Etheldreda the Ready Part 15

"Oh, yes, thanks." Dreda was too honest to plead the conventional headache. "She said two were enough. She is going to bicycle to Smitton this morning for some stupid messages. I did my best to make her come."

"I'm sure you did," said the young man kindly. Dreda, looking at him, saw him murmur "Smitton" below his breath, and knit his brows in thought. A minute later he walked away to speak a few farewell words to the hares, who were mounted on horseback, bearing fat bags of paper fragments on their saddles, after which he returned with a smiling face to keep Dreda entertained until "The Meet" had begun to a.s.semble.

Excitement and anxiety not to be late had caused the sisters to arrive before their time, but Dreda could not regret the fact, for it was so interesting to watch the new arrivals on horseback and bicycles; to greet old acquaintances, be introduced to new, and finally to meet a beam of welcome from Susan's brown eyes as the Currant Buns wheeled up in a line. Even the sober Mary had condescended to join the chase.

"Fresh air is a tonic. With so much mental exercise on hand I considered it would be a saving of time to spend a day in the open," she said confidentially to Dreda, as she polished her gla.s.ses on a large pocket-handkerchief, and replaced them over the red rim on her nose.

Dreda sidled carefully away from her side, and when the moment came for the start, was delighted to find Guy Seton riding determinedly by her side.

"I thought you would be on horseback," she said, then looking at him with faintly curious eyes: "Why aren't you, when you have a horse all ready? It's so _much_ more interesting than bicycling."

"Sometimes," said Guy, smiling. He waited a moment or two, and then added tentatively: "If you are fond of riding, and would accept a mount sometimes, I'd be delighted to give you one. Our horses have not half enough exercise. I've a nice quiet mare--"

"Oh, thanks, but give me spirit! None of your quiet mares for me. But I am at school; there's no chance for a free day for another three months. This is only the exeat; we go back to-morrow, worse luck!"

"To-morrow! That's very soon. I'm glad I arranged the chase for to- day. You are at Horsham, aren't you?"

Dreda turned her head quickly.

"Yes! Who told you?"

"Your sister. The young one--the one who is here to-day."

"Oh, Maud! Did she come into the drawing-room with Rowena yesterday?"

"Before then. She amused me after you left until Miss Saxon arrived."

"Oh-h!" Dreda's face clouded uneasily. How had Maud amused him? What had she said? In what fas.h.i.+on had she managed to prejudice Rowena against so amiable and kindly a neighbour, for she had now not a moment's doubt that Maud was the cause of the trouble. She determined to put a few leading questions.

"What else did she tell you? She's a dreadful child. We never know what she is going to say next. I don't believe she knows herself. What did she say?"

"Oh, nothing particular! G-general information--don't you know--general information," stammered Guy Seton uncomfortably. But Dreda was not to be put off the scent. She stared at him fixedly, noted his rising colour, and nodded in quiet conviction.

"I know! I can guess one thing at least. She told you we were _rejuiced_."

"I--I--" he began to stammer again, but the corners of his mouth twitched, and the next moment they were laughing together in hearty, youthful enjoyment.

"Too bad of you! Why are you so abnormally sharp? Have pity on my embarra.s.sment," he pleaded, while Dreda shook her yellow mane in derision.

"You are not embarra.s.sed a bit! You laughed before I did! It's easy to guess, because that's Maud's favourite subject at present. She overheard the servants talking, and took a fancy to the word, and now she drags it in on every possible occasion. What else did she say?

Anything about me?"

"Er--er--"

"She did! I know she did. Don't try to deny it. Was it--nice?"

"Er--" stammered Guy Seton once more, whereupon Dreda drew herself up with sudden dignity.

"You shouldn't have _allowed_ it! She is only a child; you should not have allowed her to talk personalities--"

"But I tried to stop her--I did, indeed! I was most uncomfortable. I tried to change the conversation, but it was no good. Please don't scold me, I've suffered enough as it is!"

"_How_ have you suffered?" Dreda's eyes widened eagerly. Now she was on the track of the mystery, and determined to push her inquiries until all was made plain. "_Who_ made you suffer?"

"Miss Sax--," said Guy involuntarily, and then quickly drew himself up.

"I mean--it's rather awkward for a fellow, don't you know, to listen to things that he ought not to hear--that are not his business--that would annoy other people if they happened to overhear."

He flushed as he spoke, and Dreda beamed at him with undisguised approval. He was so boyish and honest, so blunderingly transparent, that she felt quite elderly in comparison--a very Sherlock Holmes of diplomacy!

"And what was it that Rowena _did_ overhear? Oh, I guessed there was something! She would never have refused to come to-day unless something had happened to offend her. She has such a dull time of it, poor dear, and she loves a change. What did Maud say?"

"Miss Dreda, if your sister didn't tell you herself, do you think I ought to repeat a thing that has already annoyed her?"

"Certainly you ought. It's my business to know, so that I can make things right. I could easily explain--"

Guy gave a short, irritated laugh.

"There's nothing to explain! Your young sister made an indiscreet remark which Miss Saxon overheard as she came into the room. It is only human nature, I suppose, to vent her annoyance upon me, but it's hard luck all the same, for I could not help myself, and it was horribly embarra.s.sing for me too!"

"But _what_ did she say?"

Then with another twitch of the lips Guy repeated Maud's betrayal, at which Dreda was at once horrified and amused.

"The little wretch! I shouldn't have minded a bit myself, but when you are grown up it's different! Poor old Ro! It was my fault, for I made her do it. I wanted you to see her in that jolly blue."

"Thanks, so much! It was worth seeing; but it's a pretty big price to pay if your sister is prejudiced against me for life. Perhaps you had better not refer to the subject directly. If I read her aright the less that is said about it the better she will be pleased; but if you get a chance you might speak a good word for me sometimes. I'm not such a conceited fool as to imagine that she took any more trouble for me than she would have done for any other caller who happened to come along, and I've a wretched sort of memory. If I choose to forget a thing, it's surprising how easily I can do it. It would be so jolly if she could manage to forget it too, and start afresh."

"Leave it to me!" cried Dreda, with the air of a young oracle. She had not the slightest idea what she was about to do, but, as ever, had not the slightest doubt of success in tackling a difficult situation. For the moment, however, she felt that she had devoted enough attention to Rowena's affairs, for the excitement of the paper-chase increased with every mile as the track was discovered, only to be lost again and again, forcing the cavalcade to wheel about in all directions searching for the little snow-like flakes of paper which were again to guide them forward.

When a couple of hours had pa.s.sed Dreda was quite oblivious that the circling paths had led the chase to the little village of Smitton, and was therefore overcome with surprise to come face to face with no less a person than Rowena herself at the corner of the high road. Rowena would have pa.s.sed by with a bow, but she was instantly surrounded by a little party of friends, all eager to greet her, and to inquire why she had not joined the chase. Guy Seton dismounted with the rest, and stood silently in the background until the first rush of inquiries were over, when, meeting Rowena's eye, he made a simple straightforward request.

"As you have finished your messages, Miss Saxon, won't you join us for the rest of the morning? We could send a wire from the post office if you think Mrs Saxon would be anxious. Please say yes!"

There was nothing extravagant about the manner of his invitation, perhaps in courtesy he could hardly have said less, but there was a transparent sincerity about those last three words which it was impossible to ignore. Rowena hesitated. Poor Rowena! What a morning of heartache and disappointment it had been. Ten minutes ago, five minutes ago, she had been wheeling along her solitary way, all melancholy and dejection, and behold, one turn of the road and she was in the midst of a merry cavalcade, and the chance which she had thrown away was once more within her grasp.

She hesitated, and half a dozen voices answered in her stead. Of course, she must come! Of course! After this fortunate meeting she could not be allowed to escape. She could not be so cruel as to refuse, and then once again Guy Seton's voice repeated those three quiet words: "Please say yes!"

Well, she was only longing to accept, and having been duly entreated, gave way with a blush and a smile which made her look as pretty as a picture. The cavalcade carried her off in triumph, and Guy Seton kept discreetly in the background, waiting until time should give him his opportunity. His acquaintance with this charming girl had had an unfortunate beginning; he was determined that no haste or imprudence on his own part should give it a second check, but that afternoon Master Leonard Merrick, the hare, went home, made happy by a tip the amount of which was truly princely in his schoolboy estimation!

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

Six months had pa.s.sed by. The elder pupils at Horsham had gone tremblingly through the ordeal of the Oxford senior examination in July, and Mary, having achieved distinction in three separate subjects, was now busy preparing for the mathematical group of the Cambridge higher local examination in December. She was eventually going on to college, and intended to devote her life to teaching, to which prospect she looked forward with an equanimity which Dreda regarded with mystified amazement.

"And you _like_ it! You are content to think of spending your life in a schoolroom, going over and over the same dull old books, Mary! How _can_ you?"

But Mary could very easily, it appeared.

"Why not, Dreda?" she inquired. "The books are not dull to me, and surely it is a n.o.ble and interesting life to hand on the lamp of learning from one generation to another. It's the work that appeals most to me. Ever since I was a child I have wished to be a schoolmistress."