A Young Mutineer Part 13

"Who cares for Mrs. Milward! Look here, mother, suppose _you_ pay the calls and let me go and see Hilda. I have a good deal I want to talk over with her; for one thing, I want to say something about Judy."

"Poor, queer little Judy," said Mrs. Anstruther with a laugh. "What can you possibly have to say about her?"

"I don't think Judy is at all well," said Mildred. "There is such a thing as dying of heart-hunger. If ever a child suffered from that old-fas.h.i.+oned complaint, it is that poor mite at Little Staunton Rectory."

"My dear Mildred, you get more absurd every day. Judy lives in a most comfortable home, for notwithstanding their poverty, old Aunt Marjorie manages to keep everything going in really respectable style. The child has a loving father, a devoted aunt, a dear little sister, and an excellent governess, and you talk of her dying of heart-hunger! It is absurd."

"Nevertheless," said Mildred,--she stopped abruptly, her bright eyes looked across the room and out through the open window,--"nevertheless,"

she said, giving her foot an impatient tap, "I should like to see Hilda.

I should like to have a long talk with her. I have heard nothing about her since her wedding, so by your leave, mother, I'll drive over to West Kensington immediately after lunch and send the victoria back for you."

Mrs. Anstruther, who was always more or less like wax in the hands of her strong-minded daughter, was obliged somewhat unwillingly to submit to this arrangement; and Mildred, charmingly dressed and looking young and lovely, was bowled rapidly away in the direction of Hilda Quentyns'

humble home soon after two o'clock.

"It will be pleasant to take the poor old dear by surprise," said Mildred to herself. "There was a time when I felt jealous of her good fortune in having secured Jasper Quentyns, but, thank goodness, I have quite got over the a.s.saults of the green-eyed monster now. Ah, here we are. What a queer little street!--what frightfully new and yet picturesque houses! They look like dove-cotes. I wonder if this pair of turtle-doves coo in their nest all day long."

The footman jumped down and rang the doorbell. In a moment a neatly-dressed but very young looking servant stood in the open doorway.

"Yes, Mrs. Quentyns was at home," she said, and Mildred entered Hilda's pretty house.

She went into the drawing room, and stood somewhat impatiently waiting for her hostess to appear. The little room was furnished with an eye to artistic effect, the walls were decorated with good taste. The furniture was new, as well as pretty. One beautiful photogravure from Burne Jones'

"Wheel of Fortune" was hung over the mantelpiece. Hilda and Quentyns, faithfully represented by an Italian photographer, stood side by side in a little frame on one of the brackets. Mildred felt herself drawing one or two heavy sighs.

"I don't know what there is about this little room, but I like it," she murmured; "nay, more, I love it. I can fancy good people inhabiting it.

I am quite certain that Love has not yet flown out of the window. I am quite sure, too, of another thing, that even if Poverty does come in at this door, Love will remain. Oh, silly Hilda, what have you to do with the 'Wheel of Fortune'? your position is a.s.sured; you dwell safely enthroned in the heart of a good man. Oh, happy Hilda!"

The door was opened, and Hilda Quentyns smiling, with roses on her cheeks and words of delighted welcome on her lips, rushed into the room.

"How sweet of you to call, Mildred," she exclaimed. "I was just wondering if you would take any notice of me."

"You dear creature," said Mildred, kissing Hilda and patting her on the shoulder. "Two hours ago I heard for the first time that you were in London. I ate my lunch and ordered the victoria, and put on my prettiest bonnet and drove over to see you as fast as ever the horses would bring me. I could not well pay my respects to Mrs. Quentyns in a shorter time."

"I am very glad to see you," said Hilda.

"How childish you look," replied Mildred, gazing at her in a rather dissatisfied way; "you have no responsibilities at all now, your Jasper takes the weight of everything, and you live in perpetual suns.h.i.+ne. Is the state of bliss as blissful as we have always been led to imagine, Hilda, or are the fairy tales untrue, and does the prince only exist in one's imagination?"

"Oh, no, he is real, quite real," said Hilda. "I am as happy as it is possible for a human being to be. Jasper--but I won't talk of him--you know what I really think of him. Now let me show you my house. Isn't it a sweet little home? Wasn't it good of Jasper to come here? He wanted a flat, but when he saw that my heart was set on a little house, he took this. Don't you like our taste in furniture, Milly? Oh, Milly dear, I _am_ glad to see you. It is nice to look at one of the dear home-faces again."

"Come and show me your house," said Mildred; "I am going to stay a long time--all the afternoon, if possible."

"I am more than glad; you must remain to dinner. I will telegraph to Jasper to come home early."

"I don't mind if I do," said Mildred. "I have no very special engagements for this evening, and even if I had I should be disposed to break them. It is not often one gets the chance of spending an hour in a nest with two turtle-doves."

"Come, come," said Hilda, "that sounds as if you were laughing at us.

Now you shall see the house, and then we'll have tea together, and you must tell me all about the old place."

The turtle-doves' nest was a very minute abode. There was only one story, and the bed-rooms in consequence were small and few.

"Aren't we delightfully economical?" said Hilda, throwing open the door of her own room. "Is not this wee chamber the perfection of snugness?

and this is Jasper's dressing room, and here is such a dear little bath-room; and this is the spare-room (we have not furnished it yet, but Jasper says we can't afford to have many visitors, so I'm not making any special haste). And this is our servants'-room; I did not think when we lived at Little Staunton that two servants could fit into such a tiny closet, but these London girls seem quite to like it. Now, Mildred, come downstairs. You have looked over this thimbleful of a house, and I hope it has pleased you. Come downstairs and let us talk. I am starving for news."

"Well, my dear, begin catechising to your heart's content," said Mildred. She threw herself back into the easiest of the easy-chairs as she spoke, and toasted her feet before Hilda's cheerful fire. "What do you want to know first, Mrs. Quentyns?"

"How long is it since you left home--when did you see them all?"

"I was at home a fortnight ago, and I spent the greater part of one afternoon at the Rectory."

"Oh, did you? Is it awfully changed?"

"No; the house is _in statu quo_. It looks just as handsome and stately and unconcerned as of old. Aunt Marjorie says it is full of dust, but I did not notice any. Aunt Marjorie has got quite a new wrinkle between her brows, and she complains a great deal of the young cook, but my private opinion is that that unfortunate cook is your aunt's salvation, for she gives her something else to think of besides the one perpetual grievance."

"Oh, yes, yes," said Hilda, a little impatiently, "poor dear Aunt Maggie; and what about the others? How is my father?"

"He looks thin, and his hair is decidedly silvered; but his eyes just beamed at me with kindness. He never spoke once about the change in his circ.u.mstances, and on Sunday he preached a sermon which set me crying."

"Dear Mildred, I think father's sermons were always beautiful. How I should like to hear him once again!"

"So you will, of course, very soon; they're all expecting you down. Why don't you go?"

The faintest shadow of a cloud flitted across Hilda's face.

"Jasper is so busy," she said.

"Well, go without him. I am quite convinced you would do them a sight of good."

"Jasper does not like me to leave him," said Hilda; "we both intend to run down to the Rectory for a flying visit soon, but he is so busy just at present that he cannot fix a day. Go on, Milly, tell me about the others. What of Babs?"

"I saw her squatting down on the middle of the floor with a blind kitten just three days old in her lap. The kitten squalled frightfully, and Babs kept on calling it 'poor, _pretty_ darling.' I thought badly of the kitten's future prospects, but well of its nurse's; she looked particularly flouris.h.i.+ng."

"And Judy?" said Hilda, "she wasn't well a little time ago, but Aunt Marjorie has said nothing about her health lately. Has she quite, quite recovered? Did she look ill? Did you see much of her?"

"She was sitting in the ingle-nook, reading a book."

"Reading a book!" said Hilda; "but Judy does not like reading. Was the day wet when you called at the Rectory?"

"No; the sun was s.h.i.+ning all the time."

"Why wasn't she out scampering and running all the time, and hunting for grubs?"

"She had a cough, not much, just a little hack, and Aunt Marjorie thought she had better stay indoors."

"Then she is _not_ quite well!"

"Aunt Marjorie says she is, and that the hack is nothing at all. By the way, Hilda, if your husband won't spare you to go down to the Rectory, why don't you have that child here on a visit? Nothing in the world would do her so much good as a sight of your face."

"Oh, I know, I know; my little Judy, my treasure! But the spare-room is not ready, and Jasper is so prudent, he won't go in debt for even a s.h.i.+lling's-worth. He has spent all his available money on the house furnis.h.i.+ng, and says the spare-room must wait for a month or so. As soon as ever it is furnished, Judy is to be the first guest."