Mr. Cardew looked dubious for a moment. Then he said, “All right, only you must not be out too late. I’ll send the pony-trap down to the rectory for you at half-past eight o’clock.”
“Oh, but, father,” said Merry, “we can walk home.”
“No dear; I will send the little carriage. Now, go and enjoy yourself, my child.”
He looked at her with great affection, and she felt herself reddening. Had she hurt that most dear father after all? Oh! no school that ever existed was worth that.
CHAPTER VII.
DISCONTENT
On that special afternoon Mr. and Mrs. Cardew happened to be alone. The girls had gone down to the rectory. This was not Mrs. Cardew’s At Home day, and she therefore did not expect any visitors. She was a little tired after her long drive to Warwick, and was glad when her husband suggested that they should go out and have tea all alone together under one of the wide-spreading elm-trees.
Mrs. Cardew said to herself that this was almost like the old, old times of very long ago. She and her husband had enjoyed an almost ideal married life. They had never quarreled; they had never even had a small disagreement. They were blessed abundantly with this world’s good things, for when Sylvia Meredith of Meredith Manor had accepted the hand of Cyril Cardew she had also given her heart to him.
He and she were one in all particulars. Their thoughts were almost identical. She was by no means a weak-minded woman – she had plenty of character and firmness; but she deferred to the wishes of her husband, as a good wife should, and was glad! to feel that he was slightly her master. Never, under any circumstances, did he make her feel the yoke. Nevertheless, she obeyed him, and delighted in doing so.
The arrival of their little twin-daughters was the crown of their bliss. They never regretted the fact that no son was born to them to inherit the stately acres of Meredith Manor; they were the last sort of people to grumble. Mrs. Cardew inherited the Meredith property in her own right, and eventually it would be divided between her two daughters.
Meanwhile the children themselves absorbed the most loving care of their parents. Mr. Cardew was, as has already been said, a great merchant-prince. He often went to London to attend to his business affairs, but he spent most of his time in the exquisite country home. It was quite true that discontent seemed far, very far away from so lovely a spot as Meredith Manor. Nevertheless, Mr. Cardew had seen it to-day on the face of his best-loved child, his little Merry. The look had hurt him; and while he was having lunch with her, and joking with her, and talking, in his usually bright and intelligent way, her words, and still more the expression of her face and the longing look in her sweet brown eyes, returned to him again and again.
He was, therefore, more thoughtful than usual as he sat by his wife’s side now under the elm-tree. He had a pile of newspapers and magazines on the grass at his feet, and his favorite fox-terrier Jim lay close to his master. Mrs. Cardew had her invariable knitting and a couple of novels waiting to occupy her attention when Mr. Cardew took up one of the newspapers. But for a time the pair were silent. Mrs. Cardew was thinking of something which she wanted to say, and Mr. Cardew was thinking of Merry. It was, as is invariably the case, the woman who first broke the silence.
“Well, Cyril,” said his wife, “to find ourselves seated here all alone, without the children’s voices to listen to reminds me of the old times, the good times, the beautiful times when we were first married.”
“My dear,” he answered, starting slightly as she spoke, “those were certainly good and beautiful times, but surely not more good and beautiful than now, when our two dear little girls are growing up and giving us such great happiness.”
“That is true. Please don’t misunderstand me, love; but you come even before the children.”
He felt touched as she said this, and glancing at her, said to himself that he was indeed in luck to have secured so priceless a woman as his wife.
“We have had happy times together, Cyril,” she said, returning his glance.
“Yes, Sylvia,” he answered, and once again he thought of Merry’s face.
“Nothing can alter that,” she continued.
“Nothing, my love,” he said.
Then he looked at her again, and saw that she was a little troubled about something; and, as was his custom, he determined to take the bull by the horns.
“You have something on your mind, Sylvia. What is it?”
“I have,” she said at once; “and something of very great importance. I have a sort of fear that to talk of it with you may possibly trouble you a little. Shall we defer it, dear? The day is so peaceful, and we are so happy.”
“No, no,” he replied at once. “We will take the opportunity of the children being perfectly happy at the rectory to discuss the thing that worries you. But what can it be?” he continued. “That is more than I can imagine. I have never seen you worried before.”
Again he thought of Merry, but it was impossible to connect his wife’s trouble with his child’s discontent.
“Well, I will tell you just out, Cyril,” said his wife. “I urge nothing, but I feel bound to make a suggestion. I know your views with regard to the girls.”
“My views, dear! What do you mean?”
“With regard to their education, Cyril.”
“Yes, yes, Sylvia; we have done our very best. Have you any reason to find fault with Miss Beverley or with Vaughan or Bennett?”
“Unfortunately,” said Mrs. Cardew, “Miss Beverley, who, you know, is an admirable governess, and whom we can most thoroughly trust, wrote to me yesterday morning saying that she was obliged to resign her post as daily governess to our girls. She finds the distance from Warwick too far; in fact, she has her physician’s orders to take work nearer home. She regrets it immensely, but feels that she has no alternative.”
“Provoking!” said Mr. Cardew; “but really, Sylvia, I wouldn’t allow it to upset me if I were you. Surely there are plenty of other Miss Beverleys in the world; and” – again he thought of Merry – “we might perhaps find some one a little less old-fashioned.”
“I am afraid, dear, that is impossible, for you will not allow a resident governess in the house.”
“I will not,” said Mr. Cardew with decision. “Such an arrangement would break in on our family life. You know my views.”
“Yes, dear; and I must say I approve of them.”
“You must find some one else in Warwick who is not too tired to take the train journey. Doubtless it would be quite easy,” said Mr. Cardew.
“I went to Warwick this morning in order to make inquiries,” said Mrs. Cardew in her gentle voice, “and I grieve to say there is no one who can in the least take the post which dear Miss Beverley has so worthily filled. But I have further bad news to give you. Mr. Bennett is leaving Warwick for a better post in London, and we shall be at our wits’ end to get the girls good music-lessons for next term.”
“How provoking! how annoying!” said Mr. Cardew, and his irritation was plainly shown in his face. “It does seem hard,” he said after a moment’s pause, “that we, with all our wealth, should be unable to give our girls the thorough education they require.”
“The fact is this, dear,” said Mrs. Cardew, “and I must speak out plainly even at the risk of displeasing you – Cicely and Merry are exceedingly clever girls, but at the present moment they are very far behind other girls of their age. Their knowledge of foreign languages is most deficient. I have no doubt Miss Beverley has grounded them well in English subjects; but as to accomplishments, they are not getting the advantages their rank in life and their talent demand. Dear Cyril, we ought to forget ourselves and our interests for the children.”
“What has put all this into your head?” said Mr. Cardew. “As, for