A Girl in Spring Time Part 7

As she herself would have described it, she went hot and cold all over, something went "fizz" in her brain, and the next moment she leapt down from the table and confronted Lady Sarah with flaming cheeks and eyes ablaze with anger.

"And--who--asked--_your_--opinion? What business is it of yours what I wear? I didn't come here on your invitation--I was asked by Mrs Faucit, and so long as she is satisfied you have no right to say a word.

How dare you find fault with my mother before my face? How dare you question what she thinks right to do? you--you unkind, interfering,--_disagreeable old woman_!"

There was an awful silence. Lady Sarah appeared transfixed with astonishment; her jaw fell, her eyes protruded from their sockets. The twins instinctively clasped hands, and Mrs Faucit, arrested, in the act of re-entering the room, by the sound of the last few words, stood motionless in the doorway, her face eloquent of pained surprise.

Mildred glanced from one to the other. She was trembling from head to foot, her heart beat with suffocating throbs. For one moment she succeeded in maintaining her att.i.tude of defiance; but when she met the grave scrutiny of Mrs Faucit's eyes, she burst into a storm of tears and rushed from the room. Reaction had set in, and her own irritation was as nothing to the shock which followed as she realised that--fresh from Mrs Faucit's praise and her own congratulations,--she had given way to an outburst of temper which must have horrified all who heard it.

She crouched down on a corner of her bedroom sofa and sobbed as if her heart would break. The old intolerable pangs of homesickness woke up again and dragged at her heart; the longing for her own place, her own people, above all, for the precious mother who always sympathised and understood.

Perhaps Mrs Faucit would be so disgusted that she would send her straight back to school. Well! at this moment the thought of the quiet house and of Mardie's loving kindness was by no means unwelcome. At school, at least, everyone was kind--the very servants went out of their way to give her pleasure--there was no terrible Lady Sarah to stare at her through gold-rimmed eye-gla.s.ses, and criticise and find fault from morning till night.

It was in reality less than ten minutes, but it seemed like hours to Mildred before the door opened to admit Bertha and Lois, and a fresh outburst of sobbing was the only notice which she took of their entrance.

Bertha slipped an arm round her waist. Lois sniffed in sympathy from afar.

"Never mind her, Mil!" she cried. "Don't cry. You couldn't possibly have anything prettier than the blue crepe," but at this Mildred raised her face in eager protest.

"Oh, I'm not crying about that! I don't care a rap about the dress, but--but she made me so furious. It had been going on all morning, and I c-couldn't bear it any longer. I am so ashamed. I can't bear to think of it. I don't know what I said."

The twins exchanged furtive glances.

"You called her 'an interfering, disagreeable old woman'!" whispered Bertha with bated breath, glancing half fearfully at the door as she spoke. "I--I felt as if the world were coming to an end! As if the ceiling would fall down over our heads! Oh, Mil, you should have seen her face! I never saw anyone look so astonished in my life, but the curious part of it is that I don't think she was angry. She knew she had no right to speak as she had done, and I believe she admired you for being indignant. Perhaps you will be better friends after this."

"No, we won't!" said Mildred, setting her chin stubbornly; "because I won't, if she will. I'll never forgive her. It is not Lady Sarah I care about--it is your mother. Oh, I can't forget her face, she looked so shocked! She stared at me with such horrified eyes. Is she awfully angry, do you think?"

"I haven't spoken to her. She sent us out of the room directly after you left, but she didn't seem angry, only quiet and grieved."

"Oh, oh, oh! what shall I do? I hate people to be grieved! I detest it! It's fifty thousand times worse than being angry. If people are angry you can defend yourself and take your own part, but if they are 'grieved' you can only feel a wretch, as if you had no right to live.

Oh, dear, what will she think of me! It was only the other day she was saying that I kept my temper so well, and now I've disgraced myself for ever! She will never, never forgive me!"

Before the girls could say anything by way of comfort, Mrs Faucit herself entered the room and walked straight towards the couch on which Mildred was sitting. She looked pale and distressed, but the manner in which she put her arm round the girl's waist was certainly not suggestive of anger.

"I am so very sorry that this scene should have occurred, Mildred," she said; "but I have been having a talk with Lady Sarah, and she takes all the blame upon herself. She is sorry that she spoke as she did, and I think she will be more considerate of your feelings for the future. I said the other day that I knew you must often feel provoked, and how pleased I felt to know that you controlled your temper. I wish, dear,"

she sighed heavily, "I wish you had gone on as you began! It would have been a great relief to me; but perhaps it was too much to expect. You are young and impulsive."

"Oh, no, no! don't make excuses! I am a wretch, I know I am!" sobbed Mildred penitently. "It was hateful of me to speak rudely to a guest of yours--so old, too. Mother would be miserable if she knew. But it was so maddening! I bore it as long as she found fault with me, but when she began criticising Mother--saying that she didn't dress me properly, and had no right to allow me to come here,--I couldn't keep quiet any longer--I couldn't! It made me too furious. I was obliged to explode."

"I know! I know. I am sorry the girls' dresses were ever brought down--that was the beginning of it all. Mildred, dear, I hope you won't think any more of what Lady Sarah said on that subject. I noticed how pretty your dress looked when you first arrived, and we will see that it is made fresh and bright again for the picnic. It came into my mind to order a dress for you like the ones which the girls are to wear, but I was not sure if you would like it, or if it would seem as if I were dissatisfied with what your mother had provided."

Mildred threw her arms round the speaker with one of her bear-like hugs.

"All, you know! you understand!" she cried; "you are so different. It was sweet and lovely of you to think of it, but I'd rather not. If people don't care to have me in my old clothes, I'd rather stay away altogether. But I have ever so many pretty things stored away in my box--new gloves,--ribbons,--a lace collar. I can make myself quite respectable. Don't be worried, Mrs Faucit, please! I'll try to be good and not vex you again. Do please take your forehead out of crinkles."

Mrs Faucit laughed at that, and stroked the golden head with a caressing hand. She had grown very fond of her young visitor during the last few weeks, and found her coaxing ways quite irresistible.

"Dear Mildred!" she cried, "Poor Mildred! I am so sorry that your visit should be spoiled in this way, but remember what I told you the other day, dear, and try to avoid harsh judgments. It is a great concession for Lady Sarah to have acknowledged herself in the wrong in a dispute with a girl of your age; you must show how generous and forbearing you can be in return. I hope that after this you may be really good friends."

Mildred said nothing, but her lips closed with an expression which Bertha and Lois recognised. They had seen it at school on more than one memorable occasion. Mildred was the dearest girl in the world, but she did not find it easy to forgive when her animosity had been aroused.

CHAPTER NINE.

THE FRENCH MAID.

No further reference was made to the unpleasant scene in the library.

Lady Sarah seemed disposed neither to offer nor to demand any sort of apology. Unnoticed by the girl, however, she constantly scrutinised her through her gold eye-gla.s.ses with a curiosity which was almost kindly.

It seemed an impossibility for the old lady to refrain from interfering in the affairs of others, but for the next few days Mildred was allowed to go her own way undisturbed, while she devoted her attention to the daughters of the house.

She a.s.sured Mrs Faucit that Lois's right shoulder was higher than the left, and insisted that she should be made to lie down for two hours every afternoon; she gave it as her opinion that, as the girls were now fifteen, they should not be allowed to go about unattended by a chaperone; and last, and worst of all, she showed the Dean a prospectus of a German school, to which she advised they should be sent at once.

The twins were in despair, and many were the indignation meetings which were held in the school-room or the bedrooms overhead, while poor Mrs Faucit exhausted herself in the effort to smooth down both parties and to keep her husband in ignorance of what was pa.s.sing before his very eyes. Meantime the date of the picnic drew nearer and nearer, and in connection with her own preparations Mildred met with an unexpected display of kindness on the part of no less a person than Cecile herself.

The blue dress returned from the laundress looking crisper and fresher than ever in its newly-ironed folds, and when Mildred went up to her room the same afternoon she beheld Cecile seated by the dressing-table busily engaged in sewing the lace-frills round neck and sleeves.

"Why, Cecile--you!" she exclaimed, and the Frenchwoman raised her shoulders with a shrug of protest.

"Ah, Mademoiselle, what would you have? They are so careless, these servants. Mary would iron the lace as it was, sewn in the dress, but I say, 'No, it is impossible so to do it well. You take it off,' I say, 'and I shall sew it on. Mademoiselle Mildred shall not go to the picnic with frills untidy while I am in the house.'"

"But that is very kind of you, Cecile. I'm sure I am awfully obliged,"

said Mildred warmly. She leant up against the corner of the dressing-table and watched the play of the nimble fingers with admiring eyes. "How quickly you do it, and how well! It would take me about a month to pleat the lace into those teeny little folds. I just run it up and draw the string, but of course it is far nicer this way. The old dress looks quite new again. It seems to enjoy being washed."

Cecile held the skirt at arm's-length, looking at it with critical eyes.

"It is a pretty colour--soft and full--just the right shade to suit Mademoiselle's complexion. When it has the sash and the lace collar it will have an air quite _chic_, but it could still be improved. If Mademoiselle will, I shall stiffen the sleeves and make them more--what you say?--fas.h.i.+onable! It would be much better so."

"I don't know, I'm sure. It would be very nice, but have you time, Cecile?" asked Mildred doubtfully. "You have work to do for Lady Sarah, and I should not like to interfere with that. It is very kind of you to offer, but--"

"Oh, indeed, I have hours to myself--hours! I am killed with ennui in this quiet house. It would be a charity to give me occupation. It is still quite early; if Mademoiselle would put the dress on now, for one little minute, I could then see what is required, and put in a st.i.tch here and there."

Mildred unfastened her dress with mechanical fingers. She was bewildered by this sudden display of amiability on the part of Lady Sarah's maid, and filled with remorse for her former misjudgments. She had taken a dislike to Cecile from the moment when they had first met in the corridor and the Frenchwoman's sharp eye had scanned her from head to foot, as if taking in every detail of her attire and appraising its value. Once or twice, moreover, upon entering Bertha's room unexpectedly, she had discovered Cecile turning over the ornaments upon the dressing-table, and had not felt altogether inclined to believe the explanation that she was looking to see if there was anything she could do for mademoiselle; yet if Cecile were now so anxious to serve herself, why should she not have been equally well-disposed to Bertha?

Mildred argued out this question with herself as she stood before the gla.s.s while Cecile's clever fingers busied themselves about her dress, putting in a pin here, a pin there, achieving thereby an improvement which seemed almost miraculous in the girl's unsophisticated eyes.

While she worked Cecile kept up a string of flattering remarks.

"I must fasten the hair up for a moment to see the back. Ah, the beautiful hair! what a coiffure it will make some day! See how it goes itself into a coronet like a queen's! It is easy to fit a dress when one has the perfect model. You have the back like an arrow, Mademoiselle. Most young ladies get into the bad habits at school, and bend their shoulders like old women, but you are not so. There are many princesses who would give thousands of pounds to have a figure like yours."

"They must be very silly princesses, then," said Mildred brusquely. How was it that she could not get over her dislike to Cecile--that the touch of her thin fingers, the sight of her face in the gla.s.s brought with them a s.h.i.+ver of repulsion? Cecile had nothing to gain by spending time on the renewal of a school-girl's frock, and could therefore only be actuated by kindness. If it had been anyone else who had done her such a service Mildred would have been overflowing with thanks, but for some mysterious reason her heart seemed closed against Lady Sarah's maid.

All the same she was annoyed at herself for such ingrat.i.tude, and made a gallant effort to carry on a friendly conversation.

"Have you been maid to many other ladies, Cecile, before coming to Lady Sarah? You have been with her only a short time, I think." Cecile sighed lugubriously.

"Three months, Mademoiselle. Oh, such long, slow months! Never before have I known the time so long. Before then I was with two beautiful young ladies in London. They went out every night--to two or three b.a.l.l.s very often,--and always they were the most admired among the guests. Miss Adeline married an officer and went to India. She was like you, Mademoiselle--the same hair, the same eyes--you might be her sister. She would that I should go to India too. 'Oh, Cecile!' she say, 'what shall I do without you? No one shall ever suit me as you have done.' But I dare not risk the journey, the heat, the fatigue.

Then Miss Edith shared the same maid with her mama, and I came to my lady here. Ah, what a difference! The house of Madame, it is like a grave--no life, no sun. With my young ladies it was all excitement from morning till night--luncheon parties, afternoon parties, evening parties, one thing after another, and no time to feel _triste_, but now all is changed. We drive in a closed carriage for amus.e.m.e.nt, and go to bed at ten o'clock, just when my ladies were dressing for their b.a.l.l.s, and the evening should begin."

"Well, but, Cecile, I should think you would like it better," said Mildred guilelessly, "because if they did not come home until two or three in the morning it must have been terribly tiring sitting up for so long, and very bad for your health. Now you can go to bed at eleven and have nothing to disturb you until the next morning."

Cecile lifted her head from her work and darted a keen glance at the girl's face. Her eyes were small and light, and it seemed to Mildred as if at this moment there was something unpleasantly cunning in their expression, but perhaps it was only the result of the strong light which fell upon her through the open window.