CHAPTER VII

FRIENDS _AND_ FRIENDS

A PANG came as Euphrasia remembered her father's forecast of loss and change, and she wondered how long the little home would still be theirs. How small other matters seemed by comparison!

"And yet I 'did' think Letitia really loved me! I didn't think she could be like this!" the girl said voicelessly.

The cloud had cleared from Letitia's brow and she tripped lightly upstairs showing the way. Once she paused to slip her arm within Euphrasia's in the old affectionate style, but there was no response.

"Why, Euphrasia! You are not vexed with me, are you?"

Euphrasia made no answer till the question was repeated. "I don't know," she said then, slowly. "Perhaps not—exactly—vexed! Only I thought you really wanted to have me, and now I see it was a mistake."

"You dear old goosie! Nonsense, Euphrasia! What 'can' have put such an absurd notion into your head? Not want you! Of course I want you. I wanted you to stay a whole month—you know I did."

"Only you are very glad I cannot."

"Really, Euphrasia, you are too ridiculous! What nonsense! Of course if your father isn't well, you are right to go home. That is another matter. I shouldn't be right to try and keep you."

"And then you will be free to go to Bath!"

"Oh, that—as to that, I shall see! Other things might prevent. I may not go, anyhow. It just depends! Of course, I should like it, and I don't see why you should mind! Anybody would like such a treat, and anybody would be provoked when things don't fit in properly. But my wanting to go there doesn't mean that I don't want to have you here too."

Euphrasia shook her head, almost imperceptibly.

"Why, they can all tell you that I have talked for months of your visit. But of course I have other friends too. And Cecy Fearing is the very dearest girl! If you knew her, you wouldn't wonder at me."

"I quite understand," Euphrasia answered, standing gravely near the dressing-table. By this time they were in the little bedroom.

"Well, I hope you are not going to have any more fancies. You ought to know me better by this time. Do you think you can find your way downstairs? Shall I send the maid to help you unpack? No? You dear piece of independence! Tea will be up in a few minutes, and there's something I 'must' do first. But don't be long coming down."

Letitia hurried off, plainly eager to be free; and Euphrasia gazed solemnly out of the window, seeing nothing.

"Father would say that one has to learn what the world is like. And Mrs. Landor would call this being désillusionnée. I did think I had one real friend in Letitia, and now I find I have not! Perhaps it is a good thing to find out early, not to be long deceived. She seemed so different at school. But everything was different there. These Fearings—why, they are quite new people. Letitia didn't know them three months ago. And yet she would rather be with them than with me. But they are somebodies and I am a nobody."

Euphrasia laughed faintly. One may be quite as proud of being a Nobody as of being a Somebody, but she did not know this.

"Anyhow, I am not going to make a goose of myself, or to let them see that I care. My father being poorly is excuse enough for me to hurry home. I shall not write to-night, because I might say too much. But to-morrow morning I'll tell him plainly that Letitia is not the friend I thought her, and that I'm not really wanted here, and so I mean to go home on Monday or Tuesday. Only he must not think that I am letting out anything he said to me. I shall have to be careful."

Meanwhile Letitia ran downstairs, and was greeted in the drawing-room by a—

"Really, Letitia—!"

"It's all right, mother. She's obliged to go home in a hurry because of her father! So now I can go to Bath."

"You will do nothing of the kind," Mrs. Johnston said, for once seriously displeased. "I would not on any account have Miss Mackenzie hurried away in such a fashion, just for your convenience. Of course I should like you to be in Bath with Lady Fearing, but I will not have a guest treated with rudeness, and that would be positive rudeness."

"She says she has to go home."

"Nonsense, my dear. Could you not see for yourself? Of course she felt bound to say so, when you showed so plainly what you wanted. But after asking her here for a month—really it was too bad, and Howard says the same. If you choose to make foolish promises to your friends, you must take the consequences. Nobody else wanted her, but now she is here, she will stay—at all events for ten days or a fortnight. I don't believe a word about her father's health. Why did she not mention it in writing?"

"I don't see why she should." Letitia spoke sullenly.

"Anybody else would see. Which day do the Fearings go to Bath?"

"Tuesday. To stay till Friday or Saturday."

"Then it is out of the question. You must give up all idea of such a thing." Mrs. Johnston spoke with unwonted decision. "It can't be, and that is the long and short of the matter."

A few minutes later Euphrasia made her appearance. She would not remain long upstairs. She did not wish for solitude or time to think, and she was especially desirous not to show signs of affront. Such signs would be tantamount to an avowal that her father's indisposition was not the real, or at all events not the sole cause of her shortened visit. "And it 'shall' be short," she told herself resolutely.

Letitia's face showed a fresh phase of affairs, which at first perplexed Euphrasia. Tea was come, and Mrs. Johnston while dispensing it talked continuously, to cover her daughter's silence. Euphrasia made necessary answers, not hearing half that was said, till the words caught her attention:

"Next Wednesday Letitia shall take you."

The "where" had doubtless been explained before.

"Thank you," she said at once, "but I shall not be here on Wednesday."

Mrs. Johnston laughed. "Indeed, Miss Mackenzie, we shall not let you off so early. If a whole month is impossible, a fortnight is the least we can be content with."

"Thank you. It is very kind." Euphrasia's eyes went straight to Letitia's face, and lingered there for two seconds. "But I must go home on Monday or Tuesday. Not later than Tuesday."

"No, indeed! I really could not consent. I shall write to your father myself, and ask him if it is necessary." Mrs. Johnston spoke with an air of pleasant determination. "I do not think he can be so ill as not to spare you for a short time. As for Letitia's absurd notion about Bath, pray do not let that trouble you. The plan is absolutely out of the question."

"It makes no difference. I must go on Monday or Tuesday."

A smile of dissent answered, and Mrs. Johnston put the matter aside, as if further discussion were superfluous. Since Letitia would not exert herself, Mrs. Johnston did, and the next hour was made as pleasant to Euphrasia as could be possible under the circumstances.

"Most fatiguing for myself, for the girl has no conversation," Mrs. Johnston stated inwardly, with compassion for her own arduous task. But she succeeded in winning Euphrasia's gratitude, and even to some extent Euphrasia's liking.

"Letitia, my dear, I wish you would run upstairs and get me that little work-basket out of my bedroom," she said, after a while. Lights had been brought in, for it was getting dark.

"Oh, bother,—why don't you ring for the maid? I'm tired." As with most spoilt children, "tired" with her meant "out of temper."

"Really, my dear, you might speak more civilly."

And Euphrasia started up, actually blushing for Letitia.

"Please let me! I should like so much to go. Yes, I know your bedroom—the front room over this. And the work-basket—"

"Well, really, you are very kind! I'm most obliged—but after all—yes, just a little work-basket, on the small table within the door. But I don't like—"

Euphrasia was gone. "I call 'that' obliging," said Mrs. Johnston.

Euphrasia had no difficulty in finding her way, though the landing above was dark. It seemed that the servants had delayed later than usual lighting the gas. She gained the room, found the work-basket, and set off swiftly to return. Too swiftly for one not familiar with the geography of the house.

Before she knew it, the first short flight was reached. When just about to move cautiously, in search of the stairs, her foot was already over the topmost step. Beyond that—a dead blank!

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