Chapter XXIII: A Perplexing Condition

"I AM FEARFULLY tired,—don't bother, pray. Yes, you can pay the cabman,—oh, don't ask me how much. Pearson knows. Here, take my purse. Just get the parcels out of the fly, and take care nothing is forgotten. There is a bandbox, with my new bonnet—don't have it crushed. I hope tea is ready. We could not get off by the morning train; I was not up in time."

Diana spoke in a hurried and peevish voice, as she walked slowly into the house. Beryl had returned home, according to directions, before early dinner; but the absentees had not appeared when expected, and it was not till past five o'clock that the railway cab stopped at the door. Pearl lingered in the passage, while Beryl settled with the cabman.

"Do come with me, Beryl," she said then, in a low voice. "I don't want to be alone with Aunt Di any longer."

"Why?" asked Beryl.

"I don't know what has come over her. She has been dreadfully cross and miserable, crying and moaning half the way. We had the carriage to ourselves, and I wished we had not, for she quite frightened me. She won't say what is wrong, and she will hardly let me speak to her."

"What made her give up going abroad?"

"I don't know in the least. She says she is too nervous, but I don't believe it is really that. She went away alone to see somebody in London, and when she came back, she told me quite suddenly that she had changed her mind. It was frightfully disappointing, and she was angry with me for crying."

Beryl was glad Pearl did not know that she too had cried. She felt rather ashamed at the recollection.

"Of course it doesn't matter to you, but it is 'frightfully' disappointing to me," repeated Pearl, heaving a sigh, and looking both very pretty and very doleful.

"Yes; I don't wonder you are sorry," said Beryl.

They made their way into the drawing-room, where Mrs. Fenwick was seated in an arm-chair, haggard and troubled in appearance.

"What are you both dawdling about?" she demanded, sharply. "I want my tea at once, for I could not eat a morsel at dinner. What have you in the house, Beryl? Cold mutton! I can't touch that. Pearson ought to have known better. Eggs! No. If there were a little cold chicken, I could manage it. I am so sick and exhausted, I must have something. Mutton, indeed! It really is too bad. As if nobody in the house knew anything of my tastes!"

"Cook has made a little dish of mince, ma'am," said Pearson, standing in the doorway. "She thought you might perhaps like it, if you came by this train."

"I hate mince," Diana asserted. "But you must bring it up, if there is nothing else. And be quick, pray. One of you two can make tea."

"Beryl," Pearl said indolently.

Beryl moved to obey, feeling somewhat flattered, and Pearl accompanied her into the dining-room.

"I can't stay alone with Aunt Di," she said, by way of explanation, and she dropped into an easy-chair. "O dear, I am so tired. Put a spoonful for each, and two extra ones, Beryl. We always do. Aunt Di likes it strong."

"Won't she want you, Pearl?"

"O no, I don't suppose she will care. I really can't stand the way she goes on."

"What way?"

"You will see, fast enough."

Beryl's perplexity increased, but she asked no more questions. Her staid common-sense, and her habit of avoiding needless remarks, were of good service to her. She made tea, and put the cosy over the teapot, her thoughts flying to the dear friends over the way. Beryl had to combat a strong desire to be there.

Tea at Miss Carmichael's was a very cheery and chatty meal. Beryl could not but note the difference here. She could herself join in conversation started by others, and was able to enjoy it, but she had small power to originate remarks, and seldom at any time spoke unless addressed. Pearl sat listlessly silent, refusing to eat. Diana tried a scrap of everything on the table in turn, only to grumble at each. She found the butter to be salt, the bread to be underbaked, the mince to be burnt, the cake to be heavy. Beryl dared not answer her complaints, and Pearl paid no attention to them.

"What a pair of dummies you are," Diana said at length, in a dissatisfied voice.

"There is nothing to talk about," said Pearl, yawning. "I wish I could go to bed."

"You may go as soon as you like, for all that I care," said Diana tartly. And she led the way to the drawing-room, saying, when there, "So you were confirmed, Beryl."

"Yes," Beryl answered.

"How did it go off?"

Beryl wore her perplexed look. "It!" she repeated.

"The Confirmation, of course. What else do you suppose I mean? Don't pretend to be more stupid than you are."

"It went off—" Beryl began, and came to a pause.

"Well?" said Diana.

"Nicely," said Beryl.

"What did the candidates wear? Veils, chiefly?—Or caps?"

"I had a cap," said Beryl.

"Did most of them wear caps?"

"I don't know. Some had veils; but I tried not to see," Beryl answered.

"You may as well try the other way in future. I don't see the good of having eyes, if one doesn't use them."

"But at such a time—" said Beryl.

Diana mimicked the words, with a sound of inquiry at the end.

Beryl was silent.

"At such a time! Well? Go on," said Diana.

"I don't want to say any more."

"Pray do. I've no doubt I should find it edifying," said Diana. "Anything better than to be left to hear the clock ticking. You have been in an atmosphere of preaching the last week, and I must expect a few discourses to be handed on for my benefit. I dare say you will manage to curtail them a little. Oh!"

Beryl could not think what had startled Diana. She flushed up, then turned pale, and trembled. Pearl, sitting on the sofa corner near the fire-place, made an uneasy movement, and the fire-irons slightly rattled.

"Pearl! I can't stand that. Do stop fidgeting. You make me so fearfully nervous."

Nervous she evidently was, and even the inexperienced Beryl could not but perceive it. Diana might have recovered herself, but at that moment, the postman's rap sounded sharply at the front door. Diana not only started again, but fairly shrieked.

And Pearl, with an alarmed face, rushed out of the room.

"It is only the post. Are you expecting anything very particular?" asked Beryl, astonished. "Pearl has gone for the letters, and I will see too."

Diana was in an agony of sobs, nearly approaching hysterics.

Beryl went into the passage, and found Pearl hovering near the door, with a scared look.

"Is there a letter for Aunt Di?" asked Beryl.

"I don't know. I haven't looked. Beryl, I wish she wouldn't go on like that. What is the matter?"

"I suppose she is afraid of bad news from somebody," said Beryl, opening the box.

"It isn't that. You don't understand. She was just the same all yesterday. If anybody just tapped at our door, it upset her; and at the station, when the whistle sounded, she quite screamed. I was so ashamed of her. And it does frighten me so. I feel as if I could run away anywhere. Just listen how she is crying."

"I must go back," said Beryl, with a curious pleasure in finding Pearl thus suddenly dependent on herself.

"You can't do any good. I wish you would come with me. It makes me tremble so that I can hardly stand, when she shrieks out in that queer way. We can send Pearson to her."

"I don't think it would be kind to leave her. Hush! She is calling. I must go, Pearl."

Beryl returned hastily. "There is only one letter for you, Aunt Di," she said. "Don't cry so, please."

Diana did not seem to care about the letter. She said beseechingly, "Don't go away; don't leave me!" then dropped the unopened envelope, and buried her face in the sofa cushion.

"May I call Pearson?" asked Beryl.

"No,—no,—nobody. Don't call anybody. And mind, I won't have a word said to Miss Carmichael."

"No," said Beryl.

"Don't go. I can't bear to be left alone," gasped Diana, hearing a movement.

"No; I will stay here," said Beryl, sitting down close to Diana.

What to do next she did not know. Diana kept her face hidden, and moaned repeatedly,—whether from pain or distress, Beryl had no means of guessing. She ventured at length to ask—

"Have you toothache?"

"No," said Diana shortly.

"I thought something must be hurting you," said Beryl.

The only answer to this was a deep sigh. Diana presently sat upright, and sighed again.

"What has become of Pearl?"

"She went away when you called out. I think she was frightened."

"Pearl is a thorough little goose," said Diana scornfully.

"She isn't used—" began Beryl.

"Oh, it isn't being used, or not. I know better. She doesn't like anything that disturbs her peace and comfort. It is all selfishness. Pearl cares for nobody in the world except herself."

Beryl was again much astonished. "Why, Aunt Di," she said, "I thought you were so fond of Pearl."

"There are different kinds of fondness," said Diana. "She is of no use at all when one is ill,—thinks of nothing but her own feelings. If that isn't selfishness, I don't know what is."

The latter assertion was too obviously truth to be contradicted. And Beryl could not venture to make excuse for Pearl, by remarking on the fact, of which she was indeed but dimly conscious, that poor Pearl had been systematically trained into a spirit and habit of self-indulgence.

"Are you ill, Aunt Di?" she asked in her straightforward style, struck with the expression.

"It does not matter whether I am or not," said Diana.

"Miss Carmichael thought you did not look well before you went away, and she seemed sorry," said Beryl, wondering, as soon as the words had escaped her, whether Mrs. Fenwick would be offended. But, on the contrary, she looked rather gratified.

"Yes, I was very much knocked up," she said. "I wanted the change terribly; but really I am too nervous to attempt it just now. And Pearl is no good at all in travelling. She just sits still and expects to have everything managed for her. If I could have afforded to take you too, I dare say I should have found you more useful."

"I like being useful," said Beryl. "Then that is why you did not go abroad?"

The words were rather an assertion than a question, but Diana seemed to take them as a question. A red spot rose in either cheek, and she said sharply, "My reasons are no concern of yours."

Somehow Beryl did not feel angry. "No," she said. "Of course they are not. I didn't mean to ask."

"There are generally more reasons than one for doing a thing," said Diana, going back to her former manner. "How ridiculous of Pearl to stay away all this time!"

Then, after a pause,—"Do pray talk, Beryl. I feel as if I should scream if nothing is said."

Beryl found herself in difficulties. "I don't know what to talk about," she said.

"Anything. I don't care what. Only just talk. I am so fearfully nervous, I really can't sit and listen to the clock. It sends me wild. Tell me about Miss Carmichael, if you like."

"But you don't care for Miss Carmichael," said Beryl.

"That doesn't matter. I don't know that I dislike her. Anyhow, you can tell me about her, can't you?"

"No, I don't think so," said Beryl slowly, with her honest eyes bent on Diana.

"Nothing to tell, after a week there!"

"It isn't that. Of course I could tell a great many things," said Beryl. "But she has been so good to me,—so very very good,—and I love her dearly. And if I told you things—"

"Well! If you did?" said Diana.

"I think you might laugh. I don't mean that there is anything really to laugh at, for there is not," said Beryl. "But you might."

"And if I did?"

"I don't want that. It would make me feel about you as I ought not. I would rather—a great deal—that you should laugh at me," said Beryl, colouring.

"You are a queer girl, if there ever was one," responded Diana. "I am glad to see you can be grateful to some people in the world, at all events."

Beryl could not but understand. She did not meet the remark with silence, as she would have done a few weeks earlier.

"I am grateful to you too," she said, with an effort.

Diana made a sound of incredulity.

"Yes; I know you have done a great deal for me," said Beryl. "But that is quite a different sort of thing. Miss Carmichael loves me."

The dry simplicity of words and manner heightened their effect. If Beryl had spoken with more of passion, Diana would have sneered; but this bare and brief assertion did not lie open to sneers.

"And you mean to say that I do not?" was her reply.

"I don't think you love me, Aunt Di. I always thought you cared for Pearl, until this evening."

"Well, you are making talk now with a vengeance," said Diana. "A particularly good subject for quieting my nerves, I must say." And with a sudden change of voice she broke out, "Loves you! Does anybody really love anybody? It is all a farce, Beryl. People like others for what they can get out of them. That is 'my' experience. People care for you as long as you are young and pretty, or as long as they find you useful, and then they throw you overboard."

"Miss Carmichael would never do that," said Beryl. "I think she would love one more if one were ill."

"Miss Carmichael is like the rest of the world. You don't know what people are. Mind, Beryl, I won't have you tell her I am ill. I don't say I 'am' ill, either."

"No," said Beryl, in her matter-of-fact tone. "But I think you are, Aunt Di."

"Nonsense! Stuff! You don't know anything about it," said Diana, agitated, yet trying to laugh. "I am nervous, and I want change; but I can't have it this year. If Marian were here—"

"Wouldn't Miss Crosbie come, if she knew you really wanted her?" asked Beryl.

"Certainly not," said Diana sharply. "I would not have her on any account. After the way in which she behaved, I will never have her to live with me again,—never. That is quite a settled point. I do not wish to hear anything more about Marian."

Beryl took refuge in silence.

"Of course you don't understand," pursued Diana; "It is not to be expected that you should,—and really I cannot get into an argument now. I am going to try to have a little sleep on the sofa. Just put a shawl over my feet. And tell that little goose to come back. I don't mean to have any more hysterics to-night. I am more likely to sleep if you two are talking. There is nothing I hate like dead silence."

Beryl went immediately to summon Pearl, and gave her a hint as to what was expected. Pearl shrugged her shoulders pettishly, and said, "I am not going to talk just to suit Aunt Di's fancies. I am tired too, and I want to rest."

"But wouldn't you sleep better at night, Pearl, if you didn't sleep now? And you have not told me anything about your week in London."

"Why, you never care to hear about anything that I do," responded Pearl, evidently meaning what she said.

"I thought you never cared to tell me," said Beryl. "I do like to hear—very much."

That set Pearl off; for she dearly liked a sympathetic listener, and she had a good deal pent up in her little mind as to London sights, and more particularly as to shops, dresses, and ribbons. During the first part of the week, Diana had taken her about much, and had largely indulged her taste for buying.

The murmur of voices proved successful, and Diana was soon sleeping soundly. Pearl took a good look to make sure of the fact.

"She won't hear now, Beryl. Yes, it was very nice, until the day when she went away alone,—to pay a visit, she said. That quite changed her. Before that she was always arranging to go somewhere with me, and didn't mind how much she did. Afterwards, she seemed afraid of everything. She said she had a shock to her nerves, but she would not tell me what it was, or let me ask any questions. I think she ought to see a doctor, but I daren't propose it. The least word makes her hysterical."