Chapter II

VISCOUNT CARNELLY was by no means a rich man, and his wife's extravagant tastes made him a poor one. The arrival of his sister was, however, no disadvantage, for the interest of Ida's little fortune amply sufficed to cover all her expenses, and was really of service to her brother.

It suited Lady Carnelly to give a different impression with regard to the girl's coming. She did not say in so many words that Ida was dependent on her brother, whose family, and most of all, his wife, had to exercise self-denial in order to meet this additional claim. But she succeeded in conveying this impression to the minds of many of her acquaintances, partly by what she said, still more by what she left unsaid. No remark of the kind was made in Ida's presence, but the insinuations of her sister-in-law could not be persistently repeated, even under promise of secrecy, without at length coming to the girl's knowledge. Grieved and indignant, she scarcely knew what course to take. She felt inclined to deny that her residence under her brother's roof was at his cost, or that it necessitated self-denial on the part of Lady Carnelly.

"Lindsay has told me more than once," thought she, "that my being here was rather a benefit than otherwise, and said that I almost spent too little on dress and other minor personal matters."

She was about to say this to the gossip who had made her acquainted with her sister-in-law's insinuations, when, catching sight of the eager, curious expression on her face, she restrained herself. With quiet dignity she said,—

"I cannot understand why my private affairs should be discussed in such a manner, even by my brother's wife—if she has indeed spoken of them as you say. I think you must have misunderstood her; but in order to remove the false impression, I will ask my brother—"

Ida could not finish her sentence, for her visitor warmly protested against Lord Carnelly being made acquainted with the matter at all.

"It would perhaps cause some unpleasantness, and one should never do that between husband and wife, my dear Miss Carnelly. Besides, Lady Carnelly did not exactly say you were dependent on your brother, and it was hard on him and herself, but she gave me to understand as much. Perhaps I have gone too far. And, you know, I said you must not repeat what I was going to tell you. It was rather a breach of confidence on my part, but I felt for you, and thought you ought to know."

"I made no promise of secrecy," said Ida.

"No; but you allowed me to go on, and so, I think, it was implied. I would not make mischief amongst members of the same family for the world."

"As if you had not done it already!" thought the girl. But she answered coldly, "Since you took my silence as equivalent to a promise, I will say nothing either to my brother or his wife on the subject. You will excuse me now, please. I am a good deal troubled by what you have told me."

Glad enough to escape, the visitor departed, and Ida was left to grieve and chafe under the knowledge of Lady Carnelly's unkindness and want of straightforwardness, without daring to appeal to her brother.

"Poor Lindsay!" thought she. "I will never be the one to disturb his domestic quiet by any act of mine. He is very fond of his wife, and it is right he should be. But it is hard for me. I was so reckoning on coming, after being so long without a real home, just staying on at school from year to year. I thought Beatrice would be as glad to have me as I should be to come, and that I should find a true sister in her. What can I have done to make her treat me so strangely? And to speak of me amongst these gossiping people as if I were a pensioner on Lindsay's bounty, and robbing his wife! It is too bad, and it is shamefully untrue. Ought I to sit down quietly and bear it?"

Such were Ida's mental cogitations, and as they were drawing to a close she caught sight of her brother and his handsome wife, he looking proud and pleased, she evidently amusing him with some lively talk, whilst two of the little ones played at their feet.

"I will bear as long as I can," was the girl's decision. "I am almost a stranger to Beatrice yet, and I daresay she does not care for having a third person—even Lindsay's sister—so much with them. I will study her likings, and be careful not to intrude too much upon the privacy of husband and wife. I daresay I shall win her affection in time, and when we understand each other better, this matter which has troubled me will, no doubt, be easily cleared up."

Not for a moment did the girl guess that Lady Carnelly could be jealous of her. Ida had not been accustomed to flattery or compliments, living in the quiet atmosphere of a boarding-school, where only a dozen pupils were received. She thought very humbly of herself in comparison with her brilliant sister-in-law, who might have had in this innocent-minded girl a sweet companion and great admirer.

Perhaps, had Lady Carnelly understood the feelings of her young guest, she might have been flattered by Ida's admiration, which was equally simple and genuine. But she never troubled herself to study Ida's character. She judged it by her own, and, long before the girl came from England, made up her mind that in her she would have a rival, whom it would be her business to humiliate. It would, however, be easy enough for her to hold her own against a mere schoolgirl, she thought, and from the very first, whilst preserving an appearance of smiling good humour, this clever woman of the world succeeded in trying Miss Carnelly's patience almost beyond endurance.

Sometimes Lady Carnelly would contrive to make Ida appear ridiculous, at others to sting her to the quick by some trifling remark which had none the less been carefully studied, though seemingly carelessly uttered.

Then, when the girl, whose temper was naturally quick, was driven to retort, or, while remaining silent, had hard work to restrain her tears, Lady Carnelly would profess to soothe her like a petted child. Or, if Ida left the apartment, she would lament the hasty temper which rendered her poor sister-in-law unable to bear the least bit of raillery without flying into a passion.

"I am positively afraid to speak to the child," she would say. "First she flies up in this absurd way, and then makes herself ill by fretting. I am pretty even-tempered myself, or I could not bear with Ida. Being Lord Carnelly's sister, I am naturally most anxious for her to be comfortable, and feel a great delicacy in dealing with her. If she were my own—" And then the speaker would shrug her shoulders, and leave her hearers to guess the rest.

Looking, as she did, indulgence and good humour personified, she always left the impression that she was the injured, worried individual, and Ida the one who was always meeting grievances half-way, and destroying the peace of the household by her childish petulance.

What could her hearers do but condole with her on having such a wilful charge? And then Lady Carnelly would wax pitiful over herself, and sigh and bemoan her responsibility.

"If I were older it would be different, you know. But it is a very serious matter to have the guardianship of a sister-in-law so near one's own age, so ignorant of the ways of society, and yet so self-willed."

Somebody ventured to say, "I thought the colonel was his sister's guardian?"

"In the eye of the law he is, of course. But who does not know that where a girl is question, the lady who has charge of her is the real guardian, on whom rests the great weight of responsibility?"

Lady Carnelly's hearers could hardly help assenting. Did she, however, deceive them? Probably she scarcely expected to do so. Certainly there was one who saw through her actions and divined her motive. This was Dr. Andrew Crawford, who, from the first, had deeply regretted that this innocent, tender young creature should have no more sympathetic female friend about her than Lady Carnelly.

"She can sway most of her immediate intimates," thought Dr. Crawford. "Her position as the wife of a man of title and colonel of the regiment gives her so much influence, of a sort. Both men and women are afraid of offending her, for she is clever into the bargain. I pity the girl, poor thing! Her brother will never see what is going on, and, if I judge Miss Carnelly rightly, she will not be the one to tell."

Lady Carnelly's plan succeeded perfectly, and Ida gradually withdrew herself more and more out of her sister's little world.

Happily for the girl, she was fond of children. A loving nature must have some object on which to lavish its wealth. It cannot even be contented without some measure of self-sacrifice, so Ida made the nursery her frequent refuge. Her brother's two eldest children had been sent to England before she left it, but there were four still at home. In the little ones she found objects to occupy and interest her, and she was more really happy with them than when under the chaperonage of their mother.

Lord Carnelly often urged Ida to accept invitations, but the moment his wife professed to second him, the girl would shrink away, and say, with truth, that she preferred remaining at home. Then Lady Carnelly would laugh, and in a playful tone accuse her of obstinacy.

"She will have her own way, Lindsay," she would say. "If I ask Ida to do a thing, that is quite enough to make her choose the opposite course. You are apt to fancy that it is my fault your sister stays so much at home, but I hope you now see for yourself that such is not the case."

Before the sentence was finished, Ida would be out of hearing.

On one of these occasions Lord Carnelly looked regretfully after her retreating figure, and said, "How much the child is altered! She used to be considered so very sweet-tempered. In fact, if anything, too easily swayed, particularly by those whom she loved, or any one who was kind to her. School life and discipline often alter girls, especially if those in authority do not study the dispositions of their pupils. Ida always seemed happy at school, and whilst she reckoned on being with us here, she left her teachers with great regret."

"Girls may be changed during their school-days, but I presume they are sent to school in order that they may alter for the better. You seem to insinuate that if Ida has changed, it must be for the worse, seeing she was so very amiable before," replied Lady Carnelly, with ill-concealed scorn.

"I did not mean to convey such an idea, Beatrice; I only tried to recall to mind what my sister was as a child, and to account for the great difference you seem to find in her. I am sorry, dear, that she should be a cause of annoyance and anxiety to you."

"I suppose it must be because I have not been kind enough to Ida, or else that I have not yet had time to make myself sufficiently acquainted with her disposition to manage her properly. But she is the first grown-up baby with whom I have had to do."

"Are you not rather hard on Ida?" asked Lord Carnelly, his face showing how much he was pained by his wife's words.

"Hard! I think few girls have so much freedom as your sister enjoys, and probably that is one reason why she appreciates her position so little. Coming here straight from school life, she cannot complain of undue restraint. She is invited wherever I am, and has the option of refusing or accepting, as she may think proper. She has the position of an independent woman, though only a girl. And on the other hand, if the least thing puts her out, she acts like a perfect child. The fact is, she has too much indulgence, too many good things."

"I do not think she avails herself of her opportunities to any unreasonable extent. On the contrary, she refuses two out of every three invitations."

"Precisely so. Like a child again, Ida scarcely knows what she wants. Too many sweets spoil the appetite, and the provoking part is, that the girl refuses most of the invitations which any on but herself would consider it a privilege to accept. She will offend the very people who are inclined for our sakes to show her special kindness. Ida never thinks of yielding to my advice in such matters. But it is only what might be expected. I always told you, Lindsay, that I was not old enough to take charge of a grown-up girl like Ida. It is a pity you did not place her in the hands of some family connection, and let her remain in England."

There was no near relative to whom Ida could have been entrusted, and Lady Carnelly knew it. A loving woman would never have uttered such a suggestion when there were but the brother and sister near of kin, truly attached to each other, and wishing to be together.

Her husband, however, took a humorous view of these last words, and with a hearty laugh, inquired whether she thought a residence with two ancient maiden great-aunts—the only persons whom he could call to mind at the moment—would have been quite to the taste of a girl like Ida.

"You always turn things into ridicule, Lindsay. How do I know what would have suited your sister? Perhaps the great-aunts might have known better what to do with her than I do. She is not satisfied here, where her circumstances are so different. However, I shall not make myself miserable about the whims of a girl who does not know when she is well off."

Without waiting for a reply, the speaker left the apartment and her husband.

Lord Carnelly pondered, and hardly knew what to say or do. To him, Ida seemed only improved since those early days when she had been the pet and darling of her grown-up brother and their parents. To himself she was always most affectionate. When in his presence she readily agreed to any reasonable wish, and to the children she was at all times loving and tender. Indeed, her sweetness and patience towards the little people touched the heart of the loving father, and tightened the bond between him and his sister. Surely she could not be so very different when out of his sight!

Lord Carnelly, after much cogitation, came to the conclusion that it was often difficult for two ladies, however individually lovable, to agree together, and he trusted that time would smooth differences, and make his wife and sister better friends.

When Lady Carnelly re-entered the room, he spoke soothingly to her, and tried to take the peacemaker's part.

"I am sure," he said, "you are both kind and very indulgent to Ida. You wish to make her happy, but perhaps, owing to your surroundings and hers having long been different, you scarcely understand each other. You will be patient with her for my sake as well as her own, will you not, Beatrice? I have wife and children as well as my sister. Ida has only her brother, until she learns that in you she has a sister also."

Lord Carnelly did not see the look of good-humoured contempt on his wife's face, for it was turned away, but at this moment the subject of the conversation entered.

"Have you decided to go with me, after all?" asked Lady Carnelly, who was in evening dress and prepared for a visit.

"No, thank you, Beatrice; I prefer remaining at home," replied Ida.

Lady Carnelly glanced significantly at her husband, as if to say, "You see for yourself." Then, answering Ida, she said, "Take your own way, my dear. I wished you to come, and wasted a great many words in trying to persuade you. But no one shall say that you make a martyr of yourself to please me."

Then with a light laugh the speaker went off to keep her engagement.