CHAPTER V

THE JOHNSTON FAMILY

"WHERE is Letitia? I can't imagine what has become of her. That girl will be here directly, and it will seem so rude, if Letitia is out. Somebody ought to have met her in Bristol, but really I have not known how to arrange it; and Letitia never thinks of anything."

"Except it be a thing that she wants for herself," chimed in Howard Johnston, a rather handsome and severe-looking young man, busy at a side writing-table in the large drawing-room. It was an upstairs drawing-room, after the manner of the big old-fashioned Royal York Crescent houses in Clifton; and its front windows overlooked the lengthy crescent-shaped stone terrace which partly hid from sight the road below.

"Girls always think of themselves first. What can you expect? I'm sure she is welcome to do what she likes, generally. 'I' don't expect my children to put themselves out for me," declared Mrs. Johnston complacently, from the depths of a luxurious chair. "But I do think she ought to have managed to meet her friend. She knows that I meant to send her down in a cab with Jerrold—and I didn't see the use of Jerrold going alone. She would never have managed to stumble on the right person. Jerrold is all very well as a maid, but she is stupid about that sort of thing."

"It might have been more polite to make the effort."

"Do you think so? But really I have been so busy, I am afraid it slipped my memory. Letitia should have seen to things. At all events, she ought to have managed to come home in time."

"No doubt the young lady knows Letitia too well to be astonished at anything."

"But I have never seen her, and she knows none of us except Letitia. It was so provoking that she should accept the invitation just now. Almost any other time would have been better. So much going on in Clifton! And, of course, we can't take Miss Mackenzie everywhere. People haven't always spare space; and I don't even know yet whether she is presentable; and Letitia can't be perpetually leaving her. It is provoking. Letitia said we were bound to ask her before winter because it has always been a promise. I am sure I shouldn't have remembered, but I suppose I did say something once, and Letitia seems to have made the most of it. So absurd of her. And I suppose the girl will stay a month at least. Country people of that sort have no notion of paying a short visit."

"Make some other arrangement, and tell her the room won't be free after a certain date."

"My dear boy, how can I? Letitia has asked her for a month. 'It was always promised,' she says."

"Promised! For whose sake?"

"I'm sure I don't know. Letitia 'used' to wish it."

"Well—if Letitia undertakes her—"

"But that is the very thing! I believe Letitia would be as glad to be off it as I should be. Of course they were very good friends at school, but that is another matter. It isn't really that Letitia 'wants' her now, only she feels bound. I don't suppose Miss Mackenzie is anything particular—not pretty, or clever, and she doesn't sing or play, and her father is only the manager of a little country branch bank. For my part, I can't imagine what made Letitia take to her; only girls do like to have a fuss made about themselves, and it is plain that Miss Mackenzie has an immense admiration for Letitia. That's how it has been. And at school, as I say, it was all very well. Letitia was glad of anything to pass the time. But here it is different. She has any amount of friends; and really, between ourselves, I believe she would have been glad if Miss Mackenzie had put off coming. Only, in a sort of way, Letitia is conscientious, you know, and she declared we had to ask the girl."

"Conscientious 'in a sort of way!' I should think her sense of obligation might extend so far as to include a kind welcome."

"Oh, of course! Letitia means to be as kind as possible. She always does. I don't say the child isn't a little scrap spoilt, but she really has very nice manners—generally. Of course she will take Miss Mackenzie about, and make it a pleasant visit. Only it really is 'rather' a bore for poor dear Letitia because I don't suppose Euphrasia Mackenzie will suit Letitia's friends in the least. And a month is a long time. If it were only a week or ten days, one could manage better. But it can't be helped. That sort of thing has to be endured. Letitia ought to have been more cautious with her promises. I do wish she would come in first of the two."

Letitia failed to do so. At this very moment she was seated in a friend's house, deeply interested in a certain discussion of plans, and oblivious of the hour. At this very moment Euphrasia was driving alone into the road below the Royal York Crescent.

She had not expected to find nobody waiting for her at the big noisy Bristol station. Euphrasia was not yet much of a traveller.

"You will be met, of course," her mother had said, on seeing her off.

And though capable of managing for herself, she did look out, with eagerness amounting to certainty, for Letitia's pretty face, as the train drew up.

But no Letitia was there! Euphrasia wasted some little time gazing blankly about, before she could make up her mind to the reality. Then she secured a porter and found her luggage, not a little hurt at the apparent coldness. Something might unexpectedly have happened to keep Letitia away—still, Euphrasia felt that it must have been a very serious something which should have sufficed to keep her away, if Letitia had been coming to her home.

"And if she could not come herself, she might have sent somebody," thought Euphrasia, during the long drive through Bristol, and up a Bristol hill, into Clifton.

The cabman presently pulled up and leant over for a word. "Will you get out at the lower door, or at the steps?"

"Lower door!"

"Royal York Crescent is a terrace, Miss. The luggage 'll have to go in at the lower door, but there's steps up to the terrace, if you'd sooner go in at the front door."

Euphrasia forlornly decided to cling to her luggage, and the cab drove on.

Then the "lower door" was reached. And Euphrasia found herself, inwardly quaking, in a long stone passage—kitchen regions, plainly. The maid led to a flight of stairs, by means of which they gained the hall. But this was only the "ground-floor," ordinarily considered, level with the terrace. Here were dining-room and library, while for the drawing-room yet another climb was needful. Country-bred Euphrasia, used to two little sitting-rooms on a level with earth's surface, found this a somewhat breathless experience. She grew each instant more heated, bewildered and embarrassed. One glimpse of Letitia would have set all right, but no Letitia appeared.

Had her coming been forgotten? Was she really not expected?

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