‘Boodle is going to see,’ began Phœbe, but he interrupted.
‘Will fifty do? I will have my daughters well turned out. All to be spent upon yourself, mind. Why, you’ve not a bit of jewellery on! Have you a watch?’
‘No, papa.’
‘Robert shall choose one for you, then. Come to my room any time for the cash; and if Miss Charlecote takes you anywhere among her set—good connections she has—and you want to be rigged out extra, send me in the bill—anything rather than be shabby.’
‘Thank you, papa! Then, if I am asked out anywhere, may I go?’
‘Why, what does the child mean? Anywhere that Miss Charlecote likes to take you of course.’
‘Only because I am not come out.’
‘Stuff about coming out! I don’t like my girls to be shy and backward. They’ve a right to show themselves anywhere; and you should be going out with us now, but somehow your poor mother doesn’t like the trouble of such a lot of girls. So don’t be shy, but make the most of yourself, for you won’t meet many better endowed, nor more highly accomplished. Good night, and enjoy yourself.’
Palpitating with wonder and pleasure, Phœbe escaped. Such permission, over-riding all Juliana’s injunctions, was worth a few nettle stings and a great fright; for Phœbe was not philosopher enough, in spite of Miss Fennimore—ay, and of Robert—not to have a keen desire to see a great party.
Her delay had so much convinced the sisters that her expedition had had some fearful consequences, that Maria was already crying lest dear Phœbe should be in disgrace; and Bertha had seated herself on the balusters, debating with herself whether, if Phœbe were suspected of the trick (a likely story) and condemned to lose her visit to London, she would confess herself the guilty person.
And when Phœbe came back, too much overcome with delight to do anything but communicate papa’s goodness, and rejoice in the unlimited power of making presents, Bertha triumphantly insisted on her confessing that it had been a capital thing that the nettles were in Juliana’s nosegay!
Phœbe shook her head; too happy to scold, too humble to draw the moral that the surest way to gratification is to remove the thorns from the path of others.
CHAPTER III
She gives thee a garland woven fair, Take care! It is a fool’s-cap for thee to wear, Beware! Beware! Trust her not, She is fooling thee!
Behold Phœbe Fulmort seated in a train on the way to London. She was a very pleasant spectacle to Miss Charlecote opposite to her, so peacefully joyous was her face, as she sat with the wind breathing in on her, in the calm luxury of contemplating the landscape gliding past the windows in all its summer charms, and the repose of having no one to hunt her into unvaried rationality.
Her eye was the first to detect Robert in waiting at the terminus, but he looked more depressed than ever, and scarcely smiled as he handed them to the carriage.
‘Get in, Robert, you are coming home with us,’ said Honor.
‘You have so much to take, I should encumber you.’
‘No, the sundries go in cabs, with the maids. Jump in.’
‘Do your friends arrive to-night?’
‘Yes; but that is no reason you should look so rueful! Make the most of Phœbe beforehand. Besides, Mr. Parsons is a Wykehamist.’
Robert took his place on the back seat, but still as if he would have preferred walking home. Neither his sister nor his friend dared to ask whether he had seen Lucilla. Could she have refused him? or was her frivolity preying on his spirits?
Phœbe tried to interest him by the account of the family migration, and of Miss Fennimore’s promise that Maria and Bertha should have two half-hours of real play in the garden on each day when the lessons had been properly done; and how she had been so kind as to let Maria leave off trying to read a French book that had proved too hard for her, not perceiving why this instance of good-nature was not cheering to her brother.
Miss Charlecote’s house was a delightful marvel to Phœbe from the moment when she rattled into the paved court, entered upon the fragrant odour of the cedar hall, and saw the Queen of Sheba’s golden locks beaming with the evening light. She entered the drawing-room, pleasant-looking already, under the judicious arrangement of the housekeeper, who had set out the Holt flowers and arranged the books, so that it seemed full of welcome.
Phœbe ran from window to mantelpiece, enchanted with the quaint mixture of old and new, admiring carving and stained glass, and declaring that Owen had not prepared her for anything equal to this, until Miss Charlecote, going to arrange matters with her housekeeper, left the brother and sister together.
‘Well, Robin!’ said Phœbe, coming up to him anxiously.
He only crossed his arms on the mantelpiece, rested his head on them, and sighed.
‘Have you seen her?’
‘Not to speak to her.’
‘Have you called?’
‘No.’
‘Then where did you see her?’
‘She was riding in the Park. I was on foot.’
‘She could not have seen you!’ exclaimed Phœbe.
‘She did,’ replied Robert; ‘I was going to tell you. She gave me one of her sweetest, brightest smiles, such as only she can give. You know them, Phœbe. No assumed welcome, but a sudden flash and sparkle of real gladness.’
‘But why—what do you mean?’ asked Phœbe; ‘why have you not been to her? I thought from your manner that she had been neglecting you, but it seems to me all the other way.’
‘I cannot, Phœbe; I cannot put my poor pretensions forward in the set she is with. I know they would influence her, and that her decision would not be calm and mature.’
‘Her decision of what you are to be?’
‘That is fixed,’ said Robert, sighing.
‘Indeed! With papa.’
‘No, in my own mind. I have seen enough of the business to find that I could in ten years quadruple my capital, and in the meantime maintain her in the manner she prefers.’
‘You are quite sure she prefers it?’
‘She has done so ever since she could exercise a choice. I should feel myself doing her an injustice if I were to take advantage of any preference she may entertain for me to condemn her to what would be to her a dreary banishment.’
‘Not with you,’ cried Phœbe.
‘You know nothing about it, Phœbe. You have never led such a life, and you it would not hurt—attract, I mean; but lovely, fascinating, formed for admiration, and craving for excitement as she is, she is a being that can only exist in society. She would be miserable in homely retirement—I mean she would prey on herself. I could not ask it of her. If she consented, it would be without knowing her own tastes. No; all that remains is to find out whether she can submit to owe her wealth to our business.’
‘And shall you?’
‘I could