Consequences. E. M. Delafield
book. But Barbara only nodded, and presently said:
"Cedric has got quantities of prizes: the headmaster wrote and told father that he was a 'boy of marked abilities and remarkable power of concentration,' and father is going to give him a whole sovereign, but that's because he made his century."
"When will he be here?"
"Next week. His holidays begin on Tuesday and he's got a whole fortnight longer than we have."
"We?" asked Alex coldly. "How can you have holidays? You're not at school."
"I have lessons," cried Barbara angrily. "You know I have, and Ma'moiselle is going to give me a prize for writing, and a prize for history, and a prize for application. So there!"
"Prizes!" said Alex scornfully. "When you're all by yourself! I never heard such nonsense."
She no longer felt wretched and subdued, but full of irritation at Barbara's conceit and absorption in herself.
"It's not nonsense!"
"It is. If you'd been at school you'd know it was."
"One word more of this and you'll go to bed, the pair of you," declared old Nurse, the autocrat whom Alex had for the moment forgotten. "It's argle-bargle the minute you set foot in the place, Miss Alex. Now you just come along and be made fit to be seen before your poor mamma and papa set eyes on you looking like a charity-school child, as hasn't seen a brush or a bit of soap for a month of Sundays."
Useless to protest even at this trenchant description of herself. Useless to attempt resistance during the long process of undressing, dressing again, brushing and combing, inspection of finger-nails and general, dissatisfied scrutiny that ensued. Alex, in a stiff, clean frock, the counterpart, to her secret vexation, of Barbara's, open-work stockings, and new shoes that hurt her feet, was enjoined "to hold back her shoulders and not poke" and dispatched to the drawing-room with Barbara and Archie as soon as the schoolroom tea was over.
She felt as though she had never been away.
No one had asked her anything about the convent, and all through tea Barbara and Archie had talked about the coming holidays, or had made allusions to events of which Alex knew nothing, but which had evidently been absorbing their attention for the last few weeks.
They seemed to Alex futile in the extreme.
Downstairs, Lady Isabel kissed her, and said, "Well, my darling, I'm very glad to have you at home again. Have you been a good girl this term, and brought back a report that will please papa?" and then had turned to speak to some one without waiting for an answer.
Alex sat beside her mother while she talked to the one remaining visitor, and felt discontented and awkward.
Barbara and Archie were looking at pictures together in the corner of the room, very quiet and well behaved. The caller stayed late, and just as she had gone Sir Francis came in from his Club, the faint, familiar smell of tobacco, and Russia leather, and expensive eau-de-Cologne that seemed to pervade him, striking Alex with a fresh sense of recognition as she rose to receive his kiss. He greeted her very kindly, but Alex was quite aware of a dissatisfaction as intense as, though less outspoken than, that of old Nurse as he put up his double eye-glasses and gazed at his eldest daughter.
"We must see if the country or the seaside will bring back some roses to your cheeks," he said in characteristic phraseology.
But when the children were dismissed from the drawing-room, Sir Francis straightened his own broad back, and tapped Alex' rounded shoulder-blades.
"Hold yourself up, my child," he said very decidedly. "I want to see a nice flat, and straight back."
He made no other criticism, and none was needed.
Alex had gauged the extent of his dismay.
IV
Holidays
"Mother, may I ask Queenie Torrance to tea?"
Alex had rehearsed the words so often to herself that they had almost become meaningless.
Her heart beat thickly with the anticipation of a refusal, when at last she found courage and opportunity to utter the little stilted phrase, with a tongue that felt dry and in a voice that broke nervously in her throat.
"What do you say, darling?" absently inquired Lady Isabel; and Alex had to say it again.
"Queenie Torrance?" said Lady Isabel, still vaguely.
"Mother, you remember – I told you about her. She is the only other English girl besides me at the convent, and she knows all about father and you and everything, and her father belongs to the same Club – "
Snobbishness was not in Alex' composition, but she adopted her mother's standards eagerly and instinctively, in the hope of gaining her point.
"But, my darling, what are you talkin' about? You know mother doesn't let you have little girls here unless she knows somethin' about them. Give me the little diamond brooch, Alex; the one in the silver box there."
Lady Isabel, absorbed in the completion of her evening toilette, remained unconscious of the havoc she had wrought. Alex felt rather sick.
The intensity of feeling to which she was a victim, for the most part reacted on her physically, though she was as unconscious of this as was her mother.
But with the cunning borne of urgent desire, Alex knew that persistence, which with Sir Francis would invariably win a courteous rebuke and an immutable refusal, could sometimes bring forth rather querulous concession from Lady Isabel's weakness.
"But, mummy, darling, I do want Queenie to come here and see Barbara and Cedric."
It was not true, but Alex was using the arguments which she felt would be most likely to appeal to her mother.
"She wants to know them so much, and – and I saw her father at the station when we arrived, and he was very polite."
"Who was with you? I don't like your speakin' like that to people whom father and I don't know."
"Oh, it was only a second," said Alex hastily. "Madame Hippolyte was there, and Colonel Torrance just came up to take Queenie away."
"Torrance – Torrance?" said Lady Isabel reflectively. "Who's Torrance?"
The question made Alex' heart sink afresh. It was one which, coming from her parents, she heard applied to new acquaintances, or occasionally to protégés for whom some intimate friends might crave the favour of an invitation to one of the big Clare "crushes" during the season, and the inquiry was seldom one which boded well for the regard in which the newcomer would be held.
"Mother, you'd like her, I think, really and truly you would. She's awfully pretty."
"Alex!"
Lady Isabel for once sounded really angry.
"I'm so sorry; it slipped out – I didn't mean it – I never really say it. I never do, mother."
Alex became agitated, trying to fend off the accusation which she foresaw was coming.
"I suppose you learn those horrid slang words from this girl you've taken such a violent fancy to."
"No, no."
"Well, darling, both father and I are very much disgusted with some of the tricks you've picked up at the convent, and you'll have to find some way of curin' yourself before you put up your hair and come out. As for the way you're holdin' yourself, I'm simply shocked at it, and so is your father; I shall see about sendin' you to MacPherson's gymnasium for proper exercises as soon as you get back from the country."
Lady Isabel gazed with dissatisfaction at her daughter.
"You mustn't be a disappointment to us, darling," she said. "You know you'll be coming out in another two years' time, and it's so important – "
She broke off, eyeing Alex anxiously. Already she had forgotten the question of the invitation to Queenie Torrance. Alex, in an agony, rushed recklessly at her point.
"But, mother, you haven't said yet – may I ask Queenie on Saturday? You know we shan't be here