Читать книгу Betty Trevor - Mrs. George de Horne Vaizey - Страница 8

“Such a joke, Jill! The sun is shining, and the Pet is sitting reading, in the drawing-room window, and I’ve found a broken piece of looking-glass in the street.—There’s luck! Let’s hide behind the curtains and flash it in her eyes!”

Jill’s book fell down with a crash, and she leapt to her feet, abeam with anticipation. It was Saturday, and she had announced her intention of “stewing hard” all the afternoon, but the claims of examinations sank into the background before the thrilling prospect held out by her twin.

“Break it in two! Fair does, Jack! Give me a bit, and let us flash in turns!” she cried eagerly; but Jack would not consent to anything so rash.

“How can I divide it, silly?” he replied. “I haven’t a diamond to cut it, and if I crunch it with my foot it may all go to smithereens, and there will be nothing left. I’ll lend it to you for a bit now and then, but you won’t aim straight. Girls never do!”

“I do! I do!” Jill maintained loudly. “I will! I will! Come along, be quick! She might move away, and it would be such a sell. I’ll kneel down here and keep the curtains round me. I wonder what she’s reading. Something awfully dry and proper, I expect! What heaps of hair! It hangs over her face, so that we shan’t be able to dazzle her a bit.”

“Yes, we will,” contradicted Jack. “She’ll see the light dancing about on the page, and look up to see what’s the matter! You watch, but mind you don’t bob up your head and let her see you!”

“Mind you don’t let her see your hand! It’s sticking right out. You ought to put on a dark glove, which she wouldn’t notice against the pane.”

Jack was pleased to approve of the glove proposition, and an adjournment was made to the doctor’s dressing-room, where a pair of ‘funeral gloves’ were discovered which seemed exactly what was desired. Jack drew one on his right hand, Jill drew the other on her left, and thus equipped they crept back to their hiding-place behind the shabby red curtains, and proceeded to work.

It was rather difficult to move the glass so as to throw the reflection on one exact spot, as the conspirators could only peep out for a moment at a time. The little white circle of light danced all over the big grey house before it found the window above the porch, and, moving slowly up and down, eventually alighted on the page of the open book. Jill giggled, Jack snored loudly, as was his habit when excited; the Pet gave a little hitch round in her chair, and read on stolidly.

“My turn! My turn!” cried Jill excitedly. “You’ve had your innings, now give me mine. Hand it over!” and the two black gloved hands met in the middle of the window.

“You moved it away too quickly! You must follow her about, and bob it g–ently up and down. Wait till I get it right. There it is! I’ve got it better than you, Jack, ever so much better!”

“That’s because the sun’s so much brighter. Be careful now. That’s enough! If you go on too long at a time, she’ll move away into the room and it will be all up. Let her settle down again, and imagine she’s all right, then we’ll give her another treat!”

It was wonderful how expert one grew with practice! The light now danced direct to its destination, and move her book as she would, the Pet could not escape. At last she grew impatient, tossed back her mane of hair and turned to stare curiously out of the window. This was the longed-for opportunity, and Jack snored louder than ever with relief that it had come about when it was his turn to hold the treasured glass. Quick as thought he waved it to and fro, and the Pet threw up her hands, unable to withstand the glare. Safe in the seclusion of their distant room, the twins shrieked with exultation, and had much ado to keep their position behind the curtains. Jill kept endeavouring to snatch the glass from her brother, but Jack was too intent on his work to take any notice of her efforts.

The Pet lifted one hand from her eyes and cautiously peeped out. The sun was shining with unusual brilliancy for an October morning, but there was not the slightest difficulty in viewing the landscape as fully as she liked. She turned her head from side to side in a curious inquiring fashion, and Jack, with an artist’s appreciation of the right moment, waited until she had abandoned the search, and was about to settle down again, when another blinding flash of light fell full on her face, and she shrank back into the shade with a startled gesture.

Seated in this last position, she exactly faced the schoolroom, and the twins had a moment’s horrified fear that she had caught a glimpse of their peeping faces, but her next movement put an end to suspicion, for she took up her book and settled down again to her reading exactly as if she had never been interrupted.

And then an extraordinary thing happened! The mane of golden hair was tossed back, leaving the face fully exposed, yet though the twins flashed the light on both eyes and book, the Pet read on stolidly, turning over the pages with leisurely enjoyment, apparently no whit disturbed.

“What’s the matter with her all of a sudden? Is she blind?” Jill queried impatiently.

Jack grunted, and flashed more vigorously than ever, but the Pet might have been a hundred miles away for all the effect produced. It was most mysterious and perplexing, not to say exasperating to the last degree. After ten minutes’ fruitless effort, Jack went off in search of fresh victims, and Jill sorrowfully returned to her lessons.

How interested they would have been if they could have overheard a conversation which was even then taking place across the road!

“Dear child!” cried a lady lying on a sofa at the far end of a beautifully-furnished drawing-room. “Dear child, what are you doing? For the last five minutes I have been watching you pretending to read with your eyes shut. It’s not a lesson book, and Miss Mason is not here, so what can you be thinking about, dear wee goose?”

The fair head turned round, and the book dropped to the floor.

“I’m thinking,” said a very sweet, sad little voice, “I’m thinking that I wish I were a large family, mother. I’m so tired of being only one!”

“Oh, Cynthia!” cried the lady—and there was a world of mother-yearning in her voice—“is it that old trouble again? Poor child, it is dull for you, but I do all I can for you, darling. I stayed at home especially to be near you, and I do my best to be a companion, and to sympathise in all your interests. Don’t tell me that I have failed altogether!”

Cynthia crossed the room, knelt down on the floor by her mother’s couch and laid both hands on her knee. The two faces that confronted each other were as much alike as was possible, given a difference in age of twenty-five years. Cynthia was a beautiful girl, and her mother was a beautiful woman, and the beauty lay as much in expression as in feature. Miles Trevor had been entirely mistaken when he compared the girl to a doll, for the direct glance of the eye, the sweet, firm lips and well-formed chin, belonged to no puppet, but showed unusual strength of character.

“You are a darling, and I adore you!” cried Cynthia fondly. “But you are old, you know, and I am so dreadfully young. There’s something all fizzling inside me for want of a vent. I’m just desperate sometimes to do something wild, and exciting, and hilarious; it doesn’t matter how silly it is; the sillier the better! I’m so dreadfully well-regulated, mother, considering I’m only sixteen. Lessons—‘studies,’ as Miss Mason calls them—musical exercises, constitutional, luncheon, more studies, dinner, polite conversation, performances upon the piano, that’s my daily round, and I get so tired! Don’t think I don’t appreciate you, mother. You know I do. We are the best friends in the world, but still—”

“I know,” said Mrs. Alliot, and sighed once more. She stroked her daughter’s golden head in thoughtful silence, then asked curiously, “What made you feel your loneliness especially to-day, dear?”

A flicker of laughter passed over Cynthia’s pink-and-white face.

“The boy and girl in Number 1, the corner house, were playing tricks on me, trying to dazzle my eyes with something—a piece of old looking-glass, I suppose. I could not understand what caused the sudden glare until I caught a glimpse of their faces peering out from behind the curtains.”

“Trying to dazzle you! That doctor’s children? How exceedingly rude! They must be very badly brought up. And you were sitting with your eyes shut pretending to go on reading. You curious child! Why?”

“It was their joke; they enjoyed it. It would have been mean to cut it short. Besides,” added Cynthia, with a twinkle, “it was my joke too! They must have been so puzzled when I seemed to go on reading, for they couldn’t see that my eyes were shut, and I went on turning over the pages at regular intervals, as if I were perfectly comfortable and happy. Oh no, I don’t think they are rude, mother; only frisky, and I love frisky people! There are such a lot of them, and they do have such a good time. Schoolroom tea all together, and the big girl pours out. I could see them quite well when they first came, and the afternoons were light. They go in pairs—a big boy and a big girl, a middling boy and a middling girl, and then a dear little girl with a face like a kitten. I like them all so much, but—” and her voice died away in a plaintive cadence, “they don’t like me!”

“And how have you found that out, may I ask?”

“I—I feel they don’t,” sighed Cynthia sadly. “They watch me out of the windows, and talk and laugh, and make remarks among themselves. The window seemed full of faces the other day …”

Mrs. Alliot’s delicate face flushed resentfully.

“Abominably rude! Really, dear, I don’t think you need worry yourself what such people think. There can be no possible excuse for such behaviour!”

“Oh yes, dear, there is, for they don’t intend me to see! It was quite extraordinary how they all vanished into space the very instant I raised my eyes. You might just as well say it is rude of me to stare into their windows, and I do, for I can’t help it. It’s a sort of magnet to me every time I pass. I do so wish I knew them, mother dear!”

Mrs. Alliot smiled and stroked her daughter’s head once more. She was thinking that for Cynthia’s sake she must really manage to cultivate some friends with large families; but she had not the least intention of introducing her daughter to the strange doctor’s mischievous, unconventional children.

In many cases, however, there is something stronger than the will of parents and guardians. Some people call it fate, some by a higher name. In later years Cynthia Alliot considered her friendship with the Trevor family as one of the greatest providences of her life.