw the grassy slopes, the stone pines, thewhite walls, the classic stadium of the Villa Borghese, with the hotJune sun stabbing the open spaces, and the deep shadows under theilexes; and in front of the picture, the crowd of jostling horses, withtheir riders, bearing the historic names of Rome--Colonnas, Orsinis,Gaetanis, Odescalchis, and the rest. A young and splendid brood, allarrogant life and gaiety, as high-mettled as their English and Irishhorses. And in front a tall, long-limbed cavalry officer in the Queen'shousehold, bowing to Constance Bledlow, as he comes back, breathless andradiant from the race he has just won, his hand tight upon the reins,his athlete's body swaying to each motion of his horse, his black eyeslaughing into hers. Why, she had imagined herself in love with him for awhole week!

  Then, suddenly, she perceived that in her absence of mind she wasrunning straight into a trio of undergraduates who were hurriedlystepping off the path to avoid her. They looked at her, and she at them.They seemed to her all undersized, plain and sallow. They carried books,and two wore glasses. "Those are what _he_ used to call 'smugs'!" shethought contemptuously, her imagination still full of the laughingItalian youths on their glistening horses. And, she began to makedisparaging remarks about English young men to Annette. If thisintermittent stream of youths represented them, the English _gioventu_was not much to boast of.

  Next a furniture shop appeared, with wide windows, and a tempting arrayof wares, and in they went. Constance had soon bought a wardrobe and acheval-glass for herself, an armchair, a carpet, and a smaller wardrobefor Annette, and seeing a few trifles, like a French screen, a smallsofa, and an inlaid writing-table in her path, she threw them in. Thenit occurred to her that Uncle Ewen might have something to say to thesetransactions, and she hastily told the shopman not to send the things toMedburn House till she gave the order.

  Out they went, this time into the crowded Cornmarket, where there wereno colleges, and where the town that was famous long before theUniversity began, seemed to be living its own vigorous life,untrammelled by the men in gowns. Only in seeming, however, for in truthevery single shop in the street depended upon the University.

  They walked on into the town, looking into various colleges, sitting inBroad Walk, and loitering over shops, till one o'clock struck fromOxford's many towers.

  "Heavens!" said Constance--"and lunch is at 1.15!"

  They turned and walked rapidly along the "Corn," which was once morefull of men hurrying back to their own colleges from the lecture roomsof Balliol and St. John's. Now, it seemed to Constance that the men theypassed were of a finer race. She noticed plenty of tall fellows, withbroad shoulders, and the look of keen-bitten health.

  "Look at that pair coming!" she said to Annette. "That's better!"

  The next moment, she stopped, confused, eyes wide, lips parted. For thetaller of the two had taken off his cap, and stood towering and smilingin her path. A young man, of about six foot three, magnificently made,thin with the leanness of an athlete in training,--health, power,self-confidence, breathing from his joyous looks and movements--wassurveying her. His lifted cap showed a fine head covered with thickbrown curls. The face was long, yet not narrow; the cheek-bones ratherhigh, the chin conspicuous. The eyes--very dark and heavily lidded--wereset forwar
d under strongly marked eyebrows; and both they, the straightnose with its close nostrils, and the red mouth, seemed to be drawn infirm yet subtle strokes on the sunburnt skin, as certain Dutch andItalian painters define the features of their sitters in a containingoutline as delicate as it is unfaltering. The aspect of this strikingperson was that of a young king of men, careless, audacious,good-humoured; and Constance Bledlow's expression, as she held out herhand to him, betrayed, much against her will, that she was notindifferent to the sight of him.

  "Well met, indeed!" said the young man, the gaiety in his look, a gaietyfull of meaning, measuring itself against the momentary confusion inhers. "I have been hoping to hear of you--for a long time!--LadyConstance. Are you with the--the Hoopers--is it?"

  "I am staying with my uncle and aunt. I only arrived yesterday." Thegirl's manner had become, in a few seconds, little less than repellent.

  "Well, Oxford's lively. You'll find lots going on. The Eights begin theday after to-morrow, and I've got my people coming up. I hope you'll letMrs. Hooper bring you to tea to meet them? Oh, by the way, do you knowMeyrick? I think you must have met him." He turned to his companion, afair-haired giant, evidently his junior. "Lord Meyrick--Lady ConstanceBledlow. Will you come, Lady Connie?"

  "I don't know what my aunt's engagements are," said Constance stiffly.

  The trio had withdrawn into the shade of a wide doorway belonging to anold Oxford inn. Annette was looking at the windows of the milliner'sshop next door.

  "My mother shall do everything that is polite--everything in the world!And when may I come to call? You have no faith in my manners, I know!"laughed the young man. "How you did sit upon me at Cannes!" And againhis brilliant eyes, fixed upon her, seemed to be saying all sorts ofunspoken things.

  "How has he been behaving lately?" said Constance drily, turning to LordMeyrick, who stood grinning.

  "Just as usual! He's generally mad. Don't depend on him for anything.But I hope you'll let me do anything I can for you! I should be onlytoo happy."

  The girl perceived the eager admiration with which the young fellow wasregarding her, and her face relaxed.

  "Thank you very much. Of course I know all about Mr. Falloden! AtCannes, we made a league to keep him in order."

  Falloden protested vehemently that he had been a persecuted victim atCannes; the butt of Lady Connie and all her friends.

  Constance, however, cut the speech short by a careless nod and good-bye,beckoned to Annette and was moving away, when he placed himselfbefore her.

  "But I hope we shall meet this very night--shan't we?--at theVice-Chancellor's party?"

  "I don't know."

  "Oh, but of course you will be there! The Hoopers are quite sure tobring you. It's at St. Hubert's. Some old swell is coming down. Thegardens are terribly romantic--and there'll be a moon. One can get awayfrom all the stuffy people. Do come!"

  He gave her a daring look.

  "Good-bye," said Constance again, with a slight decided gesture, whichmade him move out of her way.

  In a few moments, she and her maid were lost to sight on the crowdedpavement.

  Falloden threw back his head and laughed, as he and Lord Meyrick pursuedthe opposite direction. But he said nothing. Meyrick, his junior by twoyears, who was now his most intimate friend in the Varsity, ventured atlast on the remark--

  "Very good-looking! But she was certainly not very civil to you, Duggy!"

  Falloden flushed hotly.

  "You think she dislikes me? I'll bet you anything you please she'll beat the party to-night."

  * * * * *

  Constance and her maid hurried home along the Broad. The girl perceivedlittle or nothing on the way; but her face was crossed by a multitude ofexpressions, which meant a very active brain. Perhaps sarcasm or scornprevailed, yet mingled sometimes with distress or perplexity.

  The sight of the low gabled front of Medburn. House recalled herthoughts. She remembered her purchases and Nora's disapproving eyes. Itwould be better to go and beard her uncle at once. But just as sheapproached the house, she became aware of a slenderly built man inflannels coming out of the gates of St. Cyprian's, the college of whichthe gate and outer court stood next door to the Hoopers.

  He saw her, stopped with a start of pleasure, and came eagerly towardsher.

  "Lady Constance! Where have you sprung from? Oh, I know--you are withthe Hoopers! Have you been here long?"

  They shook hands, and Constance obediently answered the newcomer'squestions. She seemed indeed to like answering them, and nothing couldhave been more courteous and kind than his manner of asking them. He wasclearly a senior man, a don, who, after a strenuous morning oflecturing, was hurrying--in the festal Eights week--to meet some friendson the river. His face was one of singular charm, the features regular,the skin a pale olive, the hair and eyes intensely black. WhereasFalloden's features seemed to lie, so to speak, on the surface, themouth and eyes scarcely disturbing the general level of the facemask--no indentation in the chin, and no perceptible hollow tinder thebrow,--this man's eyes were deeply sunk, and every outline of theface--cheeks, chin and temples--chiselled and fined away into an almostclassical perfection. The man's aspect indeed was Greek, and ought onlyto have expressed the Greek blitheness, the Greek joy in life. But, intruth, it was a very modern and complex soul that breathed from bothface and form.

  Constance had addressed him as "Mr. Sorell." He turned to walk with herto her door, talking eagerly. He was asking her about various friends inwhose company they had last met--apparently at Rome; and he made variousreferences to "your mother," which Constance accepted gently, as thoughthey pleased her.

  They paused at the Hoopers' door.

  "But when can I see you?" he asked. "Has Mrs. Hooper a day at home? Willyou come to lunch with me soon? I should like to show you my rooms. Ihave some of those nice things we bought at Syracuse--your father andI--do you remember? And I have a jolly look out over the garden. Whenwill you come?"

  "When you like. But chaperons seem to be necessary!"

  "Oh, I can provide one--any number! Some of the wives of our marriedfellows are great friends of mine. I should like you to know them. Butwouldn't Mrs. Hooper bring you?"

  "Will you write to her?"

  He looked a little confused.

  "Of course I know your uncle very well. He and I work together in manythings. May I come and call?"

  "Of course you may!" She laughed again, with that wilful sound in thelaugh which he remembered. He wondered how she was going to get on atthe Hoopers. Mrs. Hooper's idiosyncrasies were very generally known. Hehimself had always given both Mrs. Hooper and her eldest daughter a wideberth in the social gatherings of Oxford. He frankly thought Mrs. Hooperodious, and had long since classed Miss Alice as a stupid little thingwith a mild talent for flirtation.

  Then, as he held out his hand to say good-bye, he suddenly rememberedthe Vice-Chancellor's party.

  "By the way, there's a big function to-night. You're going, of course?Oh, yes--make them take you! I hadn't meant to go--but now I shall--onthe chance!"

  He grasped her hand, holding it a little. Then he was gone, and theHoopers' front door swung suddenly wide, opened by some one invisible.

  Connie, a little flushed and excited, stepped into the hall, and thereperceived Mrs. Hooper behind the door.

  "You are rather late, Constance," said that lady coldly. "But, ofcourse, it doesn't matter. The servants are at their dinner still, so Iopened the door. So you know Mr. Sorell?"

  From which Constance perceived that her aunt had observed her approachto the house, in Mr. Sorell's company, through the little side window ofthe hall. She straightened her shoulders impatiently.

  "My father and mother knew him in Rome, Aunt Ellen. He used to come toour apartment. Is Uncle Ewen in the study? I want to speak to him."

  She knocked and went in. Standing with her back to the door she saidabruptly--

  "I hope you won't mind, Uncle Ewen, but I've been bu
ying a few things wewant, for my room and Annette's. When I go, of course they can be turnedout. But may I tell the shop now to send them in?"

  The Reader turned in some embarrassment, his spectacles on his nose.

  "My dear girl, anything to make you comfortable! But I wish you hadconsulted me. Of course, we would have got anything you really wanted."

  "Oh, that would have been dreadfully unfair!" laughed Constance. "It'smy fault, you see. I've got far too many dresses. One seemed not to beable to do without them at Cannes."

  "Well, you won't want so many here," said Dr. Ewen cheerfully, as herose from his table crowded with books. "We're all pretty simple atOxford. We ought to be of course--even our guests. It's a place oftraining." He dropped a Greek word absently, putting away his papers thewhile, and thinking of the subject with which he had just been busy.Constance opened the door again to make her escape, but the soundrecalled Dr. Ewen's thoughts.

  "My dear--has your aunt asked you? We hope you'll come with us to theVice-Chancellor's party to-night. I think it would interest you. Afterall, Oxford's not like other places. I think you said last night youknew some undergraduates--"

  "I know Mr. Falloden of Marmion," said Constance, "and Mr. Sorell."

  The Reader's countenance broke into smiles.

  "Sorell? The dearest fellow in the world! He and I help each other agood deal, though of course we differ--and fight--sometimes. But that'sthe salt of life. Yes, I remember, your mother used to mention Sorell inher letters. Well, with those two and ourselves, you'll have plenty ofstarting-points. Ah, luncheon!" For the bell rang, and sent Constancehurrying upstairs to take off her things.

  As she washed her hands, her thoughts were very busy with the incidentsof her morning's walk. The colours had suddenly freshened in the Oxfordworld. No doubt she had expected them to freshen; but hardly so soon. Atide of life welled up in her--a tide of pleasure. And as she stood amoment beside the open window of her room before going down, looking atthe old Oxford garden just beneath her, and the stately college frontbeyond, Oxford itself began to capture her, touching her magically,insensibly, as it had touched the countless generations before her. Shewas the child of two scholars, and she had been brought up in a societyboth learned and cosmopolitan, traversed by all the main currents andpersonalities of European politics, but passionate all the same for thelatest find in the Forum, the newest guesses in criticism, for any freshlight that the present could shed upon the past. And when she lookedback upon the moments of those Roman years which had made the sharpestmark upon her, she saw three figures stand out--her gracious andgraceful mother; her father, student and aristocrat, so eagerly occupiedwith life that he had scarcely found the time to die; and Mr. Sorell,her mother's friend, and then her own. Together--all four--they had goneto visit the Etruscan tombs about Viterbo, they had explored Norba andNinfa, and had spent a marvellous month at Syracuse.

  "And I have never seen him since papa's death!--and I have only heardfrom him twice. I wonder why?" She pondered it resentfully. And yet whatcause of offence had she? At Cannes, had she thought much about him? Inthat scene, so troubled and feverish, compared with the old Roman days,there had been for her, as she well knew, quite anotherdominating figure.

  "Just the same!" she thought angrily. "Just as domineering--andprovoking. Boggling about Uncle Ewen's name, as if it was not worth hisremembering! I shall compel him to be civil to my relations, justbecause it will annoy him so much."

  At lunch Constance declared prettily that she would be delighted to goto the Vice-Chancellor's party. Nora sat silent through the meal.

  After lunch, Connie went to talk to her aunt about the incomingfurniture. Mrs. Hooper made no difficulties at all. The house had longwanted these additions, only there had been no money to buy them with.Now Mrs. Hooper felt secretly certain that Constance, when she leftthem, would not want to take the things with her, so that she looked onConnie's purchases of the morning as her own prospective property.

  A furniture van appeared early in the afternoon with the things. Norahovered about the hall, severely dumb, while they were being carriedupstairs. Annette gave all the directions.

  But when later on Connie was sitting at her new writing-tablecontemplating her transformed room with a childish satisfaction, Noraknocked and came in.

  She walked up to Connie, and stood looking down upon her. She was veryred, and her eyes sparkled.

  "I want to tell you that I am disappointed in you--dreadfullydisappointed in you!" said the girl fiercely.

  "What do you mean!" Constance rose in amazement.

  "Why didn't you insist on my father's buying these things? You ought tohave insisted. You pay us a large sum, and you had a right. Instead, youhave humiliated us--because you are rich, and we are poor! It wasmean--and purse-proud."

  "How dare you say such things?" cried Connie. "You mustn't come into myroom at all, if you are going to behave like this. You know very well Ididn't do it unkindly. It is you who are unkind! But of course itdoesn't matter. You don't understand. You are only a child!" Hervoice shook.

  "I am not a child!" said Nora indignantly. "And I believe I know a greatdeal more about money than you do--because you have never been poor. Ihave to keep all the accounts here, and make mother and Alice pay theirdebts. Father, of course, is always too busy to think of such things.Your money is dreadfully useful to us. I wish it wasn't. But I wanted todo what was honest--if you had only given me time. Then you slipped outand did it!"

  Constance stared in bewilderment.

  "Are you the mistress in this house?" she said.

  Nora nodded. Her colour had all faded away, and her breath was comingquick. "I practically am," she said stoutly.

  "At seventeen?" asked Connie, ironically.

  Nora nodded again.

  Connie turned away, and walked to the window. She was enraged with Nora,whose attack upon her seemed quite inexplicable and incredible. Then,all in a moment, a bitter forlornness overcame her. Nora, standing bythe table, and already pierced with remorse, saw her cousin's large eyesfill with tears. Connie sat down with her face averted. ButNora--trembling all over--perceived that she was crying. The nextmoment, the newcomer found Nora kneeling beside her, in the depths ofhumiliation and repentance.

  "I am a beast!--a horrid beast! I always am. Oh, please, please don'tcry!"

  "You forget"--said Connie, with difficulty--"how I--how I miss mymother!"

  And she broke into a fit of weeping. Nora, beside herself withself-disgust, held her cousin embraced, and tried to comfort her. Andpresently, after an agitated half-hour, each girl seemed to herself tohave found a friend. Reserve had broken; they had poured out confidencesto each other; and after the thunder and the shower came the rainbowof peace.

  Before Nora departed, she looked respectfully at the beautiful dress ofwhite satin, draped with black, which Annette had laid out upon the bedin readiness for the Vice-Chancellor's party.

  "It will suit you perfectly!" she said, still eager to make up.Then--eyeing Constance--

  "You know, of course, that you are good-looking?"

  "I am not hideous--I know that," said Constance, laughing. "You oddgirl!"

  "We have heard often how you were admired in Rome. I wonder--don't beoffended!"--said Nora, bluntly--"have you ever been in love?"

  "Never!" The reply was passionately prompt.

  Nora looked thoughtful.

  "Perhaps you don't know whether you were or not. Girls get so dreadfullymixed up. But I am sure people--men--have been in love with you."

  "Well, of course!" said Connie, with the same emphatic gaiety.

  Nora opened her eyes.

  "'Of course?' But I know heaps of girls with whom nobody has ever beenin love!"

  As soon as she was alone, Connie locked her door, and walked restlesslyup and down her room, till by sheer movement she had tamed a certainwild spirit within her let loose by Nora's question. And as she walked,the grey Oxford walls, the Oxford lilacs and laburnums, vanished fromper
ception. She was in another scene. Hot sun--gleaming orange-gardensand blue sea--bare-footed, black-eyed children--and a man besideher, on whom she has been showering epithets that would haveshamed--surely!--any other human being in the world. Tears of excitementare in her eyes; in his a laughing triumph mixed with astonishment.

  "But, now--" she thinks, drawing herself up, erect and tense, her handsbehind her head; "now, I am ready for him. Let him try such waysagain--if he dare!"