'Oh! Jenny, you good old Brownie, have you? How I should like to look at them again and show them the Gillian and Mysie. Do you remember the little scalloped line we drew round all the true knights?'

'Ay! and where would have been all your romancing about Sir Maurice de Mohun, the pride of his name? For my part, I much prefer a cavalier dead two hundred years ago as the object of a girl's enthusiasm--if enthusiasm she must have--to the existing lieutenant, or even curate.'

'Certainly; I should be sorry to have been bred up to history with individual interest and romance squeezed out of it. You see when Jasper came home from the Crimea he exactly continued mine.'

'You have fulfilled your ideal better than falls to the lot of most people, even to the item of knighthood.'

'Ah! you should have heard us grumble over the expense of it. And, after all, I dare say Sir Maurice found his knight's fee quite as inconvenient! Oh!' with a start, 'there's the first bell, and here have I been dawdling here instead of minding my business! But it is so nice to have you! I day, Jenny, we will have one of our good old games at threadpaper verses and all the rest tonight. I want you to show the children how we used to play at them.'

And the party played at paper games for nearly two hours that evening, to the extreme delight of Gillian, Mysie, and Harry, to say nothing of their mother and aunts, who played with all their might, even Aunt Adeline lighting up into droll, quiet humour. Only Dolores was first bewildered, then believed herself affronted, and soon gave up altogether, wondering that grown-up people could be so foolish.

CHAPTER VII. -- G.F.S.

The first thought of Dolores was that she should see Constance Hacket, when she heard 'Hurrah for a holiday!' resounding over the house.

As she came out of her room Mysie met her. 'Hurrah! Aunt Jane has got us a holiday that we may help get ready for the G.F.S.! Mamma has sent down notes to Miss Vincent and Mr. Pollock. Oh! jolly, jolly!'

And, obvious of past offences, Mysie caught her cousin's arms, and whirled her round and round in an exulting dance, extremely unpleasant to so quiet a personage. 'Don't!' she cried. 'You hurt! You make me dizzy!'

'My certie, Miss Mysie!' exclaimed Mrs. Halfpenny at the same time, 'ye're daft! Gae doon canny, and keep your ap.r.o.n on, for if I see a stain on that clean dress--'

Mysie hopped downstairs without waiting to hear the terrible consequences.'

Aunt Adeline did not come down to breakfast, but Aunt Jane appeared, fresh and glowing, just in time for prayers, having been with Gillian and Harry to survey the scene of operations, and to judge of the day, which threatened showers, the gra.s.s being dank and sparkling with something more than September dews.

'The tables must be in the coach-house,' said Lady Merrifield. 'Happily, our equipages are not on a large scale, and we must not get the poor girls' best things drenched.'

'No; and it is rather disheartening to have to address double ranks of umbrellas,' said Aunt Jane. 'Is the post come?'

'It is always infamously late here,' said Harry. 'We complained, as the appointed hour is eight, but we were told 'all the other ladies were satisfied.' I do believe they think no one not in business has a right to wish for letters before nine.'

'Here it comes, though,' said Gillian; and in due time the locked letter-bag was delivered to Lady Merrifield, and Primrose waited eagerly to act as postman.

It was not the day for the Indian mail, but Aunt Jane expected some last directions, and Lady Merrifield the final intelligence as to the numbers of each contingent of girls. Dolores was on the qui vive for a letter from Maude Sefton, and devoured her aunt and the bag with her eyes. She was quite sure that among the bundle of post-cards that were taken out there was a letter. Also she saw her aunt give a little start, and put it aside, and when she demanded. 'Is there no letter for me?' Lady Merrifield's answer was,' None, my dear, from Miss Sefton.'

Hot indignation glowed in Dolores's cheeks and eyes, more especially as she perceived a look pa.s.s between the two aunts. She sat swelling while talk about the chances of rain was pa.s.sing round her, the forecasts in the paper, the cats washing their faces, the swallows flying low, the upshot being that it might be fine, but that emergencies were to be prepared for. All the time that Lady Merrifield was giving orders to children and servants for the preparations, Dolores kept her station, and the instant there was a vacant moment, she said fiercely--

'Aunt Lilias, I know there is a letter for me. Let me have it.'

'Your father told me you might have letter from Miss Sefton, and there is none from her,' said Lady Merrifield, with a somewhat perplexed air.

'I may have letters from whom I choose.'

'My dear, that is not the custom in general with girls of your age, and I know your father would not wish it. Tell me, is there any one you have reason to expect to hear from?'

Dolores had an instinct that all the Mohuns were set against the person she was thinking of, but she had an answer ready, true, but which would serve her purpose.

'There was a person, Herr Muhlwausser, that father ordered some scientific plates from--of microscopic zoophytes. He said he did not know whether anything would come of it, but, in case it should, he gave my address, and left me a cheque to pay him with. I have it in my desk upstairs.'

'Very well, my dear,' said Lady Merrifield, 'you shall have the letter when it comes.'

'The men are come, my lady, to put up the tables. Miss Mohun says will you come down?' came the information at that moment, sweeping away Aunt Lilias and everybody else into the whirl of preparation; while Dolores remained, feeling absolutely certain that a letter was being withheld from her, and she stood on the garden steps burning with hot indignation, when Mysie, armed with the key of the linen-press, flashed past her breathlessly, exclaiming--

'Aren't you coming down, Dolly? 'Tis such fun! I'm come for some table-cloths.'

This didn't stir Dolores, but presently Mysie returned again, followed by Mrs. Halfpenny, grumbling that 'A' the bonnie napery that she had packed and carried sae mony miles by sea and land should be waured on a wheen silly f.e.c.kless taupies that 'tis the leddies' wull to c.o.c.ker up till not a la.s.s of 'em will do a stroke of wark, nor gie a ceevil answer to her elders.'

Mysie, with a bundle of damask cloths under her arm, paused to repeat, 'Are you not coming Dolly? Your dear Miss Constance is there looking for you?'

This did move Dolores, and she followed to the coach-house, where everybody was buzzing about like bees, the tables and forms being arranged, and upon them dishes with piles of fruit and cakes, contributions from other a.s.sociates. All the vases, great and small, were brought out, and raids were made on the flower garden to fill them.

Little scarlet flags, with the name of each parish in white, were placed to direct the parties of guests to their places, and Harry, Macrae, and the little groom were adorning the beams with festoons. The men from the coffee-tavern supplied the essentials, but the ladies undertook the decoration, and Aunt Adeline, in a basket-chair, with her feet on a box, directed the ornamentation with great taste and ability. Constance Hacket had been told off to make up a little bouquet to lay beside each plate, and Dolores volunteered to help her.

'Well, dearest, will you come to me on Sunday?'

'I don't know. I have not been able to ask Aunt Lilias yet, and Gillian was very cross about it.'

'What did she say?'

'She said she did not think Aunt Lilias approved of visiting and gossiping on Sunday.'

'Oh! now. What does Gillian do herself?' said Constance in a hurt voice.

'She does come and teach, certainly, but she stays ever so long talking after the cla.s.s is over. Why should we gossip more than she does?'

'Yes; but people's own children can do no wrong.'

There Constance became inattentive. Mr. Poulter had come up, and wanted to be useful, so she jumped up with a handful of nosegays to instruct him in laying them by each plate, leaving Dolores to herself, which she found dull. The other two, however, came back again, and the work continued, but the talk was entirely between the gentleman and lady, chiefly about music for the choral society, and the voices of the singers, about which Dolores neither knew nor cared.

By one o'clock the long tables were a pretty sight, covered with piles of fruit and cakes, vases of flowers and little flags, establishments of teacups at intervals, and a bouquet and pretty card at every one of the plates.

Then came early dinner at the house, and such rest as could be had after it, till the pony-chaise, waggonette, and Mrs. Blackburne's carriage came to the door to convey to church all whom they could carry, the rest walking.

The church was a sea of neat round hats, mostly black, with a considerable proportion of feathers, tufts, and flowers. On their dark dresses were pinned rosettes of different-coloured ribbon, to show to which parish they belonged. There was a bright, short service, in which the clear, high voices of the mult.i.tudinous maidens quite overcame those of the choir boys, and then an address, respecting which Constance p.r.o.nounced that 'Canon Fremont was always so sweet,' and Dolores a.s.sented, without in the least knowing what it had been about.

Constance, who had driven down, was to have kept guard, in the walk from church, over the white-rosed Silverton detachment; but another shower was impending, and Miss Hacket, declaring that Conny must not get wet, rushed up and packed her into the waggonette, where Dolores was climbing after, when at a touch from Gillian, Lady Merrifield looked round.

'Dolores,' she said, 'you forget that Miss Hacket walked to church.'

Dolores turned on the step, her face looking as black as thunder, and Miss Hacket protested that she was not tired, and could not leave her girls.

'Never mind the girls, I will look after them; I meant to walk. Don't stand on the step. Come down,' she added sharply, but not in time, for the horses gave a jerk, and, with a scream from Constance, down tumbled Dolores, or would have tumbled, but that she was caught between her aunt and Miss Hacket, who with one voice admonished her never to do that again, for there was nothing more dangerous. Indeed, there was more anger in Lady Merrifield's tone than her niece had yet heard, and as there was no making out that there was the least injury to the girl, she was forced to walk home, in spite of all Miss Hacket's protestations and refusals, which had nearly ended in her exposing herself to the same peril as Dolores, only that Lady Merrifield fairly pushed her in and shut the door on her. Nothing would have compensated to Dolores but that her Constance should have jumped out to accompany her and bewail her aunt's cruelty, but devotion did not reach to such an extent. Her aunt, however, said in a tone that might be either apology or reproof--

'My dear, I could not let poor Miss Hacket walk after all she has done and with all she has to do today.'