Part 4

"Have you forgotten?" the girl exclaimed. "Look there!" and unclasping the wide gold band she displayed a long discoloured, jagged scar on her white arm. "That's where the mare 'Loree' bit me when I was ten. Don't you remember 'Loree'? Perhaps you weren't with us that autumn. We called her after the poem, 'Loraine, Loraine, Loree,' because she had such a fiendish temper. But she was a great beauty, and a wonderful jumper, and Dad thought he would hunt her that winter, in spite of her temper, though he was a bit too heavy for her; but they were all afraid of her at the stables, and declared she'd be the death of somebody. Funnily enough she never showed temper to me, and I used to take her sugar and apples and go in and out of the stable, and she never showed a sign of ill-temper while I was there, but Dad would never let me mount her. Then one day she'd just come in from exercising, and I went out to the yard with her apple for her. Rooney called to me: 'Don't you come near her, Miss Lallie! It's the very devil himself is in her to-day;' but I laughed, like the silly little girl I was, and said, 'It's you, Rooney, who can't manage her; I wish they'd let me take her out to exercise, it's a light hand she wants.' I went up to her to give her the apple, and she swung round and caught hold of my arm with her long teeth, and broke it there and then--and Dad shot her that afternoon. Oh, you _must_ remember, Tony!"

"I think I do remember something about it, but you know you were always being bitten by something, or thrown by something else----"

"I never was _thrown_ but once," Lallie exclaimed indignantly. "If your horse rolls in a ditch it's not fair for any one to say you're thrown; but you, Tony, I suppose, keep count of the times you stick on, not the times you come off."

"Well, you were always in the wars, anyhow, so that perhaps the accidents, being so numerous, impressed me less than they ought to have done. But that was a horrid thing. Still, you know, I think the scar is less noticeable than the bracelet."

"Oh, the bracelet's Dad's affair. He can't bear to see anything ugly; and when I had my first proper evening frock he gave me this, and bade me wear it always when I had short sleeves; and it makes a topic of conversation with my partners at dances, and they're always very shocked and sorry, and feel kindly to me at once."

Lallie snapped the bracelet on her arm again, and smiled up confidingly at Tony, who continued to smoke in silence.

"I've admired you sufficiently," said Lallie. "I will now devote my attention to the dear Cripps' tie," and she turned round on the stool, once more leant her back against Tony's knees, and the busy needles went to click again.

"I'd finish those papers if I were you," she suggested, "and then we can talk, or play picquet, or I'll sing to you, whichever you prefer."

"You," said Tony sedately, "must go to bed almost directly."

"Which means that you can't work in this room, and that I worry you, poor dear; but I'll go, and I'll be down to breakfast to-morrow and pour out your coffee for you. I know just how you like it--don't I?"

Lallie rose from her stool, looking, as she always contrived to do, far taller than she really was, in her clinging green draperies.

"You'll let me give tea to some boys to-morrow, won't you? Paddy said you always have chaps to tea in the drawing-room on Sundays, and precious dull it is with Miss Foster; but to-morrow it won't be dull--you just see how I'll entertain them. I think I'd like the nice boys who were dining with you when I came. They'll do for a start."

"We'll see what can be done," said Tony, with unaccountable meekness. "Good-night, my child; sleep well."

He held the door open for her, and she passed out, only pausing on the threshold to remark:

"There! I've never attempted to kiss you; I'll get quite used to it soon!"

*CHAPTER VI*

For five terms, in fact ever since Miss Foster had been housekeeper at B. House, she had never left that house during term time for a single night. And on her arrival at Hamchester station on Tuesday afternoon, having been away from the previous Friday, she almost ran down the long platform to collect her luggage, hustled her porter, nor rested a moment till she had seized upon the first available cab to take to her destination.

After years of generally unsuccessful ventures in various directions, Miss Foster had at last found a post entirely after her own heart, and the whole of her by no means inconsiderable energy was absorbed by B. House. She declared that it gave her scope. She was convinced that she, and she alone, "ran" B. House. She regarded Tony merely as an amiable figure-head. She liked him; she knew him to be honourable and well-meaning, and had found him generous in his business relations, and of course he was necessary, as otherwise she, herself, might not have been there; nevertheless, in her heart of hearts she was convinced that she, and she alone, kept the machinery of B. House in working order. Tony was far too easy-going, far too easily imposed upon. She distrusted the matron, and for Mr. Johns she felt an irritated sort of contempt, which she was at small pains to conceal: did not this misguided young man dare to entertain the incredibly conceited notion that he ran B. House? This in itself was more than enough to condemn him in Miss Foster's eyes.

A handsome woman, tall, plump, fresh-coloured, she made no attempt to look younger than her forty-nine years. She wore her plentiful grey hair dressed high over a cushion, well waved and beautifully arranged; no one ever saw Miss Foster with an untidy head. Her hats were always large and imposing, and occasionally becoming; her dresses rich, rustling, sober in colour, and thoroughly well made.

"All must have gone smoothly in my absence," she thought complacently as she sat in the jolting cab. "Mr. Bevan faithfully promised that if there was illness of any kind he would telegraph at once. Cripps can't have got the mumps. He probably won't get it, and if he does it can't spread as he was quarantined at once. I hope Matron has been strict about the quarantine. I always mistrust these hospital-trained people when left to themselves; one has to be ever on the watch. Ah, here we are!"

Before Miss Foster could descend from the cab Ford appeared to help her with her smaller baggage. Ford looked particularly trim and smiling that afternoon in a nice new muslin apron and cap.

"All well, Ford?" Miss Foster remarked genially, without waiting for an answer. "You may bring tea at once to the drawing-room; I'll have it before I go upstairs."

She crossed the hall and opened the drawing-room door, but she did not enter the room. Instead she stood transfixed upon the threshold and sniffed dubiously.

The windows were open according to her instructions whenever the room was untenanted. Notwithstanding this, there was a very strong smell of violets. To most people this is an agreeable odour, but Miss Foster mistrusted the presence of violets at all. Why should there be violets in her drawing-room during her absence?

A few steps farther revealed to her astonished gaze that the room was not as she had left it. The furniture had been changed as to position, disarranged, increased!

Miss Foster was not fond of music, and she beheld with positive dismay that a grand piano, open, with long lid slanted upwards, was placed athwart the inner wall. A huge harp stood just behind it, and an unfamiliar bulging green silk bag was flung on the Chesterfield, where it sprawled in flagrant publicity. The overpowering scent of violets was easily traceable to a large china bowl, full of that modest flower, which stood on a little table, moved from its accustomed place against the wall close to a big chair by the fireplace. Moreover, on that table, cheek by jowl with the violets, lay a tin of "Player's Navy Cut," a common box of kitchen matches, an ash-tray, and a very brown meershaum pipe. Miss Foster passed her hand over her eyes to make sure that these things were not an hallucination, and at that moment Ford came in, bearing tea.

"What on earth is the meaning of all this, Ford?" poor Miss Foster exclaimed, waving her hand in the direction of the piano.

"It's been got for Miss Clonmell, 'm. This morning the men brought the piano; she brought 'er 'arp with her."

"_Who_ brought a harp?" Miss Foster cried irritably, as though she could hardly believe her ears. "Ford, what are you talking about?"

"Miss Clonmell, miss--the young lady as have come to live here."

"A young lady! To live here! But who is she, and when did she come, and why have I been told nothing about it?"

"She's sister to the Mr. Clonmell what was here last term, 'm, and she came unexpected like on Friday evening, while Mr. Bevan was at dinner. He didn't expect her any more than you, miss."

"But what in the world has she come for? She can't stay here. Where is she?"

"I don't exactly know 'm," Ford answered, with demure enjoyment of the situation. "Mrs. Wentworth came directly after luncheon, 'm, and took her out. Miss Clonmell said as I was to ask you not to wait tea if you came before she got back, as she'll probably have hers with Mrs. Wentworth."

"Wait tea!" Miss Foster repeated, in tones that expressed volumes of determination to do nothing of the kind. "This is the most extraordinary thing I ever heard of. What is she like?"

"Oh, a very nice young lady, 'm. No one could _'elp_ liking 'er. The 'ouse seems a different place since she come, so much livelier; and she sings and plays something beautiful----"

"I should think it does seem a different place," Miss Foster remarked grimly; "that horrible harp makes my drawing-room look like the deck of a penny steamer. It can't stay here, that's certain. However, I'll have tea now--I need it. Whenever Mr. Bevan comes in, Ford, ask him to be good enough to speak to me at once."

Miss Foster sat in her accustomed chair and made tea. The tea was good and refreshing, but although she had purposely turned her back to the obnoxious musical instruments she felt uncomfortably conscious of their presence. There they were like a draught blowing down her back. A harp, too! In Miss Foster's mind harps were associated mainly with mendicity and the bars of public-houses. Not that she had the smallest personal knowledge of such objectionable places; but she was certain that the horrid people who frequented them played and listened to the harp. It was probably their favourite instrument, and it was more likely that during their disreputable orgies they even danced to its throbbing strains.

Miss Foster, who had never been out of her own country, was one of those persons who inevitably associate Scotland with plaids and porridge, and Ireland with pigs and shillelaghs.

"An unsatisfactory, ungrateful, untrustworthy race, the Irish," she reflected; "and if the sister is half as troublesome as the brother--and being a girl she is certain to be ten times more so; I detest girls--the prospect is far from pleasing. What I cannot understand is the underhand behaviour of Mr. Bevan. This girl can't have dropped from the clouds, and I consider it most ungentlemanly of him not to have given me some warning. He might at least have written to tell me of her arrival, and I would have come back yesterday. However, I don't fancy her visit will be a very long one now that I have come back."

She took a vigorous bite out of her piece of bread and butter, and stirred her tea with a determination that boded ill for the interloper. Yet, resolute woman as she was, she still smelt the violets and was aware of the grand piano in the background.

She had just finished her second cup of tea when Tony came in.

"Ah, Miss Foster, it's nice to see you back again. I hope the wedding went off well--you had a lovely day. I'm just in time to beg for a cup of tea. I suppose Ford has told you of the addition to our party; I didn't write, as you were away for such a brief holiday; it seemed too bad to bother you."

Somehow Miss Foster found it impossible to say all the bitter things to Tony that she had been preparing. He was so friendly, so kind, so interested in all her doings. Besides, he explained at once how Lallie's sudden appearance had been as great a surprise to him as to Miss Foster, and she was fain to believe him; but none the less did she determine that the said visit should be brief as unexpected.

Tony took it for granted she would do her best for the girl. So she would. It would certainly be best for the girl and for B. House that the girl's visit should not be unduly prolonged. When Tony left the drawing-room that afternoon Miss Foster was more than ever persuaded that he badly needed some one to stand between him and those who took advantage of his good nature, and she there and then valiantly resolved that, so far as in her lay, she would act as that buffer. She was still glowing at the prospect of the friction such fortitude on her part would assuredly entail when Tony came back into the room. He might almost be said to have crept back, so shamefaced was his appearance.

"I fear that I have left some of my belongings in here," he mumbled apologetically. "I must have put them down when I came in to speak to Lallie, after lunch--and forgotten them."

Oh, mendacious Tony! when he knew perfectly well that those "belongings" had been left on that table ever since Lallie's second evening in B. House, and he had smoked there ruthlessly every evening since.

"It doesn't matter in the least," Miss Ford said graciously; "one couldn't smell even tobacco with these overpowering flowers. I really must ask Ford to throw them out; they are enough to give us all hay-fever."

Tony fled.

*CHAPTER VII*

An hour later Tony sat at his study table offering sacrifices propitiatory to parental anxiety amid clouds of smoke, with a pile of unanswered letters at his elbow.

Lallie peeped in.

"Has she come, Tony?" she whispered.

"She has," he remarked briefly, whereupon Lallie vanished again, with a muttered exclamation.

In the passage she met Mr. Johns on his way to take prep.; she seized him by the arm, whispering beseechingly:

"Come with me to the drawing-room just for a minute, there's a dear kind man. I'm petrified with terror, and Tony's busy. Don't leave me to go in all by myself."

"Certainly not," Mr. Johns replied reassuringly; "I can't stay, I'm afraid, but I'll come into the drawing-room with you with pleasure. If it's the dark you're afraid of, and it soon gets dark now, I'll turn on the light; it's just inside the door."

Lallie gave a smothered laugh, but nevertheless she kept a tight hold of Mr. Johns till he had opened the drawing-room door and turned on the light. Then she drew her hand from his arm and sailed into the room with her head in the air. The room was untenanted.

"She's not here at all," Lallie said blankly; then to the somewhat flustered young master who had followed her in: "I'll not detain you further, Mr. Johns," she remarked airily; "I know you are much occupied. It was kind of you to show me the way."

Somewhat huffed at this abrupt dismissal after so effusive a greeting, Mr. Johns swung round hastily, only to cannon with considerable violence against Miss Foster, who, unheard by him, had just entered the room. Lallie stood magisterially upon the hearthrug while they disentangled themselves, and Mr. Johns muttered apologies which were loftily ignored by the lady.

Miss Foster was intensely annoyed. No one appears to advantage who has just been vigorously humped into by an International forward; and although Miss Foster's ample form was calculated both to sustain and repel a considerable impact, she was distinctly ruffled.

Mr. Johns almost banged the door behind him.

"I hope he didn't hurt you, the clumsy fellow," exclaimed Lallie, in sweetly sympathetic tones, as she came forward with outstretched hand. "I must introduce myself, dear Miss Foster, and apologise for invading B. House in your absence."

"I suppose you are but a bird of passage," Miss Foster remarked, when she had given Lallie's hand a limp and chilly shake.

"That depends," said Lallie gaily, "whether you're all very good to me or not. If I like it, I may stay till Dad comes back from India. He likes me to be with Tony."

"I wonder," Miss Foster said thoughtfully, when she had seated herself, "whether your father has fully considered Mr. Bevan's many responsibilities. A house like this--" Miss Foster paused.

"It seems a comfortable house," Lallie suggested helpfully, "though 'tis a bit cold. Shall I set a match to the fire?" and Lallie flew to the little table--but the matches were gone.

"Pray don't," Miss Foster exclaimed, "I never start fires before the first of October."

"But if it's cold?" Lallie expostulated.

"That, Miss Clonmell, is my invariable rule."

"But it might be warm on the first of October."

"If it is warm on the first of October I shall certainly not have a fire."

"But we've _had_ a fire every night since I came."

"I thought the room smelt rather stuffy," Miss Foster said coldly. "Won't you sit down, Miss Clonmell? You look so uncomfortable standing there."

Lallie sat down obediently, and unconsciously folded her hands in the devout attitude in which she had been wont to listen to the discourses of the Mother Superior in her convent.

"It would be well," Miss Foster continued, in a head voice, "if, before we go any farther, I explain to you how rigid--necessarily rigid--rules must be in a house of this description. It will save trouble and futile argument afterwards. You must see, yourself, that the arrangements in a College boarding-house containing fifty boys and over a dozen servants can't chop and change; the ordinary routine can't be relaxed as in an ordinary private house--though in the best managed private houses things are almost equally regular."

"But why should people be colder in a College house than in any other sort, if they can afford a fire?" Lallie persisted. "Tony _liked_ the fire."

"I never argue," Miss Foster observed, with superior finality; "we will change the subject. How is your brother getting on at Woolwich? I hope he is settling down well."

"I don't know about 'settling,' Miss Foster, we're not a very settled family, but he's well and happy, and the dearest boy. Didn't you think him a dear boy, and isn't he good to look at?"

"From what I remember of your brother he was quite good-looking--fair, wasn't he? You are not in the least like him."

"No, indeed, more's the pity," Lallie said simply. "He is the image of Dad. You've met my father, I think, Miss Foster?"

"I believe your father stayed a night here some time last winter, but I don't remember him very distinctly. We see so many parents, you know, and it's hard to keep them separate in one's mind unless they have very definite qualities, or are distinguished people."

"Most people think Dad is very distinguished," said Lallie, much incensed at the implied slight upon her father; "but I suppose he appeals most to brilliant people like himself. May I have my work-bag, Miss Foster? I think you are sitting on it, and I may as well get on with Tony's tie as sit here doing nothing. Thank you; I hope no needle has run into you."

Silence fell upon the twain: a fighting silence, charged with unrest.

Dinner that night was not exactly a hilarious meal. Mr. Johns still smarted under a sense of injury at the trick he considered Lallie had played him. He held her responsible for his collision with Miss Foster, and he came to table determined not to address a single word to her till she should apologise. All the time he was mentally rehearsing that apology and the form it should take. In some solitude--place not yet specified--she would ask him what she had done to offend him. Reluctantly he would allow her to drag from him the real cause of his aloofness, and through the veil of his reticence she would perceive the enormity of her offence--veils have an enlarging effect. Being really good at heart and full of generous impulses--he was certain of Lallie's generosity--she would frankly apologise, and he would, as frankly, refuse to allow her to do so. Mr. Johns saw himself, muscular, large, and magnanimous, in the very flower of his young English manhood--gently and imperceptibly raising little Lallie's moral tone until her soul should reach the altitude upon which it could meet his on equal terms. After that, who knows what might happen? And it was dinner time.

At table, however, he couldn't harden his heart against Lallie, who sat opposite in a high white blouse that made her look like a schoolgirl. Her eyelids were pink; so was her nose with its confiding tip; and she never once looked across at Mr. Johns.

Miss Foster _would_ discuss the dates of various quarantines, and the preventative measures that should be taken if any of the usual infectious diseases invaded the other houses. Tony tried in vain to head her off to other topics. By the time they had reached the contagious, or non-contagious nature of tonsilitis, Lallie began to look about her. From time to time she caught Tony's eyes, and her own were so merry and well amused that Tony, himself, began to see another side to the germ question, which as a rule bored him to extinction. Mr. Johns found himself trying to intercept some of Lallie's glances, but without success; and when the meal came to an end he had assuredly not addressed a single remark to Lallie, but it was from lack of opportunity and not because he was any longer offended. How could one be offended with an irresponsible creature whose dimples were so bewitching?

Tony retired to his study; Mr. Johns went back to the boys; and Lallie, who longed to go with Tony but didn't dare, meekly followed Miss Foster into the drawing-room. Tony was troubled about Lallie. The child look pinched and low-spirited, he thought, and she was such a good child. She had tried so hard, so kind-hearted Tony assured himself, to fall in with their ways, to keep rules and regulations that were all strange to her. He wished he could have her in here with him, but he supposed it wouldn't do; Miss Foster might be offended. She was such a quiet little mouse--it was pleasant to work by the fire with her leaning against his knees, with one of those everlasting ties in her hands. By Jove! it was a cold night; he'd light his fire. Poor little Lallie! would Miss Foster be friendly and motherly? He hoped to goodness she wouldn't talk any more about illnesses; he felt rather as though he were going to have mumps himself. Tony pressed his neck on both sides anxiously. The wood sparkled and crackled, he drew his chair up to the fire and lit his pipe.

"You must excuse me, Miss Clonmell," said Miss Foster, when they reached the drawing-room; "I have many things to see to upstairs. In a house like this it is impossible to devote one's whole evening to social intercourse. I fear I must leave you for half an hour or so."

"Of course," Lallie said solemnly, not quite knowing why. "Please, Miss Foster, would it disturb any of the children--the boys, I mean--if I play the piano while you're gone?"

"The boys' part of the house is quite separate; you _may_ disturb Mr. Bevan, who is usually busy at this time--but----"

"Oh, I shan't disturb Tony; he'll probably leave his door open to hear me; he loves music."

"He has not, hitherto, made any parade of his partiality," Miss Foster said coldly, and left the room, shutting the door carefully after her.

Lallie flew across to the door and opened it wide, gazing after Miss Foster's portly form ascending the staircase.