Sweet Content. Molesworth Mrs.
had chosen it – at least, perhaps it should be Lady Honor, I was not quite sure – sometimes I planned that papa should smile and it should come out by accident, as it were. Then this should lead us to talk of flowers, and I would tell them how they might make winter nosegays to brighten up the drawing-room a little, and I would promise them some flowers out of our conservatory, and papa would ask Mrs Whyte to let them come to have tea with me the next day, and they would look delighted though half afraid, and they would all come to the door to see me mount, and, and – on and on I would go for hours, in my fancies, of which “I” and “we” were always the centre, the pivot on which everything else revolved!
Now I will tell what really happened.
It was about six weeks after the day that I had gone with papa and mamma to the Yew Trees. So it was within a fortnight of Christmas. Mamma and I had been to the Yew Trees again once or twice to see how things were getting on, but for the last ten days or so we had not gone, as the Whytes’ two servants and their furniture had come, and the house was now, therefore, to all intents and purposes theirs, and one morning a letter from Captain Whyte to papa announced that he and Mrs Whyte and “some of our numerous youngsters” were to arrive the same day.
“Poor things,” said mamma, with a little shiver, “how I do pity them removing at this season.”
“But it isn’t cold,” said papa. “So far it has been an unusually mild winter, though certainly we have had a disagreeable amount of rain.”
He glanced out as he spoke. It was not raining, but it looked dull and gloomy.
“I suppose there is nothing we can do to help the Whytes?” said mamma. “You will tell me, Tom, if you think there is.”
“I almost think the kindest thing in such circumstances is to leave people alone till they shake down a little,” he replied. “However, I shall be passing that way this evening, and I’ll look in for a moment. Captain Whyte won’t mind me.”
I didn’t think any one could ever “mind” papa! I suppose it comes partly from his being a doctor and knowing so much about home things, children and illnesses, and so on, that he is so wonderfully sensible and handy and tender in his ways – “like a woman,” Prudence says; but indeed I don’t think there are many women like him– and I don’t think it can be all from his being a doctor, it must be a good deal from his own kind, tender, sympathising heart.
“Please find out how soon we can go to see them at the Yew Trees,” I said. “Perhaps I might ride there with you some morning on Hop-o’-my-thumb before mamma goes regularly to call.”
“We’ll see,” said papa, as he went off. Of course, I was thinking of my imaginary programme, but papa did not know that.
When he came home that night I was disappointed to find that he had not seen any of the Whytes. Captain Whyte was out, and Mrs Whyte, after all, had not yet come. “Only Miss Whyte and two of the young gentlemen,” the servant had said, and as papa had no very particular reason for calling, he had not asked to see “Miss Whyte.”
“Do you think she is one of the little girls?” I asked.
Papa shook his head.
“I don’t know. She may be an aunt who has come to help,” he said.
This idea rather annoyed me. I had not planned for a helpful aunt; it disarranged things.
“Never mind, Connie,” said mamma, thinking I was disappointed. “We shall soon know all about them. I should think we might call early next week. The old-fashioned rule in a country-place is to wait till you have seen people in church,” she added.
This was Wednesday. It was a good while to wait till next Monday or Tuesday. However, I set to work at my fancies again, determining all the same to ride past the Yew Trees, as often as I could this week. It would be rather nice and romantic for them to have seen me riding about without knowing who I was, before they actually met me.
Whom I meant by “they” I am not quite sure. I fancy I did the Whyte girls the compliment of placing them next in importance to myself in my drama.
“I wonder,” I thought, “if Lady Honor told them nicely of my being called ‘Sweet Content,’ or if she said it mockingly. It was horrid of her if she did.”
Chapter Four.
All My Own Fault
“What are you in such a brown study about, Connie?” asked mamma at breakfast the next morning.
I started.
“Nothing very particular,” I said, and I felt myself get red. I should not have liked mamma to know my thoughts – I was rehearsing for the hundredth time the scene of my first meeting with the Whytes, or rather, I should say, of their first meeting me. Just as mamma spoke I was wondering how I could persuade papa to let me ride over with him before mamma paid her more formal call at the Yew Trees.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.