CHAPTER XIV

THE BREAKING-IN OF MELICENT

"I could not hide My quickening inner life from those at watch. They saw a light at a window now and then, They had not set there: who had set it there? My father's sister started when she caught My soul agaze in my eyes. She could not say I had no business with a sort of soul, But plainly she objected." --ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.

The following day Sir Joseph and Lady Burmester, with their guests, duly attended the ugly little church in Fransdale.

There had been a church there since the dawnings of English history. But, as the Reformed Church lost her grip upon the strong, narrow minds of the Dalesmen, it had been allowed to fall in ruins. Then had come the disastrous "churchwarden" restoration, which had abolished all landmarks. A stumpy little box-like structure now stood among the ancient graves, in a velvet-smooth meadow overshadowed by the frowning hills which closed round the head of the Dale.

Mrs. Cooper had been duly informed by Tommy of the meeting with the gentlemen from the Grange, and of the fact that one of them seemed to be a great friend of Melicent's. There was no valid reason why this news should displease her; but it did. She was vexed that her insignificant niece should have so many friends. The passion of jealousy was smouldering deep down in her heart, among other dormant forces of which she was unaware. Like many parents, while constantly assuring herself and her children that looks were nothing, she nevertheless expected the girls to be admired and sought out. When first she saw Millie, she had experienced relief at the thought that such a thin, pale shrimp of a girl could never prove a rival to her own. That she should be thrust forth to the notice of the Burmesters, so early in her sojourn at Fransdale, was most displeasing; she told herself that it must give the poor child a totally false idea of her own importance.

However, forewarned is forearmed. She was ready after service with the sweetest smiles of the amiable aunt, to be presented to the Helstons, and thank them suitably for their care of "poor darling Melicent."

Mrs. Helston was a picturesque woman, a brunette, with hair prematurely grey, which set off the tints of her bright complexion. She wore a wide hat with strings, and her smile captivated the hearts of the five staring Miss Coopers.

Lady Burmester was not a tactful person. She did not like the Coopers, whom she thought pompous and prosy. She proceeded to ask Mrs. Cooper to come to lunch the following day, and to bring her niece with her. She did not include any of the vicar's daughters in her invitation.

Mrs. Cooper smiled, and gushed, and seemed so delighted with the invitation, that her ladyship was conscious of a slight shock when she found that she was refusing it. It was early days yet, and would be unsettling for dear Melicent, who must get a little more used to English ways before she could bring her out. She knew dear Lady Burmester would understand. She suggested instead, that the two ladies from the Grange should come to tea at the Vicarage one afternoon; suppose they were to say Wednesday?

In a bewildered way Lady Burmester submitted to this unlooked-for dictation, and, taken by surprise, obediently said Wednesday; but as they were driving home, she suddenly turned to her friend and asked:

"Why wouldn't that perverse woman lunch with me, I wonder?"

Brenda Helston laughed her good, sincere laugh.

"My dear! You invited her niece, not her daughter!"

"O-o-oh! So that was where the shoe pinched," said her ladyship, surprised.

"You should always make allowances for human nature," commented Brenda. "It would not be human for a woman with all those daughters not to be touchy at seeing them passed over. We must propitiate her on Wednesday. I want to get Melicent to myself--to find out what she is thinking and feeling. I shall not be able to say half that I wish to, at the Vicarage."

"I daresay that supplies a second reason for her aunt's refusal!" said her friend, amused. "You and Mr. Helston have a very high opinion of that funny little white-faced girl, have you not?"

"Very!" said Brenda emphatically. "I never saw any creature so famished for the little tendernesses of life, so responsive to kindness, so eager to improve herself. Had you seen her when she first came on board--sullen, _farouche_, always on the defensive ... and how she melted and sweetened, and blossomed forth! Harry and I positively love her. We always, as you know, longed for a daughter. We have written to Carol Mayne, telling him that we will give her a home if she is not happy with her own people. He was doubtful; he thought the uncle's letter cold-blooded. But really, as I asked him, how could you expect enthusiasm on the part of a man with all those daughters, at the prospect of having another thrust upon him? I told Carol at the time, I liked the writer for being guarded; he could not know what she was."

"Does he strike you," asked Lady Burmester, "as being the kind of man to find out?"

Mrs. Helston hesitated.

"I fear not; he struck me as a dense kind of man. I heard Harry ask him, after service, whether this church were on the site of the old one--whether any of the old material had been built in; and he replied that he did not know, and had never inquired. I am afraid that will settle him, in Harry's estimation!" They both laughed gaily. "Harry looked," said his wife, "much as he might have done, had the vicar said that he did not know who his mother was, and had never inquired."

"There is a difference between him and Mr. Hall," observed Lady Burmester.

"Yes; was he not interesting yesterday? I shall not soon forget that wonderful church on the verge of the precipice. One feels that one knows the true meaning of sermons in stones when you have heard him talk of Ilberston. He knows every stone in his church, and every heart in his parish."

* * * * * * * *

It was on Monday that Alfred Dow, riding down the Dale, came, as he passed the inn, upon Millie as she stood in the road with her cousins, waiting for Tommy, who had gone into the Post Office.

He promptly dismounted, and Melicent, her face brightening, proceeded to shake hands cordially, the girls looking on, divided between horror and interest. This was in the sight of the sun; for the inn, and the cluster of cottages known as Church Houses, composed the only nucleus the village could be said to possess; and everyone was looking on.

Upon this scene the vicar came, emerging from a vexatious interview with a stiff-necked churchwarden; and he was not pleased.

His manner, as he greeted his nonconforming parishioner, was congealed. His voice, with its inward stillness, frightened his daughters.

"Now, Mr. Cooper, I want you to let all your young ladies come up to tea with my mother at Crow Gate." He called it, in local speech, Crow Yat. "Let 'em come an' see t' ponies an' t' foal an' t' calves, an' taste mother's damson gin, for we've a drop left yet. Let this lady bring 'em, if she'll be so kind. Let's see"--he raised his cap and scratched his curly poll. "To-day's Monday. Suppose we said Thursday. An' we'll hear more o' they Boers," he added mischieviously, to Millie.

"If Mrs. Dow is kind enough to second your invitation, perhaps she would write direct to Mrs. Cooper," said the vicar, still more gelid. "I cannot say what her plans are for this week."

Dow turned slightly away, looked down at Millie, and deliberately shut one eye. Yet she could see that he was angry too.

"Oh--well; mother's not a grand letter-writer," he said cheerfully, "but I'll tell her your wishes. Good day, passon!"

"Good day, Mr. Dow!"

The vicar walked back with Miss Lathom and the six girls.

"You will, please," said he to the governess, "when you have occasion to enter a shop, take Melicent with you. I thought I had told you that she is never to be left with her cousins. She is wholly untrustworthy. After ten years in this parish I have more or less succeeded in showing these people that their free and easy ways are not for me; and now I am to come and find my niece and daughters unchaperoned in the public street, laughing and joking with a dissenting farmer! I will not have it!"

Tommy was abject. She trembled before him; but when he sent for Millie into the study, it was a different thing. He asked her what excuse she had for her behaviour. She asked in wonder:

"What behaviour?"

He explained the enormity of her conduct, adding that he was under the impression that he had told her, on the day of her arrival, that in England, social distinctions must be observed.

"Do you mean that you may not even speak to anyone who is not your social equal?"

"Certainly I mean it! When Mr. Dow greeted you to-day, you should have merely bowed, and turned to speak to one of your cousins; then he would have been obliged to pass on."

"In Africa," said his niece, "we should think that contemptible."

"As you know, that is just the point. We are not in Africa, but in England, where a social code exists."

"And as long as I am with you, must I behave so--pretending not to see people who have been kind to me?"

"As long as you live with me, you will do as I tell you."

"Whether I think it right or not?"

"Certainly; you have no right to set your judgment against mine."

"Thank you for explaining that to me. I am afraid I shall not be able to stay with you," she said simply.

"That is a foolish, as well as a rude speech, Melicent."

"I beg your pardon; I am sorry I am foolish, and I did not mean to be rude. Is that all you wanted to say to me?"

"Nonsensical impertinence!" said the vicar. "Where could you go, I wonder, if I declined to keep you?"

"To Mr. and Mrs. Helston," she replied unhesitatingly. "They have told Mr. Mayne that they would like to have me."

"Well, upon my word!" The vicar was well-nigh jolted out of his composure. He pulled himself together only by a strong effort. "Leave the room," he said. "Apologise, and leave the room."

"What am I to apologise for?"

"For gross impertinence."

After a minute's pause.

"I have not been impertinent," she said, "and I shall not apologise. I think you in the wrong."

She walked out of the room, leaving an angry man behind her.

* * * * * * * *

The vicar's quiet insolence had aroused Alfred Dow, as it roused all his parishioners, to a feeling of active hostility. He felt a desire to get the better of him, if he could.

He sent a man next day with a note from Mrs. Dow to Mrs. Cooper--a note which the old lady had written with many protests, telling her son he was "nobbut a giddy fool" to be asking such a thing of her. Why should she make her best cheese-cakes for "them loompin' lasses o' passon's?"--when madam treated all dissenters as the dirt beneath her feet?

Mrs. Cooper was very undecided as to what answer she should return, when the unwelcome note arrived. On the one hand, she detested the Dows, and did not like to be indebted to them. They had never invited her girls before; she felt that this invitation was really on Melicent's account. Furthermore, Melicent was in disgrace, and did not deserve a treat. On the other hand, she knew that her five, who were never asked out, longed to go. It would be a sign to the whole village of a splendid condescension, did she allow it. Also, the fact of their being engaged to go to Crow Yat, would furnish an excuse, should Lady Burmester arrive on Wednesday, as seemed likely, with more invitations to Melicent. The vicar was for refusing; but he was disregarded. Melicent must be taught the difference between condescending to drink tea with one's inferiors and addressing them, when you met them, as equals.

The girls were wild with delight when they heard they were to go. They all walked to Bensdale Post Office that afternoon, and Gwen posted a letter.

Lady Burmester and Mrs. Helston duly came to tea at the Vicarage on Wednesday, and were received by Mrs. Cooper in the gaunt drawing-room--where she gave them what the girls were wont to call "pretence tea," as opposed to a solid, dining-room table arrangement--in elegant seclusion.

Her flow of amiable small-talk was so unceasing, that they had been there some twenty minutes before Lady Burmester, warned by recent error, could get in a request to see "your girls and Miss Lutwyche."

It was another quarter of an hour before Maddie, Gwen and Melicent appeared. Mrs. Cooper presented her girls to her ladyship, with the air of one showing off a promising baby; and Mrs. Helston drew Melicent to the window, to try and get a word unheard.

"Melicent, I have news for you," she said--"news which I think you will be glad to hear. We are not leaving Fransdale when we leave the Grange. Sir Joseph has let to us, furnished, for a month, the sweetest cottage you ever saw."

Melicent's eyes glowed

"Then I can come and see you," she began; but, checking herself, sighed. "That is, if Aunt Minna lets me. But she is so curious. She treats me like a prisoner. I am never allowed to go out alone. Are all English girls like that? Do you know, it does irritate me so."

"A lovely view from this window, isn't it?" said the suave voice of Aunt Minna, just behind. "Melicent, darling, go and fetch that curious photo of Slabbert's Poort to show Lady Burmester."

Melicent, with one glance at her friend, went off as desired. Mrs. Cooper beamed upon her visitor, and spoke confidentially.

"I am very hopeful of Melicent--very," she affirmed, as though someone had just expressed a contrary opinion. "Her faults may be turned into virtues, I feel sure. Her obstinacy will develop into firmness, when she has learned to obey."

Mindful of her desire to conciliate, Mrs. Helston smiled, as she said:

"I feel sure you realise how hard it must be for a girl who has been the mainstay of a delicate father for years, to bear restraint."

"We know, don't we," cooed Mrs. Cooper, with her little eyes almost shut, "that obedience is the foundation-stone of all training."

"Melicent's training seems to me to have risen far above the foundations of character," said Mrs. Helston, unable to help speaking with some warmth.

"Have you girls of your own, Mrs. Helston?" with an intonation of condescending pity. Then, playfully: "Ah, well; it makes all the difference, you know."

Melicent reappeared at this moment, and Mrs. Helston telegraphed to Lady Burmester: "Hopeless! Let's go."

Her ladyship rose and discharged the arrow in her quiver.

"I come with an invitation from Sir Joseph, which I must deliver," she said. "We are all going to Clairvaulx Priory Ruins on Monday, as Mr. and Mrs. Helston leave us the following day. Sir Joseph hopes to see yourself, the vicar, your three elder girls and Miss Lutwyche. We will send the waggonette and pair for you at half-past ten, unless it is wet."

Mrs. Cooper began to reply, with beaming smiles.

"What an enchanting idea! What a pity that Monday should be the beginning of the week, when it was specially important that nothing should interfere with lessons! Had it been another day, later on--a picnic was the most delightful of expeditions. But her girls were at an age when she must be very firm, and she was afraid--"

But at this point the vicar walked in, and on the invitation being conveyed to him, accepted it at once and unreservedly, for them all. He accompanied the ladies to their carriage, saw them drive away, and returned to the drawing-room where his wife awaited him by the tea-table.

"Really, Aidmund," she began; but he cut in.

"It is most short-sighted policy on your part, Minna, to affront Lady Burmester."

"But, my darling boy, the discipline of the schoolroom--"

"I believe to be excellent, but it must give way sometimes," replied her darling boy. "It is of primary importance that we should be on good terms with the Grange. You had your way about the Dow invitation. Let me have mine about this."

"Well, at any rate," said his wife, after a pause, "I have taught her ladyship not to invite my niece and exclude my daughters! A little firmness, dear Aidmund, as I often tell you, works wonders!"