Robert Elsmere | Page 7

Thornburgh means to let
them loose on his devoted head to-morrow night.'
'Who are coming?' asked Mrs. Leyburn eagerly. The occasional tea
parties of the neighborhood were an unfailing excitement to her, simply
because, by dint of the small adornings, natural to the occasion, they
showed her daughters to her under slightly new aspects. To see
Catherine, who never took any thought for her appearance, forced to
submit to a white dress, a line of pearls round the shapely throat, a
flower in the brown hair, put there by Rose's imperious fingers; to sit in
a corner well out of draughts, watching the effect of Rose's half-fledged
beauty, and drinking in the compliments of the neighborhood on Rose's
playing or Agnes's conversation, or Catherine's practical ability--these
were Mrs. Leyburn's passions, and a tea-party always gratified them to
the full.
'Mamma asks as if really she wanted an answer,' remarked Agnes dryly.

'Dear mother, can't you by now make up a tea-party at the Thornburghs
out of your bead?'
'The Seatons?' inquired Mrs. Leyburn.
'_Mrs._ Seaton and Miss Barks,' replied Rose. 'The rector won't come.
And I needn't say that, having moved heaven, and earth to get Mrs.
Seaton, Mrs. Thornburgh is now miserable because she has got her. Her
ambition is gratified, but she knows that she has spoilt the party. Well,
then, Mr. Mayhew, of course, his son, and his flute.'
'You to play his accompaniments?' put in Agnes slyly. Rose's lip
curled.
'Not if Miss Barks knows it,' she said emphatically, 'nor if I know it.
The Bakers, of course, ourselves, and the unknown.'
'Dr. Baker is always pleasant,' said Mrs. Leyburn, leaning back and
drawing her white shawl languidly round her. 'He told me the other day,
Catherine, that if it weren't for you he should have to retire. He regards
you as his junior partner. "Marvellous nursing gift your eldest daughter
has, Mrs. Leyburn," he said to me the other day. A most agreeable
man.'
'I wonder if I shall be able to get any candid opinions out of Mr.
Elsmere the day after to-morrow?' said Rose, musing. 'It is difficult to
avoid having an opinion of some sort about Mrs. Seaton.'
'Oxford dons don't gossip and are never candid,' remarked Agnes
severely.
'Then Oxford dons must be very dull,' cried Rose. 'However,' and her
countenance brightened, 'if he stays here four weeks we can teach him.'
Catherine, meanwhile, sat watching the two girls with a soft elder
sister's indulgence. Was it in connection with their bright attractive
looks that the thought flitted through her head, 'I wonder what the
young man will be like?'
'Oh, by the way,' said Rose presently, 'I had nearly forgotten Mrs.
Thornburgh's two messages. I informed her, Agnes, that you had given
up water color and meant to try oils, and she told me to implore you not
to, because "water color is so much more lady-like than oils." And as
for you, Catherine, she sent you a most special message. I was to tell
you that she just loved the way you had taken to plaiting your hair
lately--that it was exactly like the picture of Jeanie Deans she has in the
drawing-room, and that she would never forgive you if you didn't plait

it so to-morrow night.'
Catherine flushed faintly as she got up from the table.
'Mrs. Thornburgh has eagle-eyes,' she said, moving away to give her
arm to her mother, who looked fondly at her, making some remark in
praise of Mrs. Thornburgh's taste.
'Rose!' cried Agnes indignantly, when the other two had disappeared,
'you and Mrs. Thornburgh have not the sense you were born with. What
on earth did you say that to Catherine for?'
Rose stared; then her face fell a little.
'I suppose it was foolish,' she admitted. Then she leant her head on one
hand and drew meditative patterns on the tablecloth with the other.
'You know, Agnes,' she said presently, looking up, 'there are drawbacks
to having a St. Elizabeth for a sister.'
Agnes discreetly made no reply, and Rose was left alone. She sat
dreaming a few minutes, the corners of the red mouth drooping. Then
she sprang up with a long sigh. 'A little life!' she said half-aloud, 'A
little _wickedness!_' and she shook her curly head defiantly.
A few minutes later, in the little drawing-room on the other side of the
hall, Catherine and Rose stood together by the open window. For the
first time in a lingering spring, the air was soft and balmy; a tender
grayness lay over the valley; it was not night, though above the clear
outline's of the fell the stars were just twinkling in the pale blue. Far
away under the crag on the further side of High Fell a light was shining.
As