Tenterhooks

Tenterhooks

The Project Gutenberg eBook, Tenterhooks, by Ada Leverson
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net

Title: Tenterhooks
Author: Ada Leverson
Release Date: November 8, 2003 [eBook #10021]
Language: English
Chatacter set encoding: ISO-8859-1
***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK
TENTERHOOKS***

E-text prepared by Suzanne Shell, Sarah Lewis, and Project Gutenberg
Distributed Proofreaders

Tenterhooks
[Book 2 of The Little Ottleys]

by Ada Leverson
1912

TO ROBERT ROSS
CHAPTER I
A Verbal Invitation
Because Edith had not been feeling very well, that seemed no reason
why she should be the centre of interest; and Bruce, with that jealousy
of the privileges of the invalid and in that curious spirit of rivalry which
his wife had so often observed, had started, with enterprise, an
indisposition of his own, as if to divert public attention. While he was
at Carlsbad he heard the news. Then he received a letter from Edith,
speaking with deference and solicitude of Bruce's rheumatism,
entreating him to do the cure thoroughly, and suggesting that they
should call the little girl Matilda, after a rich and sainted--though still
living--aunt of Edith's. It might be an advantage to the child's future (in
every sense) to have a godmother so wealthy and so religious. It
appeared from the detailed description that the new daughter had, as a
matter of course (and at two days old), long golden hair, far below her
waist, sweeping lashes and pencilled brows, a rosebud mouth, an
intellectual forehead, chiselled features and a tall, elegant figure. She
was a magnificent, regal-looking creature and was a superb beauty of
the classic type, and yet with it she was dainty and winsome. She had
great talent for music. This, it appeared, was shown by the breadth
between the eyes and the timbre of her voice.
Overwhelmed with joy at the advent of such a paragon, and horrified at
Edith's choice of a name, Bruce had replied at once by wire,
impulsively:
'Certainly not Matilda I would rather she were called Aspasia.'

Edith read this expression of feeling on a colourless telegraph form,
and as she was, at Knightsbridge, unable to hear the ironical tone of the
message she took it literally.
She criticised the name, but was easily persuaded by her mother-in-law
to make no objection. The elder Mrs Ottley pointed out that it might
have been very much worse.
'But it's not a pretty name,' objected Edith. 'If it wasn't to be Matilda, I
should rather have called her something out of Maeterlinck--Ygraine,
or Ysolyn--something like that.'
'Yes, dear, Mygraine's a nice name, too,' said Mrs Ottley, in her
humouring way, 'and so is Vaselyn. But what does it really matter? I
shouldn't hold out on a point like this. One gets used to a name. Let the
poor child be called Asparagus if he wishes it, and let him feel he has
got his own way.'
So the young girl was named Aspasia Matilda Ottley. It was
characteristic of Edith that she kept to her own point, though not
aggressively. When Bruce returned after his after-cure, it was too late
to do anything but pretend he had meant it seriously.
Archie called his sister Dilly.
Archie had been rather hurt at the--as it seemed to him--unnecessary
excitement about Dilly. Not that he was jealous in any way. It was
rather that he was afraid it would spoil her to be made so much of at her
age; make her, perhaps, egotistical and vain. But it was not Archie's
way to show these fears openly. He did not weep loudly or throw things
about as many boys might have done. His methods were more
roundabout, more subtle. He gave hints and suggestions of his views
that should have been understood by the intelligent. He said one
morning with some indirectness:
'I had such a lovely dream last night, Mother.'
'Did you, pet? How sweet of you. What was it?'

'Oh, nothing much. It was all right. Very nice. It was a lovely dream. I
dreamt I was in heaven.'
'Really! How delightful. Who was there?'
This is always a woman's first question.
'Oh, you were there, of course. And father. Nurse, too. It was a lovely
dream. Such a nice place.'
'Was Dilly there?'
'Dilly? Er--no--no--she wasn't. She was in the night nursery, with
Satan.'
Sometimes Edith thought that her daughter's names were decidedly a
failure--Aspasia by mistake, Matilda through obstinacy, and Dilly by
accident. However the child herself was a success. She was four years
old when the incident occurred about the Mitchells. The whole of this
story