CHAPTER IV.

‘Lucy, Jane,’ said Miss Charlmont, some days afterwards, addressing her sisters, and holding up an open letter,—‘Mrs. Tyke has sent a very kind invitation, asking me, with one of you, to stay a month at her house, and to fix the day. It is your turn, Lucy; so, if you have no objection, I shall write, naming next Thursday for our journey to London. Jane, I shall ask Miss Drum to stay with you during our absence; I think she will be all the better for a change, and there is no person more fit to have the charge of you. So don’t be dull, dear, till we come back.’

But Jane pouted, and said in a cross tone, ‘Really, sister, you need not settle everything now for me, as if I were a baby. I don’t want Miss Drum, who is as old as the hills and as solemn. Can’t you write to Mrs. Tyke and say, that I cannot be left alone here? What difference could it make in her large house?’

For once Catherine answered her favourite sister with severity, ‘Jane, you know why it is impossible for us all to leave home together. This is the last year you will be called upon to remain behind, for after Lucys next birthday it is agreed between us that she will take turns with me in chaperoning you. Do not make what may be our last excursion together unpleasant by your unkindness.’

Still Jane was not silenced. ‘At any rate, it need not be Miss Drum. I will stay here alone, or I will have somebody more amusing than Miss Drum.’

Before Catherine could reply, Lucy with an effort struck into the dispute. ‘Jane, don’t speak like that to our sister; I should be ashamed to speak to her so. Still, Catherine,’ she continued, without noticing a muttered retort from the other, ‘after all, I am going to side with Jane on the main point, and ask you to take her to Notting Hill, and leave me at home to keep house with dear old Miss Drum. This really was my own wish before Jane spoke, so pray let us not say another word on the subject.’

But Catherine saw how pale and languid she looked, and stood firm. ‘No, Lucy, that would be unreasonable; Jane ought not to have made any difficulty. You have lost your colour lately and your appetite, and need a change more than either of us.’ I shall write to Mrs. Tyke, promising her and the doctor your company next Thursday; Jane will make up her mind like a good girl, and I am sure you, my dear, will oblige me by not withholding your assent.’

For the first time ‘my dear’ did not close the debate. ‘Catherine,’ said Lucy, earnestly, whilst, do what she would, tears gathered in her eyes, ‘I am certain you will not press me further, when I assure you that I do not feel equal to paying this visit. I have felt weak lately,’ she went on hurriedly, ‘and I cannot tell you how much I long for the quiet of a month at home rather than in that perpetual bustle. Merely for my own sake, Jane must go.’

Catherine said no more just then; but later, alone with Lucy, resumed the subject so far as to ask whether she continued in the same mind, and answered her flurried ‘yes’ by no word of remonstrance, but by an affectionate kiss. This was all which passed between them; neither then nor afterwards did the younger sister feel certain whether Catherine had or had not guessed her secret.

Miss Drum was invited to stay with Lucy in her solitude, and gladly accepted the invitation. Lucy was her favourite, and when they were together, they petted each other very tenderly.

Jane, having gained her point, recovered her good humour, and lost no time in exposing the deficiencies of her wardrobe. ‘Sister,’ she said, smiling her prettiest and most coaxing smile, ‘you can’t think how poor I am, and how few clothes I’ve got.’

Catherine, trying to appear serenely unconscious of the drift of this speech, replied, ‘Let us look over your wardrobe, dear, and we will bring it into order. Lucy will help, I know, and we can have Miss Smith to work here too, if necessary.’

‘Oh dear, no!’ cried Jane; ‘there is no looking over what does not exist. If it comes to furbishing up old tags and rags, here I stay. Why, you’re as rich as Jews, you and Lucy, and could give me five pounds a-piece without ever missing it; and not so much of a gift either, for I’m sure poor papa would never have left me such a beggar if he had known about me.’

This argument had been used more than once before. Catherine looked hurt. Lucy said, ‘You should remember that you have exactly the same allowance for dress and pocket-money that we have ourselves, and we both make it do.’

‘Of course,’ retorted Jane, with latent spitefulness; ‘and when I’m as old and wise as you two, I may manage as well; but at present it is different. Besides, if I spend most on dress, you spend most on books and music, and dress is a great deal more amusing. And if I dressed like an old fright, I should like to know who’d look at me. You don’t want me to be another old maid, I suppose.’

Lucy flushed up, and tried to keep her temper in silence: her sore point had been touched. Catherine, accustomed in such cases to protest first and yield afterwards, but half ashamed that Lucy’s eye should mark the process from beginning to end, drew Jane out of the room, and with scarcely a word more wrote her a cheque for ten pounds, and dropped the subject of looking over her wardrobe.

An hour after the sisters had started for London, Miss Drum arrived to take their place.

Miss Drum was tall in figure, rather slim and well preserved, with pale complexion, hair, and eyes, and an unvarying tone of voice. She was mainly describable by negatives. She was neither unladylike, nor clever, nor deficient in education. She was old, but not very infirm; and neither an altogether obsolete nor a youthful dresser, though with some tendency towards the former style. Propriety was the most salient of her attributes, and was just too salient to be perfect. She was not at all amusing; in fact, rather tiresome, with an unflagging intention of being agreeable. From her Catherine acquired a somewhat old-fashioned formality; from her, also, high principles, and the instinct of self-denial. And because unselfishness, itself a negative, was Miss Drum’s characteristic virtue, and because her sympathy, however prosy in expression, was sterling in quality, therefore Lucy, sore with unavowed heart-sorrow, could bear her companionship, and run down to welcome her at the door with affectionate cordiality.