Читать книгу Betty Trevor - Mrs. George de Horne Vaizey - Страница 6

The family dinner was served at seven o’clock, and all the children, down to Pam herself, appeared at table, for Dr. Trevor liked to have his family round him at the close of the day, and, thanks to his wife’s good management, the meal was always a bright and cheery occasion.

Mrs. Trevor was a devoted mother to every one of her flock, but the person in the house whom she mothered most of all was her hard-working husband, whose life was so devoted to others that he had little time to consider himself. From the children’s earliest years they had been taught that to “worry father” was one of the most serious offences which they could commit.

“Father spends his life going about from one sickroom to another; all day long he is meeting people who are ill, and anxious, in fear, and in pain, and when he comes home he must have a cheery welcome. If you want to grumble about anything, grumble to yourselves or to me; if you have anything disagreeable to tell, let it wait until we are alone. Meal-times with father must be devoted to pleasant subjects alone.” Such were Mrs. Trevor’s instructions, instilled into her children’s minds with such persistent firmness that they were never disobeyed, with the result that the tired doctor came home with the happy certainty of enjoying a cheery, harmonious hour, and the young people themselves learnt a lesson in self-restraint which was of infinite value in after life.

Betty might grumble and tirade outside the schoolroom door, but as she approached the dining-room she mechanically smoothed her brow and adopted a cheerful expression. To-night Dr. Trevor was already seated in his place at the end of the long table, for his wife took the head, to save him the fatigue of carving for so large a party. He was a tall, thin man, with a lined face lit by the keen, thoughtful eyes of the true physician. He looked up as his eldest daughter entered the room, and held out his hand to her in a mute caress. She bent to kiss his forehead, and stood holding his hand to chat for a few minutes until the other members of the family made their appearance. He noticed the Puritan-like coiffure—there were few things that those shrewd eyes did not notice—but made no comment thereon, for, as he frequently observed to his wife when she confided to him her troubles over Betty’s eccentricities, boys and girls who are in the transition stage between childhood and maturity are apt to become a trifle restless and eccentric, and it was wisdom to be for the most part judiciously blind, interfering only in cases of right and wrong. Let the little maid run with a loose rein for a time. She would soon settle down, and be the first to laugh at her own foibles.

Mrs. Trevor took her place, looking round on her assembled children with the pretty, half-appealing little smile which was her greatest charm. She was slight and graceful, not stout and elderly, like other people’s mothers. In the morning light she often looked wan and tired, but in the kindly lamplight she seemed more like Betty’s sister than the mother of a rapidly growing up family.

Miles sat at her right hand, a tall, somewhat heavy-looking youth, with enormous hands and feet, a square, determined jaw, and deep-set brown eyes. Even a casual glance at him was sufficient to show that he was going to make a man of power and determination, but, like Betty, he was passing through his awkward stage, and was often neither easy nor agreeable to live with.

Jack was just a mischievous schoolboy, with protruding ears and twinkling eyes. One can see a score like him any day, marching, marching along the street with satchels of books; but his twin sister had a more striking personality. Jill was a mystery to her relations and friends. She had ordinary brown hair, and not too much of that, light blue eyes with indifferent lashes, a nose a shade more impertinent than Betty’s own, a big mouth, and a powdering of freckles under her eyes; yet with those very ordinary equipments she managed to rank as a beauty among her schoolmates, and to attract more admiration than is vouchsafed to many people whose features might have been turned out of a classic mould. Betty used to ponder wistfully over the secret of Jill’s charm, and think it hard lines that it had not been given to herself, who would have cared for it so much more. Jill didn’t care a pin how she looked. She wanted to “have fun,” to invite Nora Bruce to tea as often as possible, to buy a constant supply of a special sort of almond toffee which was offered for sale at a shop which she passed on the way to school, to be a first-form girl and have one of the new desks, and, incidentally, to pass the Cambridge examination if it could be done without too much “fag.” She put on her clothes any way, did her hair in the twinkling of an eye, and the effect was uniformly charming.

“If she’s untidy, she’s picturesque; if I’m untidy, I’m a fright. It’s mean!” soliloquised Betty discontentedly. Every day she lived she was the more convinced that the world was topsy-turvy, and that she herself was the only person who was competent to set it to rights.

Pam was just Pam; like herself, and no one else in the world. A dear little, wide-eyed, pointed-chinned kitten, everybody’s tease, and pet, and conscience all in one, for those clear child eyes seemed to see through all pretences, and what she thought she put into words without a shadow of fear or hesitation.

It was a very plain, almost a frugal, repast, but the table looked cheerful and pretty with the pink-shaded lamp in the centre, surrounded by the four little bowls of flowers which it was one of Betty’s duties to keep fresh, and there was no lack of lively conversation.

Mrs. Trevor had had a trying day, and several of her worries must of necessity be discussed with her husband later on, but she would allow no hint of them to escape until he had been fed and rested, and in the same manner all the children searched their memories for the pleasantest event which they had experienced to retail for his benefit.

“I was top to-day, father,” Jack announced proudly; “answered every single question in Latin, and read off my translation like a book. If I liked to stew, I believe I could lick Johnston all the time. He was pretty sick at having to go down; looked as glum as an old owl for the rest of the morning.”

“He takes his work more seriously than you do, my boy. You say you could be top if you liked: I am glad to hear it; but why don’t you like? You can’t surely prefer a lower place?”

“Oh, well, there’s reason in all things!” returned Jack, with a vagueness which his brothers and sisters had apparently little difficulty in understanding, for they laughed, and sniggered meaningly to each other.

“Such a waste of time, when there is football to be played!”

“A full back has to keep his energy for his work, and not fritter it away over stupid books. That’s about it, isn’t it, Jack?” they teased, while Dr. Trevor said between a sigh and a smile—

“Ah, well, my boy, you are old enough to judge for yourself how your time should be spent! If you win a scholarship, I’ll manage to help you through a ’Varsity course, but I can’t afford to keep you there unassisted. Remember it is your whole career which is at stake.”

“All right, father, I will work,” said Jack easily.

He was an affectionate boy, who disliked disappointing his parents, but unfortunately he disliked work even more. He was rather sorry now that he had mentioned his easy victory over the redoubtable Johnston. The pater would expect him to be top every day, whereas he had only just put on a spurt to show what he could do if he chose. Suppose he did lose the scholarship, it wouldn’t be so bad after all, he could still play footer on Saturday afternoons!

The doctor’s glance had wandered, as if for consolation, to his elder son—Miles the strenuous, the indefatigable, who had a passion for work for work’s sake. He was going through the practical stage of an engineer’s training, and left the house at six o’clock each morning, to return in the afternoon clad in workman’s clothes, incredibly greasy and dirty. Betty suffered agonies in case “they”—that wonderful impersonal “they” who overclouded her life—should think he was really and truly an ordinary workman! On one occasion Miles had joined her on the doorstep as she was returning from an afternoon walk, and she had distinctly seen the curtains of the Pampered Pet’s drawing-room move, as if someone were peeping out from behind, when, as she confided to Jill later on, “her cheeks turned k–r–rimson with mortification!”

“Well, Miles, my boy, did you take your little invention with you to-day, and were you able to show it to the manager?”

“Yes, I took it all right.”

“And what did he say?”

“He said it was all right.”

“Does that mean that he acknowledged that it was an improvement on the present method? Did he feel inclined to give it a trial?”

“Oh yes, it went all right. He said it would do.”

“But that’s capital! Capital! I congratulate you heartily! Didn’t Mr. Davidson seem pleased that you should have hit on such a bright idea?”

“Oh, he said it was all right.”

Miles made a determined attack on his plate, as if pleading to be left alone to enjoy his dinner in peace. Since the days of his babyhood he had shown a strong inventive genius, and now it was his delight to spend his spare moments working in his little cupboard sanctum at home, striving to improve on any bit of machinery which struck him as falling short of perfection. It was a very simple thing which he had attempted, but in machinery, as in many other things, trifles are all-important, and it was a triumph indeed that a lad of nineteen should have hit on an improvement which was considered worth a trial.

Dr. Trevor and his wife exchanged smiles of happy satisfaction. They yearned to ask a dozen more questions, but refrained out of sympathy with that natural masculine reserve which they understood so well. Betty, however, was less considerate.

“I do think you might tell us a little more about it, Miles!” she cried resentfully. “You know we are all dying of curiosity. I can’t think why it is that boys can never give a decent account of anything that has happened! Now, if it had been me, I should have begun at the very beginning, from the moment I entered the works, and told you how I felt as I went upstairs, and how I began to speak to the manager, and what he said, and how he looked, and—”

“What colour of necktie he wore—”

Betty tossed her head in scornful contempt of the burst of laughter evoked by Miles’ words.

“And what he did with the screw, or whatever you call it, when you showed it to him, and what the other men said, and—Oh, dozens of interesting things; but you can say nothing but ‘all right’ to every single question. It is dull!”

“You must allow for diversities of talent, Betty,” said Mrs. Trevor, laughing. “We do not all possess your powers of description. Miles is very modest over his success, and I, like you, want to hear more details. You must be sure to tell us how the trial works, Son; and if your improvement is permanently adopted, I shall be proud!”

“Nothing to be proud of!” muttered Miles into his plate.

If there was one thing he loathed more than another, it was to be praised and petted, and made the centre of attention. His roughened fingers clenched themselves tightly round the knife and fork, and he cut his beef into pieces with savage energy.

Why couldn’t they leave a fellow alone? All this fuss about a bit of a cog!

Betty divined his discomfiture, as she divined all that concerned her beloved brother, but she had not the tact to come to the rescue, and it was Jill who turned the conversation by a casual question which yet was of interest to all the family.

“Father, is there a father at the big house at the corner? We can’t decide what’s the matter with him. There must have been one, of course, because of the Pet. Jack says he’s dead, but she is not in mourning, and the mother doesn’t wear widow’s things. I say he’s gone a tour round the world, and is buying presents at every port so as to pamper her more than ever when he comes back.”

Dr. Trevor looked a trifle mystified, but he was accustomed to his children’s mental flights, and, after a moment’s consideration, he replied smilingly—

“If you mean Number 14, the tenant is a certain Major Alliot, who is at present, I believe, with his regiment in India. I don’t know anything about his household, or the identity of the ‘Pet,’ as you are pleased to call her.”

“I wish she’d fall downstairs, or have an accident of some sort suddenly, so that they’d have to fly across for you in a hurry,” sighed Jill with frank brutality. “I wish all the people in that row would have accidents, so that you could tell us all about them. We are dying with curiosity!”

“Wouldn’t influenza do as well? There is no need to be quite so brutal, Jill,” her father reminded her. “Besides, it is hardly my usual custom to tell you ‘all about’ my cases, is it? I should be very glad to find new patients nearer here for my own sake; which reminds me, dear, that I have to go a long drive after dinner, and shan’t be home for the evening, as I hoped. It is unfortunate having so many late nights this week.”

Mrs. Trevor’s brow shadowed for a moment, but she recovered herself, and smiled bravely at her husband, while Betty cried emphatically—

“I shall never marry a doctor!”

“Lucky beggar! He’s had an escape anyway!” growled Miles beneath his breath, quite unable to resist paying Betty back for her attack on him a few moments before, and Betty laughed as merrily as the rest at the joke against herself.

“Well, I shall have an escape too! I don’t like ill people or having anything to do with them; it’s not my vocation!” she announced grandiloquently, and her face fell with dismay when her father said cheerily—

“Oh, come, you don’t do yourself justice, dear. I always find you a very acceptable little nurse. Mrs. Ewen was asking for you only to-day. I should be glad if you would make a point of going to see her some afternoon this week, and trying to amuse her for an hour or two. She has had a very sharp attack, poor soul.”

“Yes, father,” assented Betty meekly, but mentally she ground her teeth.

Mrs. Ewen was an old patient, a tiresome patient from Betty’s point of view, who never grew better, but was frequently worse, who spent all her life in her bedroom and an upstairs sitting-room, her chief subject of conversation being the misdemeanours of her hardly-worked nurses. She had taken a fancy to the doctor’s young daughter, and liked to be visited by her as often as possible in convalescent periods; but Betty did not return the liking.

“She doesn’t understand girls,” she grumbled to herself. “I don’t believe she ever was a girl herself. She must have been born about forty, with spectacles and a cap. I can’t think why she wants to see me. I do nothing but say ‘Yes’ and ‘No’ while she abuses other people, and yawn my head off in that stifling room. And I did so want to get on with my blouse. Seems as if I could never do as I like, somehow!”

She sat looking such an image of meekness and resignation, with her smoothly-braided locks and downcast lids, that her father’s lips twitched with amusement as he glanced at her, and quickly averted his eyes. He knew just as well as she did how distasteful his request had been, but he was none the less anxious to enforce it. Betty’s horizon was blocked with self at the present moment, and anything and everything was of gain which forced her to think of something besides that all-important personage Miss Elizabeth Trevor.