I had not contradicted the story of Jane, but I was none the less indignant, and I meant to tell her a bit of my mind, when, to my astonishment, she chose to accuse me.
"How could you be such a ninny," she coolly asked, "as to let her carry off the bag? It will all go to that odious Polly. You could have coaxed her out of it, if you liked; a new pupil always can coax her out of anything--she is so soft."
Fanny chimed in with her sister, and both agreed in calling me a "muff,"
a mysterious expression that puzzled and annoyed me extremely, but which they refused to explain, saying I knew very well what it meant. At length they fell fast asleep, and left me in peace.
School reminiscences do not possess for me the universal charm ascribed to them. I was a child in years, but I had outgrown the feelings of a child: this was the torment and the happiness of my youth. A few days reconciled me however to the rough ways of Jane and Fanny Brook. They were, on the whole, kind-hearted, merry, romping girls; but I was years beyond them in everything save physical strength; I had feelings and ideas of which they entertained not the faintest conception, and, after spending nearly three years in the delightful and intellectual companionship of Cornelius and Kate, I could not care much for their childish amusements and still more childish talk. They pitied me for being so weak, and liked me because, though I could not share in their boisterous pleasures, I was of some use to them in their studies, and because, whenever I could do so, I helped them through the difficulties into which their indolence daily brought them. So much for my companions.
The Misses Clapperton proved, as might have been expected from their appearance, kind-hearted, zealous teachers.
I had entered Alhambra Lodge on the Tuesday; Kate had not said that she would come on the Sunday, but I fully expected her, and when, at an early hour, I was summoned down to see a visitor, my heart beat with more joy than surprise. I entered the parlour, and I saw, not Kate, but Cornelius.
I was so glad, so happy, that I could not speak. As he kissed me, he saw that my eyes were full of tears, and he chid me gaily.
My first words were--
"Is it exhibited, Cornelius?"
"What are you talking of?"
"The Happy Time; I know the Academy opened yesterday, I thought of it all the day long."
"Of course you did," he replied, smoothing my hair, "I was sure of it."
"Oh, Cornelius, do tell me."
"Can't you guess?"
His smiling face could hear but one interpretation. Overjoyed I threw my arms around his neck; he laughed, and said I looked quite wild. I know not how I looked, but I know I felt delighted.
"Is it well hung?" was my next question.
"Better than it deserves. Oh, Daisy, I have done nothing yet, but I knew you would like to know; so I came this morning to see you and to tell you."
"How glad Kate and Miss Russell must have been!" I sighed.
"Yes, but they are not crazy about my pictures like you, you foolish child. And now talk of something else. How are you? I find you pale."
"I am quite well, Cornelius."
"How do you like the Misses Clapperton?"
"They are kind; I like them."
"They give you a very good character; but one of them said something about sweetstuff which I could not make out."
"I shall tell you all about it, if you will promise not to tell again."
He gave me his word that he would not; and I related to him the whole story, by which he seemed very much amused.
"I saw them as I came in," he said, "a pair of tall, strong girls, each of whom would make a pair of you; but on the whole, how do you like them?"
"Oh! very well."
"You speak quite coolly."
"They are so childish."
"Yet they look older than you."
"So they are; but, would you believe it? they have never heard of Michael Angelo or Raffaelle."
"Poor things!" laughed Cornelius, "how do they manage to exist?"
"Indeed I don't know. When I talk to them of painting, Jane says she should like to paint fire-screens, and Fanny says she should not care."
"They are both young Vandals," said Cornelius, "so don't waste your high ideas of Art upon them; they cannot understand anything of the sort, you know. The fact is, there are not many little girls like mine. Oh, Daisy!
I don't want to reproach, but how is it that you, who are so good in everything else, have on one point been so perverse?"
I did not answer: if he did not know that my only sin was loving him too much, where was the use to tell him? I asked after Kate; he said she was well, and would come in the afternoon: then we spoke for a few minutes of other things, and he rose to leave me, promising that on his next visit he would give me a long walk.
I thought my heart would fail me at the parting, but his look checked me, and I bore this as I was learning to bear so many things--with the silent endurance that is not always resignation.
The afternoon brought me Kate's promised visit. Almost her first words were--
"So Cornelius has been here! he never told me where he was going off so early. Say he does not care for you, Midge!"
"I don't say so, Kate."
"I believe not. He nearly got into disgrace on your account."
"Into disgrace, Kate? how so?"
"Why, he was to take a walk with some one, and he was late; so he had to excuse himself I don't know how often, and, like a foolish fellow as he is, he threw it all on his visit to you, and never saw that this was the very head and front of his offending. The fact is," she added, with a profound sigh, "I never knew one who is less apt to suspect a mean, ungenerous feeling than my poor brother. He is a child, quite a child, Midge."
I heard her with a vague presentiment that this generous confidence of Cornelius would be my bane, and so it proved. Spite of his first friendly visit, he came no more near me. Miss O'Reilly called every Sunday, no matter what the weather might be. She saw that I fretted at the absence of her brother, and did her best to comfort me.
"He can scarcely help himself." she once said to me, "he means to come oftener, but every Sunday brings something new to prevent him. He is very fond of you though, often talks of you, praises you, and has hung up in his studio a little drawing of himself and you, which some one uselessly tried to make him take down."
"Yes," I replied, sighing, "he likes me, Kate, but he does not come near me; and though he promised to take me out walking with him some day, he has never done so yet."
"Then it is to come," was her philosophic reply. But, seeing this did not comfort me, she added--
"I have a great mind to tell you something; but no, I will not on reflection, it would make you conceited."
"Then I know what it is, Kate; he said I was clever, or that I would grow up to be good-looking, or something of the kind, which I care very little about; whereas I should care a great deal about his coming to see me."
"No," replied Kate, smiling, "it was nothing like that; but the other evening, when I certainly did not imagine he was thinking of you, he said all of a sudden--'I wish I had that tiresome little girl back again.' I replied, carelessly, 'Do you?' just to draw him out. 'Yes,' he answered, 'I never knew how fond of her I was until she was gone.' So there is something for you."
Affection is full of wiles. I followed the precept of drawing out just laid down by Miss O'Reilly, and said quietly--