That Stick ...

‘Oh, she is much more good-natured.  We call her Bertha; at least, she told us that we might call her anything but that horrid Cousin Bertha, as she said.  But she’s old, thirty-six years old, and not a bit pretty, and she says such odd things, one doesn’t know what to do.  She thought I made myself useful and could wash and iron,’ said Ida, as if this were the greatest possible insult, in which Sibyl acquiesced.

‘And she thought I should know the factory girls, just the hands,’ added Ida, greatly disgusted.  ‘As if I should!  But ma says low tastes are in the family, for she is going to live in London, and go and sit with the shop-girls in the evening.  Still I like her better than Lady Adela, who keeps herself to herself.  Mamma says it is pride and spite that her plain little sickly girl hasn’t come to be my Lady.’

‘What, doesn’t she speak to them?’ said Sibyl, quite excited.

‘Oh yes, she calls, and shakes hands, and all that, but one never seems to get on with her.  And Emily Trotman, she’s the doctor’s daughter, such a darling, told me such a history—so interesting!’

p. 95‘Tell me, Ida, there’s a dear.’

‘She says they were all frightfully dissipated’ (Ida said it quite with a relish)—‘the old Lord and Mr. Morton, Lady Adela’s husband, you know, and Miss Bertha—always racing and hunting and gambling and in debt.  Then there came a Captain Alder, who was ever so much in love with Miss Bertha, but most awfully in debt to her brother, and very passionate besides.  So he took him out in his dog-cart with a fiery horse that was sure to run away.’

‘Who did?’

‘Captain Alder took Mr. Morton, though they begged and prayed him not, and the horse ran away and Mr. Morton was thrown out and killed.’

‘Oh!’ with extreme zest.  ‘On purpose?’

‘Miss Bertha was sure it was, so that she might have all the fortune, and so she told him, and flung the betrothal ring in his face, and he went right off, and never has been heard of since.’

‘Well, that is interesting.  Do you think he shot himself?’

‘No, he was too mean.  Most likely he married a hideous millionaire: but the Mortons were always dreadful, and did all sorts of wicked things.’

‘I declare it’s as good as any tale—like the sweet one in the Young Ladies’ Friend now—“The Pride of Pedro.”  Have you seen it?’

‘No, indeed, uncle and aunt only have great old stupid books!  They wanted me to read those horrid tiresome things of Scott’s, and Dickens’s too, who is as old as the hills!  Why, they could not think of anything better to do on their wedding tour but to go to all the places in the Waverley novels.’

p. 96‘Why, they are as bad as history!  Jim brought one home once, and pa wanted me to read it, but I could not get on with it—all about a stupid king of France.  I’m sure if I married a lord I’d make him do something nicer.’

‘I mean ma to do something more jolly,’ said Ida, ‘when we get more money, and I am come out.  I mean to go to balls and tennis parties, and I shall be sure to marry a lord at some of them.’

‘And you will take me,’ cried Sibyl.

‘Only you must be very genteel,’ said Ida.  ‘Try to learn style, do, dear.  It must be learnt young, you know!  Why, there’s Aunt Mary, when she has got ever so beautiful a satin dress on, she does not look half so stylish as Lady Adela walking up the road in an old felt hat and a shepherd’s-plaid waterproof!  But they all do dress so as I should be ashamed.  Only think what a scrape that got Herbert into.  He was coming back one Saturday from his tutor’s, and he saw walking up to the house an awfully seedy figure of fun, in an old old ulster, and such a hat as you never saw, with a knapsack on her back, and a portfolio under her arm.  So of course he thought it was a tramp with something to sell, and he holloaed out, “You’d better come out of this!  We want none of your sort.”  She just turned round and laughed, which put him in such a rage, that though she began to speak he didn’t wait, but told her to have done with her sauce, or he would call the keepers.  He thinks she said, “You’d better,” and I believe he did move his stick a little.’

‘Ida, have done with that!’ cried Herbert’s voice p. 97close to her.  ‘Hold your tongue, or I’ll—’ and his hand was near her hair.

‘Oh, don’t, don’t, Herbert.  Let me hear,’ cried Sibyl.

‘That’s the way girls go on,’ said Herbert fiercely, ‘with their nonsense and stuff.’

‘But who—?’

‘If you go on, Ida—’ he was clutching her braid.

Sibyl sprang to the defence, and there was a general struggle and romp interspersed with screams, which was summarily stopped by Mr. Rollstone explaining severely, ‘If you think that is the deportment of the aristocracy, Miss Ida, you are much mistaken.’

‘Bother the aristocracy!’ broke out Herbert.