Vera Nevill | Page 4

the old lady compresses her
lips firmly and savagely.
Vera takes the cup from her sister's hands, and putting it down again on
the table, proceeds to cut a slice of bread from the loaf, and to spread it
thickly with strawberry jam.
"Come here, Tommy, and have some of Auntie's bread and jam."
Out comes a small person, with a very swollen face and a very dirty
pinafore, from the distant seclusion of the corner, and flies swiftly to
Vera's sheltering arm.
Mrs. Daintree drops her work angrily into her lap.
"Vera, I must beg of you not to interfere with Tom; are you aware that
he is in the corner by my orders?"
"Perfectly, Mrs. Daintree; and also that he was there before I went out,
exactly three-quarters of an hour ago; there are limits to all human
endurance."
"I consider it extremely impertinent," begins the old lady, nodding her
head violently.
"Darling Vera," pleads Marion, almost in tears; "perhaps you had better
let him go back."
"Tommy is quite good now," says Vera, calmly passing her hand over

the rough blonde head. Master Tommy's mouth is full of bread and jam,
and he looks supremely indifferent to the warfare that is being carried
on on his account over his head.
His crime having been the surreptitious purloining of his
grandmamma's darning cotton, and the subsequent immersion of the
same in the inkstand, Vera feels quite a warm glow of approval towards
the little culprit and his judiciously-planned piece of mischief.
"Vera, I insist upon that child being sent back into the corner!"
exclaims Mrs. Daintree, angrily, bringing her large fist heavily down
upon her knee.
"The child has been over-punished already," she answers, calmly, still
administering the soothing solace of strawberry jam.
"Oh, Vera, pray keep the peace!" cries Marion, with clasped hands.
"Here, I am thankful to say, comes my son;" as a shadow passes the
window, and Eustace's tall figure with the meekly stooping head comes
in at the door. "Eustace, I beg that you will decide who is to be in
authority in this house--your mother or this young lady. It is
insufferable that every time I send the children into the corner Vera
should call them out and give them cakes and jam."
Eustace Daintree looks helplessly from one to the other.
"My dear mother--my dear girls--what is it all about? I am sure Vera
does not mean----"
"No, Vera only means to be kind, grandmamma," cries Marion,
nervously; "she is so fond of the children----"
"Hold your tongue, Marion, and don't take your sister's part so
shamelessly!"
Meanwhile Vera rises silently and pushes Tommy and all his
enormities gently by the shoulders out of the room. Then she turns

round and faces her foe.
"Judge between us, Eustace!" the old lady is crying; "am I to be defied
and set at nought? are we all to bow down and worship Miss Vera, the
most useless, lazy person in the house, who turns up her nose at honest
men and prefers to live on charity, a burden to her relations?"
"Vera is no burden, only a great pleasure to me, my dear mother," said
the clergyman, holding out his hand to the girl.
"Oh, grandmamma, how unkind you are," says Marion, bursting into
tears. But Vera only laughs lazily and amusedly, she is so used to it all!
It does not disturb her.
"Is she to be mistress here, I ask, or am I?" continues Mrs. Daintree,
furiously.
"Marion is the mistress here," says Vera, boldly; "neither you nor I
have any authority in her house or over her children." And then the old
lady gathers up her work and sails majestically from the room,
followed by her weak, trembling daughter-in-law, bent on
reconciliation, on cajolement, on laying herself down for her own sins,
and her sister's as well, before the avenging genius of her life.
The clergyman stands by the hearth with his head bent and his hands
behind him. He sighs wearily.
Vera creeps up to him and lays her hand softly upon his coat sleeve.
"I am a firebrand, am I not, Eustace?"
"My dear, no, not that; but if you could try a little to keep the peace!"
He stayed the caressing hand within his own and looked at her tenderly.
His face is a good one, but not a handsome one; and, as he looks at his
wife's young sister, it is softened into its best and kindest. Who can
resist Vera, when she looks gentle and humble, with that rare light in
her dark eyes?

"Vera, why don't you look like that at Mr. Gisburne?" he says, smiling.
"Oh, Eustace! am I indeed a burden to you, as your mother says?" she
exclaims, evasively.
"No, no, my dear, but it