The Fortunes of the Farrells | Page 7

of action, and she determined
to seize the first opportunity of a private conference with her mother.
It was not easy to secure a tete-a-tete in the house of Connor. On this
particular evening, Trix was practising scales on the piano in the
drawing-room, while Mollie read a novel, and Betty lolled on the rug;
the three boys were busy at lessons, or, as they eloquently described it,
"stewing," round the dining-room table. Mr Connor was smoking his
pipe and reading the evening papers in his den at the back of the house;
and the little, white-faced mother moved incessantly from room to
room, no sooner settled in one place than she was seized with an
anxious presentiment that she was needed elsewhere.
She was pretty still, in a pathetic, faded manner; and wherever she went
she spoke loving, gentle words, and met loving glances in response: but,
alas, her efforts seemed rather distracting than helpful! She stroked
Drummond's hair, and asked if he was sure his throat was better, just as
he was on the point of completing a difficult addition; she told her
husband the tragic history of the cook's impertinence, and handed him a
heavy bill, when the poor man was enjoying the first quiet rest of the
day; she requested Mollie's advice about spare-room curtains at the
moment when long-separated lovers were united, and it was agony to

lift one's eyes from the page for the fraction of a second.
Husband and children alike answered gently and with courtesy, for, if
there was little else, there was plenty of love in this shabby household,
and the little mother was the central figure round which everything
revolved; nevertheless, her departure was marked by half- involuntary
sighs of relief, as if a disturbing element had been withdrawn.
Ruth knew that she would have to bide her time until the younger
members of the family had retired to bed; but, too restless to settle
down to any definite occupation, she drifted across the drawing-room
to where Trix sat, her fingers scrambling up and down the notes of the
piano. Trix was tall and lanky; she had grey eyes, set far apart, a
retrousse nose, dotted over with quite a surprising number of freckles,
and an untidy shock of light-brown hair.
In years to come it was possible that she might develop into a pretty
girl; at the present moment she despised appearances, and certainly
failed to make the best of her good points. Now, as she sat by the
piano-stool, with shoulders hunched up and head poked forward, she
looked so awkward and ungainly that Ruth's tried nerves suffered
afresh at the sight.
"For pity's sake, sit up, Trix!" she cried sharply. "You look a perfect
object, bent double like that! You might be deformed, to look at your
back! If you go on like this, you will grow so round-shouldered that
you won't be able to get straight again, and how will you like that?"
Trix deliberately finished her scale, then faced her sister, and retorted
pertly--
"Very much indeed, thank you--if you will only realise that I can't help
it, and leave me alone! I'd rather be a humpback at once, than be
worried morning, noon, and night about deportment, as I am now. My
back's my own; I can use it as I like!"
"It's wicked to talk like that, Trix, and very impertinent as well! Who is
to tell you of your faults if we don't at home? Other people look on, and

say, `What a fright that girl looks! How shockingly she carries herself!'
But they don't trouble to tell you about it, and it is not very pleasant for
us when you take it like this. If we did not love you and care for your
interests--"
"Oh dear me," sighed naughty Trix, "then I wish you'd love me a little
less! I could bear it quite well if you lost your interest, and left me in
peace. You and Mollie can do the beauty show for the family; I am
content to represent `intellect and common-sense.' If you want
something to do, you might help me with a French exercise instead of
nagging. It's simply awful to-day; and if I lose any more marks, it's all
up with my chance of getting a prize. Now, then--will you, or won't
you?"
Trix's method of asking favours was hardly as ingratiating as might be
desired, and for a moment the chances seemed all in favour of a refusal.
The colour flamed in Ruth's cheeks, and her black brows drew
ominously near together. She was fighting a hard battle against pride
and resentment; but, as was usually the case, the better self won. She
nodded back at Trix, and said--
"I will! ... Run and bring your