A College Girl Part 2

The Garnetts' relation _par excellence_ was Aunt Maria--_Lady_ Maria as they erroneously called her, being unsophisticated in the niceties of the peerage. Her rightful cognomen was Lady Hayes, and she was the elderly, very elderly, widow of an estimable gentleman who had been created a Baronet in recognition of services rendered to his political party. The Garnetts felt that it was very stylish to possess an aunt with a t.i.tle, and introduced her name with an air when the Vernons grew superior on the subject of "the grounds." Lady Hayes was an eccentric individual who inhabited a beautiful old country house in the Midlands, from which base she was given to suddenly swooping down upon her relations, choosing by preference for these visits the times when carpets had been sent away to be cleaned, or the maids granted days off to visit relations in the country. Then Lady Hayes would appear, announce her intention of staying a couple of nights, declare her unwillingness to give the slightest trouble, and proceed to request that her maid should be accommodated with a room next to her own, and that they should both be supplied with a vegetarian diet, supplemented by gla.s.ses of sterilised milk at intervals of every two hours. Sometimes the vegetarianism gave place to a diet of minced beef, but whatever might be the diet of the moment it was invariably something which no one else wanted to eat, and which took about three times as long to prepare as the entire rations for the household dinner of ten.

It was at the close of the Midsummer term, when the Garnett family were blissfully preparing for the yearly migration to the sea, that a letter from Aunt Maria fell like a bombsh.e.l.l upon the peaceful scene. This year the holiday promised to be even more blissful than usual, for the Vernons had secured a second farmhouse, not ten minutes' walk from their own, and connected with the sea by the same fascinating field-paths. A farm and the sea! Could there possibly exist a more fascinating combination? The young people sniffed in advance the two dear, distinctive odours which, more than anything else, presented the scenes before them--the soft, cowy-milky scent of the farm, the salt, sharp whiff of the brine. From morn till night, at every available moment, they discussed the day's programme--feeding animals, calling the cows, bathing, picnicking on the sands, crab-hunting, mountain climbing.

Excitement grew until it really seemed impossible to exist through the intervening days, and then the bombsh.e.l.l fell! A letter arrived by an evening post, when Mr and Mrs Garnett were enjoying the one undisturbed hour of the day. It bore the Hayes crest, and was written in Aunt Maria's small, crabbed handwriting--

"My dear Emily,--

"I propose, all being well, to pay you a short visit from Tuesday to Thursday next, twelfth to fifteenth instant. Please let me have the same rooms as on my last visit. I am at present living on Benger's food, and must ask you to see that it is made freshly for each meal, in a _perfectly clean, enamelled saucepan_.

"The chief object of my visit is to bring back one of your three daughters to stay with me during the summer vacation. I have been feeling somewhat lonely of late, and my doctor recommends young society, so it has occurred to me that in obeying his instructions I might at the same time afford pleasure and benefit to one of your family. Should I become interested in the child it might be to her advantage hereafter, but it must be understood that I can make no promises on this point.

"The eighteen months which have elapsed since my last visit have somewhat dimmed my remembrance of your girls, so that I must see them again before deciding as to which of the three I should prefer as a companion.

"With love to William and yourself,--

"Believe me, my dear Emily,--

"Your affectionate Aunt,--

"Maria Hayes."

Mrs Garnett read this communication in silence, handed it to her husband, and watched him flush and frown over the perusal.

"Does not even go through the form of asking our consent!"

"No! That's Aunt Maria all over. You could hardly imagine that she would. Oh dear! Oh dear! I'm afraid, Will--I'm _afraid_ she will have to go!"

"Poor little kiddie, yes! How she will hate it! Just at this moment when they are all wild with joy at the thought of their holiday with the Vernons. It seems positively brutal!"

"Oh, it does. I am so sorry for her--whichever it may be--but one must sometimes be cruel to be kind. We can't afford--I am not mercenary, as you know--but with our means we _can't_ afford to refuse any possible advantage for our girls! The sacrifice of a summer holiday ought not to weigh against that."

"No, you're right, quite right. So be it then. Write and tell her to come, only I tell you plainly my holiday's spoiled... With Darsie gone--"

"Dear! she has not chosen yet."

"Dear! you know perfectly well--"

They looked at each other, smiling, rueful, half-ashamed. It seemed like treason to the other girls, this mutual acknowledgment that Darsie was the flower of the flock, the child of the six to whom all strangers were attracted as by a magnet. Clarence and Lavender were equally as dear to the parents' hearts, but there was no denying the existence of a special and individual pride in the fascinations of Darsie.

Mr Garnett turned aside with an impatient shrug.

"There's one thing, Emily, _you_ must tell her when it is settled!

There'll be a tremendous scene. I flatly refuse--"

"Very well, dear, very well; I'll do it. But it's not decided yet, remember, and one can never be sure. I'd better break the idea to the girls before Aunt Maria comes, and let them get over the first excitement. To-night would be a good opportunity. You will be out late, so would be spared the scene!"

"Bless you, Emily! I'm a coward, I know, but I _should_ be grateful. I can't answer for what I should do if Darsie cried, and begged my protection. Women have twice the pluck of men in these affairs!"

Nevertheless it was with a quaking heart that Mrs Garnett broached the object of Aunt Maria's proposition over the schoolroom tea that afternoon, and her nervousness was not decreased by the smilingly unperturbed manner in which it was received. Never, never for a moment did it appear possible to the three girls that such a proposition could be seriously discussed.

"_So_ likely!" sneered Clemence with a fine disdain. "Give up all the fun and excitement of the sea with the Vernons, to _browse_ with Aunt Maria. _So_ likely, to be sure!"

"Poor dear old love! She _is_ deluded. Thinks it would be a pleasure and benefit, does she. I wouldn't take a thousand pounds--"

Thus Lavender. Darsie went a step farther in tragic declamation.

"I'd drown myself first! To sit there--panting, in hot rooms, on Benger's food, and know that all the others were bathing and running wild on the sh.o.r.e--I'd burst! I'd run away in an hour--"

"Dears, it's a beautiful old place. There are gardens, and lawns, and horses, and dogs. Cows, too! I am sure there are cows--she used to keep a herd of Jerseys. You could see them being milked."

"Welsh cows are good enough for me. I don't need Jerseys. _Or_ lawns!

Give me the free, untrammelled countryside!

"'And to see it reflected in eyes that I love.'"

Darsie paraphrased a line of the sweet old ballad, singing it in a clear, bell-like voice to a pantomime of clasped hands and rolling eyes.

"It would be bad enough in an ordinary year, but to rend us apart from the Vernons--oh, no, it's unthinkable!"

"You have the Vernons near you all the year, dear. Aunt Maria only asks for eight weeks. There are occasions in life when it does not do to think only of our own pleasure."

Silence. A note in the mother's voice had startled her hearers into the conviction that the invitation must be regarded seriously, and not tossed aside as a joke. A lacerating suspicion that the authorities were in favour of an acceptance pierced like a dart.

"Mother! What do you mean? You couldn't _possibly_ be so cruel--"

"Mother, you don't mean--."

"Mother, what _do_ you mean?"

"I mean that you ought to go, dears, which ever one of you is asked.

Aunt Maria is an old lady, and she is lonely. Her doctor has ordered cheerful companions.h.i.+p. Moreover, she has been a kind friend to father in the past, and has a right to expect some consideration in return. If you went in the right spirit, you could be of real use and comfort, and would have the satisfaction of doing a kind deed."

Darsie set her lips in a straight line, and tilted her chin in the air.

"Couldn't pretend to go in the right spirit! I'd be in a tearing rage.

Somebody else can have the 'satisfaction,' and I'll go to the sea."

"Darsie, dear, that's naughty!"

"I _feel_ naughty, mother. 'Naughty' is a mild word. _Savage_! I feel savage. It's too appalling. What does father say? I'm sure he would never--"

"Father feels as I do; very disappointed for our own sakes and for yours that our happy party should be disturbed, but he never s.h.i.+rks a disagreeable duty himself, and he expects his children to follow his example."

Lavender instantly burst into tears.

"It's always the way--always the way! It was too good to be true. We might have known that it was. She'll choose me, and Hannah will go without me. We'd planned every day--fis.h.i.+ng, and bathing, and making hay, and I shall be mewed up in a close carriage, and have meals of nuts--and n-n-n.o.body to talk to. Oh, I can't--I can't bear it! I wish I could die and be buried--I _cannot_ bear it--"

"You won't have to bear it. She'll choose me. I'm the eldest, and the most of a companion." Clemence spoke with the calmness of despair, her plump cheeks whitening visibly, her pale eyes showing a flush of red around the lids. "Of course, if it's my duty, I must go--but I'd as soon be sent to prison! I'm feeling _very_ tired, and thought the holiday would set me up. Now, of course, I shall be worse. Eight weeks alone with Aunt Maria would try anybody's nerves. I shall be a wreck all winter, and have neuralgia till I'm nearly mad."

"Nonsense, darling! If you are so tired, the rest and quiet of The Towers will be just what you need; and as we don't know yet which one of you Aunt Maria will wish as a companion, it is a pity for you all to make yourselves miserable at once. Why not try to forget, and hope for the best! Surely that would be the wiser plan."