Ella stood there in a kind of dreary dream. What had happened to the
world since she came into this house? What was this change in her? She
was afraid to speak, lest the intense rebellious anger she felt should
gain the mastery. Was it she that had these wicked thoughts of
George--poor, kind, unsuspecting, loving George? She felt a little
faint, for the windows were closed and the room stuffy with the odour of
the new furniture and the atmosphere of the workshop; everything here
seemed to her commonplace and repulsive.
'How about those plans of yours now, Ella, eh?' cried George.
This was too much; her overtried patience broke down. 'George!' she
cried impulsively, and her voice sounded hoarse and strange to her own
ear; 'George! I must speak--I must tell you!----' and then she checked
herself. She must keep command of herself, or she could not, without
utter loss of dignity, find the words that were to sting him into a
sense of what he had done and allowed to be done. Before she could go
on, George had drawn her to him, and was patting her shoulder tenderly.
'I know, dear little girl,' he said, 'I know; don't try to tell me
anything. I'm so awfully glad you're pleased; but all the money and
pains in the world wouldn't make the place good enough for my Ella!'
She released herself with a little cry of impotent despair. How could
she say the sharp, cruel speeches that were struggling to reach her
tongue now? It was no use; she was a coward; she simply had not the
courage to undeceive him here, on the very first day of their reunion,
too!
'You haven't been upstairs yet,' said George, dropping sentiment
abruptly; 'shall we go up?'
Ella assented submissively, much as even this cost her; but it was
better, she reflected, to get it over and know the very worst. However,
she was spared this ordeal for the present; as they returned to the
hall, they found themselves suddenly face to face with a dingy man,
whose face was surrounded by a fringe of black whiskers and crowned by a
shock of fleecy hair.
'Who on earth are you?' demanded George, as the man rose from the
kitchen-stairs.
'No offence, sir and lady! Peagrum, that's _my_ name, fust shop round
the corner as you go into Silver Street, plumber and sanitry hengineer,
gas-fittin' and hartistic decorating, bell-'anging in all its branches.
I received instructions from Mr. Jones that I was to look into a little
matter o' leakage in the back-kitchen sink; also to see what taps, if
hany, required seein' to, and gen'ally to put things straight like. So I
come round, 'aving the keys, jest to cast a heye over them, as I may
term it, preliminry to commencing work in the course of a week or so, as
soon as I'm at libity to attend to it pussonally.'
'Oh, the landlord sent you? All right, then.'
'Correct, sir,' said the plumber affably. 'While I've been 'ere, I took
the freedom of going all over this little 'ouse, and a nice cosy little
'ouse you've made of it, for such a nouse as it is! You've done it up
very tysty--very tysty you've done this little 'ouse up; and I've some
claim to speak, seein' as how I've had the decoration throughout of a
many 'ouses in my time, likewise mansions. You ain't been too ambitious,
which is the error most parties falls into with small 'ouses. Now the
parties as 'ad the place before you--by the name o' Rummles--well, I
daresay they satisfied theirselves, but the 'ouse never looked
right--not to _my_ taste, it didn't!'
'George, get rid of this person!' said Ella rapidly, under her breath,
in French. Unfortunately, George's acquaintance with that tongue was
about on a par with the plumber's, and he remained passive.
The plumber now proceeded to put down his mechanic's straw-bag upon the
hall-table, which he did with great care, as if it were of priceless
stuff and contained fragile articles; having done this, he posed himself
with one elbow resting on the post at the foot of the staircase, like a
grimy statue of Shakespeare.
'Ah,' he said, shaking his touzled head, 'this ain't the fust time I've
been 'ere in my puffessional capacity, not by a long way. Not by a long
way, it ain't. Mr. Rummles, him as I mentioned to you afore, and a nice
pleasant-spoken gentleman he was, too--in the tea trade--Mr. Rummles, he
allus sent round for me whenever there was hany odd jobs as wanted
doin', and in course I was allus pleased to get 'em, be they hodd or
hotherwise.'
'Er-exactly,' said George, as soon as he could put in a word; 'but you
see, this lady and I----'
The plumber, however, did not abandon his position, and seemed
determined that they should hear him:
'I know, sir--I see how things were with you with 'arf a glance; but
afore we go any further, it's right you should know 'oo I am and all
about me. Jest 'ear what I'm goin' to tell you, for it's somethink out
of the common way, though gospel-truth. It's a melinkly reflection for a
man in my station of life, but'--and here he lowered his voice to a
solemn pitch--'I've never set foot inside of this 'ere 'ouse without
somethink 'appens more or less immejit. Ah, it's true, though. Seems
almost like as if I brought a fatality in along o' me. Don't you
interrupt; you wait till I'm done, and see if I'm talking at random or
without facks to support me. Well, _fust_ time as ever I was sent for
'ere was in regard to drains, as they couldn't flush satisfactory. I did
my work and come away. Not three weeks arter, Miss Rummles, the heldest
gell, was took ill with typhoid. Never the same young lady again--nor
yet she never won't be neither, not if she lives to a nundered. "Nothing
very hodd about _that_?" says you. Wait a bit. Next time, it was the
kitching copper as had got all furred up like. I tinkered that up to
rights, and come away. Well, afore I'd even made out my account, that
identical copper blew up and scalded the cook dreadful! "Coppers will
play these games," you sez. All right, then; but you let me finish.
Third time there was a flaw in one of the gas-brackets in the spare
room. I soddered it up and I come away. Soon arterwards, a day or two as
it might be, Mrs. Rummles 'ad 'er mar a-stayin' with her, and the old
lady slep in that very room, and was laid up weeks! "Curus," says I,
when I come to 'ear of it, "_very_ curus!" and it set me a-thinkin'.
Last time but one--'ere, lemme see--that was a bell-'anging job, I
_think_--no, I'm wrong, it was drains agen, so it were--drains it was
agen. And the _next_ thing I 'eard was that Mrs. Rummles was a-layin' at
death's door with the diffthery! The last time--ah, I recklect well, I
was called in to see if somethink wasn't wrong with the ballcock in the
top cistin. I see there _was_ somethink, and I come away as usual. That
day week, old Mr. Rummles was took with a fit on the floor in the back
droring-room, which broke up the 'ouse!
'Now, I think, as fair-minded and unprejudiced parties, you'll agree
with me that there was something more'n hordinary coinside-ency in all
that. I declare to you!' avowed the plumber, with a gloomy relish and a
candour that was possibly begotten of beer, 'I declare to you there's
times when I do honestly believe as I carry a curse along with me
whenever I visits this 'ere partickler 'ouse! and, though it's agen my
own hinterests, I deem it on'y my dooty, as a honest man, to mention
it!'
Under any other circumstances, the plumber's compliments on her taste
and his lugubrious assumption of character of the Destroying Angel would
have sorely tried, if not completely upset, Ella's gravity; as it was,
she was too wretched to have more than a passing and quite
unappreciative sense of his absurdity. George, having the quality of
mind which makes jokes more readily than sees them, took him quite
seriously.
'Well,' he answered solemnly, 'I hope you won't bring _us_ bad luck, at
all events!'
'_I_ 'ope so, sir, I'm sure. I _'ope_ so. It will not be by any desire
on my part, more partickler when you're just settin' up 'ousekeepin'
with your good lady 'ere. But there's no tellin' in these matters.
That's where it is, you see--there's no tellin'. And, arter all my
experence, with the best intentions in the world, I can't go and
guarantee to you as nothink won't come of it. I wish I could, but, as a
honest man, I can't. If it's to be,' moralised this fatalistic plumber,
'it _is_ to be, and that's all about it, and no hefforts on my part or
yours won't make hany difference, will they, sir?'
'Well, well,' said George, plainly ill at ease, 'that will do, my
friend. Now, Ella, what do you say--shall we go upstairs?'
'Not now,' she gasped, 'let us go away--. Oh, George, take me outside,
please!'
'Dash that confounded fool of a plumber!' said George, irritably, when
they were in the street again; 'wonder if he thinks I'm going to employ
him after that! Not that it isn't all bosh, of course---- Why, Ella,
you're not tired, are you?'
'I--I think I am a little--do you mind if we drive home?'
Ella was very silent during their short drive. When they reached Linden
Gardens she said, 'I think we must say good-bye here, George. I feel as
if I were going to have a headache.'
'You poor little girl!' he said, looking rather crestfallen, for he had
been counting upon going in and being invited to remain for dinner,
'it's been rather too much for you, going over the house and all
that--or was it that beastly plumber with his rigmaroles?'
'It wasn't the plumber,' she said hurriedly, as the door was opened,
'and--good-bye, George.'
'How easily girls do get knocked up!' thought George, as he walked
homeward, 'a little pleasant excitement like this and she seems quite
upset. She was delighted with the house, though, that's one blessing,
and I mustn't forget to tell the girls how touched she was by their
presents. What a darling she is, and how happy we shall be together!'
PART II
Once safely at home, Ella hastened upstairs to her own room, where, if
the truth must be told, she employed the half-hour before dinner in
unintermittent sobbing, into which temper largely entered. 'He has
spoilt it all for me! How _could_ he--oh, how could he?' ran the burden
of her moan. At the dinner-table, though pale and silent, she had
recovered composure.
'A pleasant walk, Ella?' inquired her mother, with rather formal
interest.
'Yes, very,' replied Ella, trusting she would not be questioned further.
'I believe I know where you went!' cried indiscreet Flossie. 'You went
to look at your new home--now, _didn't_ you? Ah, I thought so! I
suppose you have quite made up your minds how you mean to do the rooms?'
'Quite.'
'We might go round to all the best places to-morrow,' said Mrs. Hylton,
'and see some papers and hangings--there were some lovely patterns in
Blank's windows the other day.'
'And, Ella,' added Flossie, 'I've been out with Andrews after school
several times, to Tottenham Court Road, and Wardour Street, and Oxford
Street--oh, everywhere, hunting up old furniture, and I can show you
where they have some beautiful things--not shams, but really good!'
'You know, Ella,' said Mrs. Hylton, observing that she did not answer,
'I want you to have a pretty house, and you and George must order
exactly what you like; but I think you will find I may be some help to
you in choosing.'
'Thank you, mother,' said Ella, without any animation; 'I--I don't think
we shall want much.'
'You will want all that young people in your position do want, I
suppose,' said Mrs. Hylton, a little impatiently; 'and of course you
understand that the bills are to be my affair.'
'Thank you, mother,' murmured Ella again. She didn't feel able to tell
them just yet how this had all been forestalled; she felt that she would
infallibly break down if she tried.
'You seem a little overdone to-night, my dear,' said her mother
frigidly; she was naturally hurt at the very uneffusive way in which her
good offices had been met.
'I have such a dreadful headache,' pleaded Ella. 'I--I think I overtired
myself this afternoon.'
'Then you were very foolish, after travelling all yesterday, as you did.
I don't wonder that George was ashamed to come in. You had better go to
bed early, and I will send Andrews in to you with some of my sleeping
mixture.'
Ella was glad enough to obey, though the draught took some time to
operate; she felt as if no happiness or peace of mind were possible for
her till George had been persuaded to undo his work.
Surely he could not refuse when he knew that her mother was prepared to
do everything for them at her own expense!
And here it began to dawn upon her what this would entail! George's
words came back to her as if she heard them actually spoken. Did he not
say that the house had been furnished out of his savings?
What was she asking him to do? To dismantle it entirely; to humiliate
himself by going round to all the people he had dealt with, asking them
as a favour to take back their goods, or else he must sell them as best
he could for a fraction of their cost. Who was to refund him all he had
so uselessly spent? Could she ask her mother to do so? Would he even
consent to such an arrangement if it was proposed?
Then his sisters--how could she avoid offending them irreparably,
perhaps involving George in a quarrel with his family, if she were to
carry her point?
As she realised, for the first time, the inevitable consequences of
success, she asked herself in despair what she ought to do--where her
plain duty lay?
Did she love George--or was it all delusion, and was he less to her than
mere superfluities, the fringe of life?
She did love him, in spite of any passing disloyalty of thought. She
felt his sterling worth and goodness, even his weaknesses had something
lovable in them for her.
And he had been planning, spending, working all this time to give her
pleasure, and this was his reward! She had been within an ace of letting
him see the cruel ingratitude that was in her heart! 'What a selfish
wretch I have been!' she thought; 'but I won't be--no, I won't! George
shall _not_ be snubbed, hurt, estranged from his family on my account!'
No, she would suffer--she alone--and in silence. Never by a word would
she betray to him the pain his well-intentioned action cost her. Not
even to her mother and Flossie would she permit herself to utter the
least complaint, lest they should insist upon opening George's eyes!
So, having arrived at this heroic resolve, in which she found a touch of
the sublime that almost consoled her, the tears dried on her cheeks and
Ella fell asleep at last.
Some readers, no doubt--though possibly few of our heroine's sex--will
smile scornfully at this crumpled rose-leaf agony, this tempest in a
Dresden teacup; and the writer is not concerned to deny that the
situation has its ludicrous side.
But, for a girl brought up as Ella Hylton had been, in an artistic
_milieu_, her eye insensibly trained to love all that was beautiful in
colour and form, to be almost morbidly sensitive to ugliness and
vulgarity--it was a very real and bitter struggle, a hard-won victory to
come to such a decision as she formed. Life, Heaven knows, contains
worse trials and deeper tragedies than this; but at least Ella's happy
life had as yet known no harder.
And, so far, she must be given the credit of having conquered.
Resolution is, no doubt, half the battle. Unfortunately, Ella's
resolution, though she hardly perceived this at present, could not be
effected by one isolated and final act, but by a long chain of daily and
hourly forbearances, the first break in which would undo all that had
gone before.
How she bore the test we are going to see.
She woke the next morning to a sense that her life had somehow lost its
savour; the exaltation of her resolve overnight had gone off and left
her spirits flat and dead; but she came down, nevertheless, determined
to be staunch and true to George under all provocations.
'Have you and George decided when you would like your wedding to be?'
asked her mother, after breakfast, 'because we ought to have the
invitations printed very soon.'
'Not yet,' faltered Ella, and the words might have passed either as an
answer or an appeal.
'I think it should be some time before the end of next month, or people
will be going out of town.'
'I suppose so,' was the reply, so listlessly given that Mrs. Hylton
glanced keenly at her daughter.
'What do you feel about it yourself, Ella?'
'I? oh, I--I've no feeling. Perhaps, if we waited--no, it doesn't
matter--let it be when you and George wish, mother, please!'
Mrs. Hylton gave a sharp, annoyed little laugh: 'Really, my dear, if you
can't get up any more interest in it than that, I think it would
certainly be wiser to wait!'
It was more than indifference that Ella felt--a wild aversion to
beginning the new life that but lately had seemed so mysteriously sweet
and strange; she was frightened by it, ashamed of it, but she could not
help herself. She made no answer, nor did Mrs. Hylton again refer to the
subject.
But Ella's worst tribulations had yet to come. That afternoon, as she
and her mother and Flossie were sitting in the drawing-room, 'Mrs. and
the Miss Chapmans' were announced. Evidently they had deemed it
incumbent on them to pay a state visit as soon as possible after Ella's
return.
Ella returned their effusive greetings as dutifully as she could. She
had never succeeded in cultivating a very lively affection for them;
to-day she found them barely endurable.
Mrs. Chapman was a stout, dewlapped old lady, with dull eyes and
pachydermatous folds in her face. She had a husky voice and a funereal
manner. Jessie, her eldest daughter, was not altogether uncomely in a
commonplace way: she was dark-haired, high-coloured,
loud-voiced--generally sprightly and voluble and overpowering; she was
in such a hurry to speak that her words tripped one another up, and she
had a meaningless and, to Ella, highly irritating little laugh.
Carrie was plain and colourless, content to admire and echo her sister.
After some conversation on Ella's Continental experiences, Jessie
suddenly, as Ella's uneasy instinct foresaw, turned to Mrs. Hylton. 'Of
course, Ella told you what a surprise she had at Campden Hill yesterday?
Weren't you electrified?'
'No doubt I should have been,' said Mrs. Hylton, who detested Jessie,
'only Ella did not think fit to mention it.'
'Oh, I wonder at that! I hope I wasn't going to betray the secrets of
the prison-house?' Jessie was fond of using stock phrases to give
lightness and sparkle to her conversation. 'Ella, the idea of your
keeping it all to yourself, you sly puss! But tell me--would you ever
have believed Tumps'--his sisters called George 'Tumps'--'could be
capable of such independent behaviour?'
'No,' said Ella, 'I--indeed I never should!'
'Ha, ha! nor should we! You would have screamed to see him fussing
about--wasn't he killing over it, Carrie?'
'Oh, he was, Jessie!'
'My son,' explained Mrs. Chapman to Mrs. Hylton, 'is so wonderfully
energetic and practical. I have never known him fail to carry through
anything he has once undertaken--he inherits that from his poor dear
father.'
'I don't quite gather what your brother George has been doing, even
now?' said Mrs. Hylton to Jessie.
'Oh, but my lips are sealed. Wild horses sha'n't drag any more from me!
Don't be afraid, Ella, I won't spoil sport!'
'There is no sport to spoil,' said Ella. 'Mother, it is only that--that
George has furnished the house while I have been away.'
'Really?' said Mrs. Hylton politely; 'that _is_ energetic of him,
indeed!'
'Poor dear Tumps came home so proud of your approval,' said Jessie to
Ella, 'and we were awfully relieved to find you didn't think we'd made
the house quite too dreadful--weren't we, Carrie?'
'Yes, indeed, Jessie.'
'Of course,' observed the latter young lady, 'it's always so hard to hit
upon another person's taste exactly--especially in furnishing.'
'Impossible, I should have thought,' from Mrs. Hylton.
'I hope Ella is of a different opinion--what do _you_ say, dearest?'
'Oh,' cried Ella hastily, with splendid mendacity, 'I--I liked it all
very much, and--and it was so much too kind of you and Carrie. I've
never thanked you for--for all the things you gave me!'
'Oh, _those_! they ain't worth thanking for--just a few little artistic
odds and ends. They set off a room, you know--give it a finish.'
'Young people nowadays,' croaked old Mrs. Chapman lugubriously in Mrs.
Hylton's courteously inclined ear, 'think so much of luxury and
ornament. I'm sure when I married my dear husband, we----'
'Now, mater dear, you really _mustn't_!' interrupted the irrepressible
Jessie; 'Mrs. Hylton is on _our_ side, you know. She likes pretty things
about her--don't you, Mrs. Hylton? And, talking of that, Ella, I hope
you thought our glyco-vitrine decoration a success? We were perfectly
surprised ourselves to see how well it came out! Just transparent
coloured paper, Mrs. Hylton, and you cut it into sheets, and gum it on
the window-panes, and really, unless you were told or came quite close,
you would declare it was real stained glass! You ought to try some of it
on your windows, Mrs. Hylton. I'll tell you where you can get it--you go
down----'
'I'm afraid I'm old-fashioned, my dear,' said Mrs. Hylton, stiffly; 'if
I cannot have the reality, I prefer to do without even the best
imitations.'
'Why, you're deserting us, I declare! Ella, you must take her to see the
window, and then perhaps she will change her opinion.'
'I always tell my girls,' said Mrs. Chapman, in her woolly voice, 'when
I am dead and gone they can make any alterations they please, but while
I am spared to them I like everything about the house to be kept exactly
as it was in their poor father's lifetime.'
'_Isn't_ she a dear conservative old mummy?' said Jessie to Ella in an
audible aside. 'Why, I do believe she won't see anything to admire in
your little house--at least, if she does, the dear old lady, she'd
sooner die than admit it!'
The Chapmans went at last, and before they were out of the house Mrs.
Hylton, with an effort to seem unconcerned, said: 'And so, Ella, you and
George have done without my help? Of course you know your own affairs
best; still, I should have thought--I should certainly have
thought--that I might have been of some assistance to you--if only in
pecuniary matters.'
'George preferred that you should not be troubled,' stammered Ella.
'I am not blaming him. I respect him for wishing to be independent. I
own to being a little surprised that you should not have told me of this
before, though, Ella. But for that chattering girl, I presume I should
have been left to discover it for myself. I wonder you cannot bring
yourself to be a little more open with your mother, my dear.'
'Oh, mother!' cried Ella in despair, 'indeed I was going to tell
you--only, I did not know myself till yesterday. At least, that is----'
she broke off lamely, fearing to reflect on George.
'I find it hard to believe that George would act without consulting you
in any way. It is strange enough that he should have undertaken to
furnish the house in your absence.'
'But if I couldn't be there!' pleaded Ella--'and I couldn't.'
'Naturally, as you were on the Continent, you couldn't be on Campden
Hill at the same time; you need not be absurd, Ella. But what I want to
know is this--have you had a voice in the matter, or have you not?'
'N--not much,' confessed Ella, hanging her head.
'So I suspected, and I think George ought to be ashamed of himself. I
never heard of such a thing, and I shall make a point of seeing the
house and satisfying myself that it is fit for a daughter of mine to
inhabit.'
'Mother!' exclaimed Ella, springing up excitedly, 'you don't understand.
Why should you choose to suppose that the house is not pretty? It is not
done as _you_ would do it, because poor George hadn't much money to
spend; but if I am satisfied, why should you come between us? And I _am_
satisfied--quite, quite satisfied; he has done it all beautifully, and I
will not have a single thing altered! After all, it is _his_ house--our
house--and nobody else has any right to interfere--not even you,
mother!'
Mrs. Hylton shrugged her shoulders. 'Oh, my dear, if that is the way you
think proper to speak to me, it is time to change the subject. Pray
understand that I shall not dream of interfering. I am very glad that
you are so satisfied.' And by-and-by she left the room majestically.
When she had gone, Flossie, who had been listening open-eyed to all that
had taken place, came and stood in front of Ella's chair.
'Ella, tell me,' she said, 'has George really furnished the house
exactly as you like--_really_ now?'
'Haven't I said so, Flossie? Why should you doubt it?'
'Oh, I don't know; I was wondering, that was all!'
'Really!' cried Ella angrily, 'anyone would think poor George was a sort
of barbarian, who couldn't be expected to know anything, or trusted to
do anything!'
'I'm sure I never _said_ so, Ella. But how clever of him to choose just
the right things! And, Ella, do all the colours and things go well
together? I always thought most men didn't notice much about all that.
And are the new mantelpieces pretty? Oh, and where did he go for the
papers and the carpets?'
'Flossie, I wish you wouldn't tease so. Can't you see I have a headache?
I can't answer so many questions, and I won't! Once for all, everything
is just what I like. Do you understand, or shall I tell you
again?--just, _just_ what I like!'
'Oh, all right,' returned Flossie, with exasperating good-humour; 'then
there's nothing to lose your temper about, darling, is there?'
And this was all that Ella had gained by her loyalty to George so far.
It was the morning after the Chapmans' visit. Ella had seen her mother
and Flossie preparing to go out, but, owing to the friction between
them, they neither invited her to accompany them, nor did she venture to
ask where they were going. At luncheon, however, the unhappy girl
divined from the expression of their faces how they had employed the
forenoon. They had been inspecting the Campden Hill house! Her mother's
handsome face wore a look of frozen contempt. Imagine a strict Quaker's
feelings on seeing his son with a pair of black eyes--a Socialist's at
finding a peerage under his daughter's pillow--a Positivist's whose
children have all joined the Salvation Army, and even then but a faint
idea will be reached of Mrs. Hylton's utter dismay and disgust.
Flossie, though angry, took a different view of Ella's share in the
business; she knew her better than her mother did, and consequently
refused to believe that she was a Philistine at heart. It was her absurd
infatuation for George that made her see with his eyes and bow down
before the hideous household gods he had chosen to erect. On such
weakness Flossie had no mercy.
'Well, Ella, dear,' she began, 'mother and I have seen your house.
George has quite surpassed our wildest expectations. Accept my
compliments!'
'Flossie,' said her mother severely, 'will you kindly choose some other
topic? I really feel too seriously annoyed about all this to bear to
hear it spoken of just yet. I think you shall come with me to the
Amberleys' garden-party this afternoon, and not Ella, as we are dining
out this evening. You had better stay at home and rest, Ella.'
In this, and countless other ways, was Ella made to feel that she was in
disgrace.
Nor did Flossie spare her sister when they were alone. 'Poor dear
mother!' she said, 'I quite thought that house would have broken her
heart--oh, I'm not saying a word against it, Ella, I know _you_ like it,
and I'm sure it looks very comfortable--everything so sensible and
useful, and the kitchen really charming; mother and I liked it best of
all the rooms. Such a horrid man let us in; he was at work there, and he
would follow us all about, and tell mother his entire history. I don't
think he _could_ have been quite sober, he would insist on turning all
the taps on everywhere. I suppose, Ella, it's ever so much _cheaper_ to
furnish as you and George have done; that's the worst of pretty things,
they do cost such a lot! I'd no idea you were so practical, though,' and
so on.
On Sunday George came to luncheon. He was delighted to hear from Flossie
that they had been to the house, and gave a boisterously high-spirited
account of his labours. 'It _was_ a grind,' he informed them, 'and, as
for those painter-fellows, I began to think they'd stay out the entire
lease.'
'Art is long, George,' observed Flossie, wickedly.
'Oh yes, I know; but they promised faithfully to be out in ten days, and
they were over three weeks!'
'But look at the result! George, how _did_ you find out that Ella liked
grained doors?'
'Well, to tell you the truth, Flossie, that was a bit of a fluke. The
man told me that graining was coming in again, and I said, "Grain 'em,
then"--_I_ didn't know!'
In short, he was more provokingly dense than ever to-day, and Ella found
herself growing more and more captious and irritable that afternoon; he
could not understand why she was so disinclined to talk; even the dear
little house of which she was so soon to be the mistress failed to
interest her.
'You have told me twice already that you got the drawing-room carpet a
great bargain, and only paid four pounds ten for the table in the
dining-room,' she broke out. 'Can't we take that for granted in future?'
'I forgot I'd told you; I thought it was the mater,' he said; 'and I
say, Ella, how about pictures? Jessie's promised to do us some
water-colours--she's been taking lessons lately, you know--but we shall
want one or two prints for the dining-room, shan't we? You can pick them
up second-hand very cheap.'
'Oh yes, yes; anything you please, George!... No, no; I'm not cross, I'm
only tired, especially of talking about the house. It is quite finished,
you know, so what _is_ there to discuss?'
During the days that followed, Flossie devised an ingenious method of
tormenting Ella; she laid out her pocket-money, of which she had a good
deal, on the most preposterous ornaments--a pair of dangling cut-glass
lustres, bead mats, a trophy of wax fruit under a glass shade, gaudy
fire-screens and flowerpots, all of which she solemnly presented to her
suffering sister. This was not pure mischief or unkindness on Flossie's
side, but part of a treatment she had hit upon for curing Ella of her
folly. And at last the worm turned. Flossie came in one day with a cheap
plush and terra-cotta panel of appalling ugliness.
'For the drawing-room, dear,' she observed blandly, and Ella suddenly
burst into a flood of tears.
'You are very, very unkind to me, Flossie!' she sobbed.
'I!' exclaimed Flossie, in a tone of the most innocent surprise. 'Why,
Ella, I thought you would be charmed with it. I'm sure _George_ will.
And, you know, it will go beautifully with the rest of your things!'
'You might understand ... you might see----'
'I might see what?'
'How _frightfully_ miserable I am!' said Ella, which was the very
admission Miss Flossie had been seeking to provoke.
'Suppose I _do_ see,' she said; 'suppose I've been trying to get you to
act sensibly, Ella?'
'Then it's cruel of you!'
'No it's not. It's kind. How am I to help you unless you speak out? I'm
younger than you, Ella, but I know this--_I_ would never mope and make
myself miserable when a word would put everything right!'
'But it wouldn't, Flossie; it is too late to speak now. I can't tell
him how I really feel--I can't!'
'Ah, then you own there is something to tell?'
'What have I said? Flossie, forget what I said; it slipped out. I meant
nothing.'
'And you are perfectly happy and satisfied, are you? _Now_, I know how
people look when they are perfectly happy and satisfied.'
'It's no use!' cried Ella, suddenly. 'I've tried, and tried, and tried
to bear it, but I can't. I _must_ tell somebody ... it is making me ill.
I am getting cross and wicked, and unlike what I used to be. Flossie, I
can't go and live there--I dread the thought of it; I shrink from it
more and more every day! It is all odious, impossible--and yet I must, I
must!'
'No, you mustn't; and, what's more, you shan't!'
'Flossie, you mean you will tell mother! You must not, do you hear? If
you do, it will only make matters worse. Oh, why did I tell you?' cried
Ella, in shame at this lapse from all her heroism. 'Promise me you will
say nothing to mother--it is too late now--promise!'
'Very well,' said Flossie reluctantly; 'then I promise. But, all the
same, Ella, I think you're a great goose!'
'I didn't promise I wouldn't say anything to _George_, though,' she
reflected; and so, on the very next occasion that she caught him alone,
she availed herself of an innocent allusion of his to Ella's low
spirits to give him the benefit of her candid opinion, which was not
tempered by any marked consideration for his feelings.
Ella was in the morning-room alone--she had taken to sitting alone
lately, brooding over her trials. She was no heroine, after all; her
mind, it is to be feared, was far from superior. She was finding out
that she had undertaken too heavy a task; she could not console herself
for her lost dream of a charmingly appointed house. She might endure to
live in such a home as George had made for her; but to be expected to
admire it, to let it be understood that it was her handiwork, that she
had chosen or approved of it--this was the burden that was crushing her.
Suddenly the door opened and George stood before her. His expression was
so altered that she scarcely recognised him; all the cheery buoyancy had
vanished, and his stern, set face had a dignity and character in it now
that were wanting before.
'I have just had a talk with Flossie,' he began; 'she has shown me what
a--what a mistake I've been making.'
Ella could not help feeling a certain relief, though she said, 'It was
very wrong of Flossie--she had no right to speak.'
'She had every right,' he said. 'She might have done it more kindly,
perhaps, but that's nothing. Why didn't you tell me yourself, Ella? You
might have trusted me!'
'I couldn't--it seemed so cruel, so ungrateful, after all you had done.
I hoped you would never know.'
'It's well for you, and for me too, that I know this while there's still
time. Ella, I've been a blind, blundering fool. I never had a suspicion
of this till--till just now, or you don't think I should have gone on
with it a single minute. I came to tell you that you need not make
yourself miserable any longer. I will put an end to this--whatever it
costs me.'
'Oh, George, I am so ashamed. I know it is weak and cowardly of me, but
I can't help it. And--and will it cost you so very much?'
'Quite as much as I can bear.'
'No; but tell me--about _how_ much? More than a hundred pounds?'
'I haven't worked it out in pounds, shillings, and pence,' he said
grimly; 'but I should put it higher myself.'
'Won't they take back some of the things? They ought to,' she suggested
timidly.
'The things? Oh, the furniture! Good Heavens, Ella! do you suppose I
care a straw about that? All I can think of is how I could have gone on
deceiving myself like this, believing I knew your every thought; and all
the time--pah, what a fool I've been!'
'I thought I should get used to it,' she pleaded. 'And oh, you don't
know how hard I have tried to bear it, not to let anyone see what I
felt--you don't know!'
'And I would rather not know,' he replied, 'for it's not exactly
flattering, you see, Ella. And at all events, it's over now. This is the
last time I shall trouble you; you will see no more of me after to-day.'
Ella could only stare at him incredulously. Had he really taken the
matter so seriously to heart as this? Could he not forgive the wound to
his vanity? How hard, how utterly unworthy of him!
'Yes,' he continued, 'I see now we were quite unsuited to one another. I
should never have made you happy, Ella; it's best to find it out before
it's too late. So let us shake hands and say good-bye, my dear.'
She felt powerless to appeal to him, and yet it was not wholly pride
that tied her tongue; she was too shaken and stunned to make the least
effort at remonstrance.
'Then, if it must be,' she said at last, very low--'good-bye, George.'
He crushed her hand in his strong grasp. 'Don't mind about me,' he said
roughly. 'You've nothing to blame yourself for. I daresay I shall get
over it all right. It's rather sudden at first--that's all!' And with
that he was gone.
Flossie, coming in a little later, found her sister sitting by the
window, smiling in a strange, vacant way. '_Well?_' said Flossie
eagerly, for she had been anxiously waiting to hear the result of the
interview.
'It's all over, Flossie; he has broken it off.'
'Oh, Ella, I'm so glad! I _hoped_ he would, but I wasn't sure. Well,
you may thank me for delivering you, darling. If I hadn't spoken
plainly----'
'Tell me what you said.'
'Oh, let me see. Well, I told him anybody else would have seen long ago
that your feelings were altered. I said you were perfectly miserable at
having to marry him, only you thought it was too late to say so. I told
him he didn't understand you in the least, and you hadn't a single
thought or taste in common. I said if he cared about you at all, the
best way he could prove it was by setting you free, and not spoiling
your life and his own too. I put it as pleasantly as I could,' said
Flossie naïvely, 'but he is very trying!'
'You told him all that! What made you invent such wicked, cruel lies?
Flossie, it is you that have spoilt our lives, and I will never forgive
you--never, as long as I live!'
'Ella!' cried the younger sister, utterly astonished at this outburst. 'Why, didn't you tell me the other day how miserable you were, and how you dared not speak about it? And now, when I----' |
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