Chapter XX: A Happy Nest

THE idea of the Engadine roused Pearl more than anything else had done since Ivor's death. She cried less, talked more, and waxed positively eager over the choice of dresses and hats for the trip. Diana seemed not to have the slightest idea how long she would stay away. She showed impatience to be off, and was meanwhile in an uncomfortable state of alternate excitement and depression. Beryl could not make her out.

Marian's defection seemed to have caused even deeper annoyance than had appeared at the first. Diana could not hear her sister's name without an angry flush, and she repeatedly declared that Marian should never again reside under her roof. Something in Marian's letter had probably wounded her self-esteem. A hot and lengthy answer was despatched in the first outburst of passion. Marian's reply was brief, and Diana read it aloud to the girls, under one of her sudden impulses.

"DEAR DI,—I do not think you can have meant all you said in your last. When you have had time to cool, you will be sorry. It is absolutely necessary for Escott to travel, the doctors say,—and how could I leave poor Uncle Josiah alone for six months or more? You could not really wish it, or ask it of me. I dare say a trip to the Engadine would be pleasant; but I must say I cannot quite see how you are to meet the expense of it just now,—after what you said in your last letter.—Your affectionate sister,—

"MARIAN CROSBIE."

"Cool! I am as cool as a cucumber," Diana declared, with burning cheeks and glowing eyes. "I don't pretend to be a lump of ice like Marian. Couldn't ask it, indeed! Why not? Millicent doesn't scruple to ask what crosses my wishes, and why am I to be tongue-tied? 'Poor Uncle Josiah!'—yes, of course,—poor anybody and everybody except me. Can't see how I am to meet the expense! No, I dare say she can't. What business is it of hers? But they shall see that I will have my own way; I am not going to be sat upon in this style."

The girls had little to say. Pearl only hoped that nothing might stand in the way of the trip, and Diana's anger did not disturb her, when not directed towards herself. Beryl dared not answer. She was falling more and more into the clutches of that uneasy dread of "saying the wrong thing," which checks all freedom of intercourse with some people, occasionally even with those people who stand nearest in order of natural relationship. She did not fear Diana's displeasure, for hers was a tough nature, capable of standing rough words; but she did fear the feelings which the expression of Diana's displeasure aroused in herself.

"I shall write at once, and tell Marian that everything is settled. Thanks to Miss Carmichael, I need not ask any favour of her. I am quite independent."

Beryl began to understand why she was so easily permitted to accept the invitation from over the way.

"I wanted to start next week, but I don't quite see that we can be ready, Pearl. Better say next Tuesday week."

Beryl was sorry, knowing that "next Tuesday week" would be the day of the last Confirmation class. She would much have preferred to be then at Miss Carmichael's.

Diana went on, unheeding:—

"Marian will be sorry by and by for behaving in this way,—when Millicent comes back, and my uncle doesn't want her any more. But I shall not have her here. I can't endure that sort of playing fast and loose. She may look-out for herself in future. I have a great mind to give notice to my landlord next quarter, and go to live somewhere else. I am getting sick of Hurst, and of being overlooked and meddled with at every step."

The last few words filled Beryl with dismay.

Diana noted her expression, and thenceforward made systematic use of the notion, when she wished to annoy Beryl.

Mrs. Fenwick proposed to spend a week with Pearl in London, before starting for the Continent. The last few days before they left, Beryl had enough to do, to satisfy the requirements of even her occupation-loving nature. She was at their beck and call incessantly—sewing, mending, packing, shopping, running up and down stairs, acting the part of "white slave" uncomplainingly. It was gradually becoming a habit with them to hand over to Beryl whatever they did not care to do themselves. Beryl liked to be busy, and liked to be useful. Yet, however willing to work, she had at times a wish for a grateful word or smile in return for her labours. Diana and Pearl could smile and thank gracefully enough, when it pleased them; but they did not count it worth their while to waste smiles upon Beryl. "Just do this," and "Just fetch that," with, "Oh, you have finished at last," or possibly a careless "Thanks," were the order of the day.

Tuesday came at last, and early in the afternoon the travellers started. Beryl was busy up to the moment of their departure. She had found time by early rising to put together what she would need at Miss Carmichael's; but after eight o'clock not a minute of her time had been her own. Diana was excited and irritable; and Pearl, now that things had come to a point, looked flat. Neither remembered to give Beryl a parting kiss, and Beryl would not ask for one. She stood quietly on the step, watching the fly rumble down the road, and feeling as if a sudden calm had come over the face of nature.

"Miss Pearl 'might' have taken the trouble to look round and say 'Good-bye,'" Pearson remarked unexpectedly by her side.

"People don't remember everything when they are busy," said Beryl slowly, turning round.

"She don't forget her ribbons and gloves, though," said Pearson with some point. "You're tired, Miss Beryl."

"I suppose I am—a little," said Beryl, as if not quite sure of so unwonted a sensation. "I don't quite know how I am to get my things to Miss Carmichael's."

"I'll see to that. You just tell me what has to go, and I'll see to it," said Pearson, who had experienced a growing approval of Beryl during the last few weeks, and a growing disapproval of the manner in which she counted her to be "put upon."

"If you don't mind, I should be glad," said Beryl. "I must be off to the Confirmation class in a few minutes, and Miss Carmichael expects me to tea."

"Well, don't you trouble yourself, Miss Beryl. Your things 'll be over all right, by the time you're there. And we shan't be off till to-morrow, so if you want anything more you can just run over in the morning, you know."

Beryl's "Thank you," if sober, was grateful. She went upstairs for hat and jacket, and started soon, with her Bible in her hand.

An hour and a half later, Miss Carmichael saw her coming up the garden path, and Hester met her at the front door.

"Welcome, Beryl,—I am glad you are here at last. We have been looking out for you. Your 'baggage' has arrived first. Go and speak to Miss Carmichael in the drawing-room. I am wanted downstairs for a minute."

Beryl obeyed, and received a second affectionate greeting. Miss Carmichael held her hands, scrutinised her face, and said "Well?" inquiringly.

"They are gone," said Beryl, with an unconscious accent of relief.

"And you have been to your class since. A pleasant one?"

"Yes,—I liked it very much," said Beryl, with emphasis.

"Rather longer than usual, was it not?"

"I don't know. Am I late? It did not seem long, but it is the last. Mr. Bishop wants to see us all alone now, and he has fixed the day after to-morrow for me."

"Do you see your way yet, my child?"

"Yes," said Beryl, lifting her eyes to her friend's face. "I want to be confirmed."

"And the difficulty about Mrs. Fenwick?"

"I think it is gone," said Beryl. "You have helped me so much. I don't feel the same now that I did. I don't 'like' her, Miss Carmichael, and I don't see how I can. But I like to be useful to her,—and I should not be glad to see her unhappy,—and it doesn't make me angry now to see Pearl fond of her. I don't know whether Pearl really is so very fond—but still she cares for Aunt Di much more than for me, and I can bear it now. I 'think' I may be confirmed."

"I think so too," said Miss Carmichael. "But be true, Beryl. Don't have any sham about the matter,—and don't be half-hearted. Let your life be one of real faithful service to Christ from this time forward."

"I want that—" said Beryl huskily, with flushing face. "Miss Carmichael, the class to-day was about—"

Beryl hesitated.

"Yes,—about—?" said Miss Carmichael.

Beryl's tone took its shy gruffness. "Only about—the love of God," she said.

"And that has gone home to your heart?"

"I don't think I ever saw it before," said Beryl. "I thought—of course—I 'had' to try to do right—just because I ought. I didn't see 'that!'"

"You did not see the outpouring of tender love, beyond a mother's, asking your heart in return. But you see it now,—and you will not let go what you have found. If you see His love, you 'must' love Him in return. Only, the life must go with the love. You cannot separate the two."

Beryl's look was responsive. She had no more to say.

"You will be glad of your tea now," said Miss Carmichael. "Come and see your room."

She led Beryl to a cosy chamber, looking out upon the back garden, pretty with white muslin and pink linings. A glass of geraniums stood on the toilet-table, and the very pincushion spoke "welcome" with its pins. To Beryl all this possessed the charm of novelty. She had never before been a petted and honoured guest.

"Your home for the present—for many weeks, I hope," said Miss Carmichael. "Hettie has filled the bookcases with a selection which she thinks may suit your taste. We must try to turn you into something of a reader while you are here. Do not wait to unpack now, or to change your dress, for tea is ready. Just make yourself tidy, and come down."

Beryl obeyed, positively speechless with happiness. She had never known such a sense of peaceful enjoyment as seemed to pervade the very atmosphere of this house—an atmosphere which she had never been so fitted to breathe as on this particular evening. She did not dream how her own usually stolid face was changed by this new sense of peace, within and without. When she re-entered the drawing-room, Miss Carmichael and Hester looked at her, exchanged glances, and smiled, both well content.

"This is to be your seat at the table," said Miss Carmichael kindly. "I dare say you are tired, and hungry too, after your busy day. The last few days have been far from idle, I think."

"No, I have had a great deal to do," said Beryl. "But I am not tired now. I was, before the class—a little. I like being busy."

"That liking is a gift worth having. Hettie and I mean to keep you employed while here. We don't approve of 'idle hands' any more than Watts did. How is the little Pearl?"

"I don't think she is happy," said Beryl. "She seems to have been so very fond of poor Ivor. Aunt Di thinks they would soon have been engaged."

"Poor child! Too young," said Miss Carmichael pityingly. "Foreign travel will be the best cure for her, probably. And Mrs. Fenwick?"

"Aunt Di is quite well," said Beryl. Then she saw something in Miss Carmichael's face which made her add, "Why? Don't you think so?"

"No," said Miss Carmichael, and Hester shook her head.

"I did not know anything was the matter with Aunt Di," said Beryl, rather bewildered.

"She is not well," said Miss Carmichael.

"But what is the matter with her?"

"I am not in her confidence, so I cannot undertake to say. It is easy to see that something is wrong, and that she is aware of it. If you were a little more experienced, you would have noticed the same. Don't talk about it to anybody else."

"She does seem unhappy sometimes," said Beryl. "But I fancied it was only just her way. I did not know she had anything particular to make her so."

"I may be mistaken, but I should say that she has. I am glad you have felt more kindly towards her lately, poor thing."

"Oh, so am I," said Beryl. "But she isn't really ill, is she?"

"'Ill' is an indefinite term. I do not count her well. Try some home-made cake, Beryl."