Chapter IV: Diana's New Pet

"THE sweetest little creature imaginable,—charming in every respect," Diana Fenwick declared next morning, as she sat sipping her coffee, Marian somewhat grimly knitting a sock at the further end of the oval table. Marian was the very soul of punctuality, while Diana was rarely in time for anything, least of all for breakfast. The two sisters seldom had the meal actually together; but Marian was always expected to remain in her seat until Diana had finished. The younger sister liked a listener.

"Absolutely charming," she repeated. "A perfect little lady in her manners, with lovely hair and hands,—the very child I would pick out from among ten thousand to adopt as my own. Mrs. Dixon thinks her remarkably like me,—" and Diana broke into a silvery laugh. "Droll that she should be so, where there is no relationship. But really I could not help being aware of a sort of likeness. One does find it sometimes unexpectedly, even between strangers. People might take us for mother and daughter, if I could only contrive to look a little older. As it is, I suppose we are more likely to pass for sisters. I have the greatest mind in the world to make the pet call me 'Di.'"

Marian opened her lips, and shut them again.

"In which case, would you be willing that she should call you 'Marian?'"

"Certainly not," Marian said decisively.

"Ah—so I expected. You like to stand upon your dignities. Well, perhaps I may submit to be 'Auntie Di.' I'll think it over. Aunts and nieces are often near in age."

"You are more than twice as old as Pearl Fordyce."

"Twelve years older;—yes, she is eleven, though she does not look it. There is often more difference between the oldest and youngest members of a large family."

Marian could not gainsay the assertion. "I think you will be wise to keep your position of authority with the children," she said. "And it is not a question of Pearl only."

"Ah," and Diana sighed profoundly. "If only there were not that unfortunate Beryl as an appendage. A great awkward ill-mannered child. I declare I don't in the least know what to do with her."

"It seems to me that Beryl is the most to be pitied."

"It seems to me that 'I' am the most to be pitied." Marian thought of her own very similar words to Millicent a day or two earlier, and was amused. "There is nothing to laugh at," Diana said rather tartly, misunderstanding her expression. "You are taking good care to shirk trouble for yourself in the matter, fixing to go away the very day after they come, the very time when I shall need you most of all."

"I have my reasons, Di."

"Of course. Everybody has reasons for everything," said Mrs. Fenwick petulantly. "I don't see what that has to do with the matter. If you had the very least consideration for me, you would not dream of such an arrangement. If you were to be at home, I could just put Beryl into your hands for training. You could undertake her, if any one could. I don't know what else to do with the child—tiresome little thing."

"I could not train one child without training both," said Marian gravely. "It will never answer to make differences between the two."

"You are not so unreasonable as to expect me to like them equally, I hope? Pearl is the most winning little pet that ever lived, and I shall perfectly adore her. Beryl has to be put up with, I suppose. But as for 'liking' such a child—why, I assure you, Mrs. Dixon told me plainly that no one ever could care for her. I was positively startled at her description of Beryl's ways. A most unbearable temper, and never a sign of sorrow for naughtiness."

"Is the old woman's account entirely reliable? There may have been some little temper on her part as well as on Beryl's."

"Oh, I don't believe it! A most pleasant superior old servant, quite one of the old-fashioned type. The children are beautifully kept, and she has evidently devoted herself to them. She spoke in quite a grieved way about Beryl—showed very nice feeling, I thought. But the child carries her faults in her face. A regularly sulky look."

"Better that, perhaps, than to have all the good outside, and all the evil below."

"Oh, you—you like ugly faces, and abhor pretty ways. You won't half appreciate my sweet little Pearl, I know beforehand. But you and I never think alike about anything. I can't endure clumsy plain people; they always repel me. And Beryl is more than plain, she is downright ugly. She has not a single redeeming point in the way of either feature or expression."

"Plain people are as God made them," Marian said calmly.

"Everybody knows that," Diana answered, with some curtness. "You might say just the same, I suppose, about slugs and toads."

"You cannot speak of the two together, Di," Marian answered, with a stir in her quiet face. "Slugs and toads have their hidden beauties, no doubt,—but 'they' were not made in the likeness of God."

"You always have the queerest way of putting things!" said Diana. "What horrid coffee it is this morning."

"Waiting too long."

"I shall have some fresh made. It is simply undrinkable. Just ring the bell, please. Thanks—you are nearest, and really I am so tired with yesterday's journey—but as for Beryl, I must consider. I have not at all made up my mind to keep her at home. If she is troublesome, she must go to school."

"You would not separate the two?"

"Certainly I would, if it seems advisable. Why not? Hundreds of sisters are separated every day. I was separated from you and Millie, when I went to school. Pearl is too delicate for school life, and I have set my heart on having her always with me. But for Beryl, I really begin to think that it would be the right and reasonable plan. The idea is quite a relief to my mind. In fact, I don't see what else is to be done, now you will be so long absent. I cannot undertake to subdue such a temper. She would simply wear me out. But happily, I am free to please myself in the matter. I am accountable to no one. It is a matter of pure kindness, my taking up the children at all. No one can say it is incumbent on me."

"How would you afford the expense?" asked Marian, checking one remark after another which rose to her lips. "That would cost more than having the two children here together."

"I don't think so. I don't see why it should. Of course I should not choose an expensive school, but I heard of one lately that might do nicely."

"Where?"

"In Bath."

"Not the one Mrs. Ellis mentioned!"

"Mrs. Brigstock,—yes. That is not the first time I have heard of her. She is just the person to manage a headstrong child like Beryl, and the terms are low. Of course I cannot afford to put her to a first-rate finishing school, and it would be absurd too. I don't think I will have fresh coffee, after all," Diana said, rising, with a manifest wish to close the discussion. "Pearson has not answered the bell, and really I have no time to lose. She can clear away the things when she comes. I am going out almost immediately to choose some chintz for the curtains in Pearl's room."

Marian attempted no response.

Preparations for the reception of the children,—perhaps it would be more correct to say "of the child,"—went on vigorously. Diana threw herself into the work with quite a fatiguing amount of energy. Pearl was to sleep in a small room opening into her own, and Beryl in another small room exactly over Pearl's, equal as to size but inferior as to everything else. Marian protested in vain against this arrangement.

"It would never do to banish that little frail creature to the attics," Mrs. Fenwick replied decisively. "It would have been positively cruel. A great rough child like Beryl would do well enough anywhere; and a room large enough for the two could not possibly be spared on the first floor: so no other plan was possible. Marian 'must' see that it was so."

Marian did not see, but she ceased to oppose, knowing that opposition, as a rule, only strengthened Diana in her resolution.

At six o'clock on Tuesday, the pretty little widow, in a black evening dress of semi-transparent texture and fashionable make, with a faint suggestion of a lace cap on her head, and fair hair rippling below in uncontrollable waves—possibly Diana did not try to control them—stood in the bay-window of the drawing-room, awaiting the children's arrival.

"Here they are!" she cried ecstatically to her sober sister, and she rushed into the narrow strip of front garden, to receive Pearl in her arms.

Marian kept her seat until they entered, Diana tripping in an excited style, leading a pretty child in mourning; while another child, older, darker, and in look moody, followed after. And in the background, an old woman of eminently respectable appearance stood curtsying.

"Here they are, Marian. Here is my precious little Pearl. Isn't she a picture, the darling? Eleven years old, but nobody would dream that she was more than nine. Now do look at her. Don't you see just a grain of likeness to me? Odd, under the circumstances, but really it exists."

"You both have bluish eyes. So have a great many people," said Marian indifferently.

"You pre-Raffaelite creature! Bluish, indeed! But kiss her,—you 'must' kiss her, Marian."

"Pearl is not the eldest," said Marian. She touched Beryl's cheek first with her lips, and then Pearl's.

"Mrs. Dixon, you will like a cup of tea," called Diana gaily. "Pray have it. I think you said your train did not go for an hour. Pearson will take you into the kitchen. Give Mrs. Dixon a good-bye kiss, my little Pearl. Why, what is the matter now?"

For Beryl, with a sudden sensation of utter friendlessness, had seized Dixon's arm, and was holding it in a vice-like clasp.

"What now?" repeated Diana, caressing Pearl, who had obediently given the kiss and returned to her side. "What do you want?"—And she looked at Beryl with displeasure.

"Don't go!" was all that Beryl seemed able to utter.

Dixon was highly flattered. She had never liked Beryl till that moment, but in her sudden gratification, she became quite affectionate. She was well aware that Beryl's involuntary movement would speak well for herself in the ladies' eyes.

"There now, Miss Beryl, don't you worry, my dear, don't you! It's the nicest house you've come to, and the kindest lady as ever was, and no mistake, and you'll be as happy as the day is long. Don't you go for to fret now, for there's no need. Children can't abear losing them as has been good to 'em," Dixon said apologetically to Mrs. Fenwick and Miss Crosbie—"but she'll be all right. Don't you worry, Miss Beryl, my dear. She's got a warm heart you see, ma'am, and I always do say it. And she's going to be a good girl, too, ain't you, Miss Beryl? Now, my dear, you mustn't fret, and hinder, and you've got to let me go, you know."

Beryl was not fretting audibly. She shed no tears; but a forlorn and scared look had come into her eyes, and her clutch did not loosen. Diana looked appealingly at her sister, and Marian advanced.

"Come, Beryl," she said, "you want something to eat after your journey, and so does Pearl. You must not keep Mrs. Dixon, or she will have no time for a cup of tea. We are going now into the dining-room. Come."

She laid her quiet firm hands on Beryl's fingers, and loosened their grasp. Beryl did not resist; she only made a catch at Dixon's other arm, which Dixon was quick enough to evade. Marian took both Beryl's hands into her own keeping, and led Beryl out of the room, Diana and Pearl following.

"I don't want Dixon to go," broke from Beryl's lips.

"I dare say you are very fond of her. She is a faithful old servant."

"O no, I'm not fond of her," said Beryl. "Only there is nobody else."

Marian was rather perplexed. She made Beryl remove hat and jacket, and sit down at the table, and then supplied her plate liberally, while Diana hovered and fluttered around Pearl. Beryl's distress did not prevent her from making a hearty meal. Pearl's appetite always failed her under excitement, and Diana coaxed in vain.

"Do let the child alone, Di," Marian said at length. "She only wants a night's rest."

"She shall go to bed directly, but she must eat something first. Could my pet manage a bantam-egg so delicately boiled? Or a little bit of cheesecake pudding?"

Children, as a rule, respond readily to the spoiling process. Dixon had never encouraged fancies over food, but Pearl had a natural tendency towards fastidiousness in eating, and she saw at once that something was to be gained by making a little fuss. So, with a sweet plaintive smile, she did not think she could manage this, and she thought perhaps she might try that. And Mrs. Fenwick hurried the servant to and fro; and finally the egg and the helping of pudding were both disposed of. Beryl looked up wonderingly from time to time.

"And now my pet must go to bed, and wake up quite rested in the morning," Diana said at length. "I am going to put you to bed myself, Pearlie, and you are to have a wee room of your own, quite close to mine. You will like that, I know."

"Shall Beryl and I sleep there together?" asked Pearl.

"No. The room is not large enough for two. Beryl will have another room over yours, just the same size."

Beryl dropped a slice of cake, and looked dismayed. "But Pearl and I always sleep in one room," she said. "I couldn't do without Pearl."

"You will do as I choose," said Mrs. Fenwick, not unkindly, but quite decisively; "and Pearl does not mind."

"Pearl—don't you?" asked Beryl, in an indescribable passion of hope and fear, as if staking her life's happiness on the answer. "'Don't' you, Pearl?"

"You will like to have a little room all to yourself, and close to mine, will you not, my darling?" asked Diana.

"Yes, very much," Pearl said, without hesitation.

"You will be quite happy sleeping so, with Beryl overhead?"

"O yes, quite," said Pearl serenely; "because you are so kind. And I like a little room of my own—I can keep it so tidy. And I shall have Beryl all day, and of course we couldn't play at night."

"Quite true and sensible, you dear little thing. Come along, my darling. I want to have these pale cheeks on the pillow. Say good-night to Beryl."

Beryl's face was dark with some overmastering emotion. When Pearl came smilingly near, she straightway turned her back, and declined the offered kiss.

"Shocking! What a fearful temper!" Mrs. Fenwick exclaimed, with a shudder. "Really, Beryl, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. Never mind, Pearl darling—don't distress yourself. Come with me, and leave that naughty child alone. You see how it is, Marian—just what Mrs. Dixon led me to expect. I am sure I wish with all my heart that you were not going to-morrow. But this evening, at all events, I suppose you can undertake Beryl."

The two disappeared, embracing as they went. Beryl sat perfectly still, her hands knotted together till the pink flesh grew white with pressure, and her eyes fixed on the table.

"Don't you want to finish your cake?" asked Marian.

"No," said Beryl gruffly.

Marian had had little to do with children, and hardly knew how to meet Beryl's mood. She said, after a pause—"I am sorry to see you vexed with Pearl. The matter is not worth so much feeling. Pearl is a little girl, and she naturally likes change."

Beryl did not speak.

"I think you must be tired, as well as Pearl," said Marian. "It would be better for you to go to bed early, and you will wake up quite fresh to-morrow."

Silence still.

"Suppose I show you the way to your room. I dare say you have some things to unpack."

"They're with—Pearl's." A gulp came between the words. Beryl had ardently pre-pictured her own usefulness in unpacking and in attending to Pearl's needs.

"Then my sister will see to them, no doubt. Would you rather go to bed at once, Beryl, or will you come to my room and help me to pack? I am leaving to-morrow for a time. You must be a good child while I am gone, and try to fit into your new home."

Beryl gave a startled glance. "Won't there be anybody here except—except—her?" she gasped.

"Except Mrs. Fenwick. By the bye, you have to call her 'Aunt Di.'"

"She isn't my aunt."

"Not in reality; but her husband was your uncle by marriage, and she is doing as much for you as any aunt could do. You must be grateful, Beryl."

Beryl looked anything but grateful.

"My other sister lives near—Mrs. Cumming," pursued Marian. "She has two nice boys, rather older than yourself, and you will often see them."

"They won't like me," said Beryl shortly.

"Why not?"

"Nobody does."

Marian secretly feared there might be some truth in the assertion. She was sorry for Beryl, but certainly she did not find her attractive.

"Which shall it be?" she asked again. "To bed or to my room?"

"I don't care."

"Then I think bed will be best for you."

Beryl submitted with an uninterested air. She made no remark whatever about the little room. It had a somewhat bare appearance, especially when compared with Pearl's, which Beryl had not yet seen. Marian brought all that she needed for the night, and remarked, "Your little sister is quite comfortable. I hope she will soon be asleep."

"Doesn't Pearl—want—me?" asked Beryl, with a singular expression.

"My sister wishes her to be quiet this evening," said Marian evasively. "Do you need anything else, Beryl? Dixon says you are accustomed to manage for yourself. By the bye, I see you have only one Bible between you, and that is downstairs. I have brought a Testament of my own, which you can use. I hope you read a few verses every morning and evening."

Beryl kept silence.

"Make haste into bed," Marian said kindly. "Good-night, Beryl. You shall be called in time for breakfast." But she had to leave without a response.

Beryl's whole look changed then. She threw herself down on the ground, and hid her face in the bed. "O Pearl—Pearl—Pearl!" she moaned, in a passion of distress. "O Pearl, dear little Pearl, papa told me to take care of you—and I would, indeed I would—and now I can't. O Pearl, I've nobody else, nobody but you—and she's going to take you from me."