Chapter Fourteen.
Mollie Defends her Uncle.
Mr Farrell walked to the door, and shut it behind him. Everyone stood still, staring at Mollie, and Mollie stared ruefully back.
“Oh!” she cried breathlessly, “oh!” and pressed both palms to her now scorching cheeks. “I’ve never been snubbed like that in all my life.” Then suddenly she laughed a bright, sweet-hearted laugh, utterly free from envy. “I’m nowhere, Ruth, when you are concerned; but there’s one comfort, I can do as I like, and no one will interfere! If it is to be a choice between the two, I prefer freedom to riches.”
She left the room to make her way upstairs, and Jack crossed the hall by her side. He looked intently at her as he walked, and when their eyes met he said simply—
“You took that well—very well indeed! I congratulate you on your self-control. I could not have kept my temper as you did.”
“Oh, I don’t know!” returned Mollie easily. “I brought it on my own head. It was stupid to speak of myself at all; but just for the moment I couldn’t help feeling aggrieved, because, really and truly, I was in greater danger than she. Uncle Bernard is old, poor thing, and that makes him querulous.”
“It ought not to. I call that a very poor excuse. When a man gets to his age he ought surely to have learnt to be patient, even if he imagines himself provoked.”
“But he is ill as well. You say nothing about that. Should that make him patient too?”
“Certainly it should. Suffering has often a most ennobling effect.”
Mollie stood on the first step of the staircase, her arm on the banister, looking with a challenging smile into the proud self-confident face on a level with her own.
“Have you ever been ill, Mr Melland?”
“I am thankful to say I have not.”
“But you have surely had a pain, or an ache, for a few hours at a time? Ear-ache, when you were a child, or toothache later on?”
“Oh, certainly! I’ve had my share of toothache, and the smaller ailments.”
“And when the spasms were on,—were you gentle and patient? Did you feel your character being ennobled, or did you rage and champ about like a mad bull?”
Jack laughed. It was impossible to resist it, at the sight of the mischievous face, and the sound of the exaggerated, school-girl simile.
“Well,” he conceded magnanimously, “perhaps the champing was the more in evidence. I was not citing myself as a model, Miss Mollie. I know quite well that—that I might be more patient than I am.”
“More patient! More! You are not patient at all. You are the most impatient person I ever met. If anyone dares even to have a different opinion from you, you can hardly contain yourself. I wish you could see your face! You look like this.”
Mollie drew herself up, making a valiant attempt to draw her eyebrows together, send out lightning sparks from her eyes, inflate her nostrils, and tug the ends of an imaginary moustache at one and the same time; and succeeded in looking at once so pretty and so comical that, instead of being convicted, Jack laughed more heartily than before.
“As bad as that? Really? I must be ferocious! It’s rather unkind of you to pitch into me like this, Miss Mollie, when I have just been paying you compliments. It’s a good thing I am going away so soon, as I am such a desperate character. There is no saying to what lengths Mr Farrell and I might get if we were long together.”
“Oh!” Mollie’s face sobered, and a little chill came over her spirits. “You are still determined, then? Nothing has happened to make you change your mind?”
“What should have happened?” replied Jack the ungallant. “There has been nothing behind the scenes, Miss Mollie—nothing that you do not know of. Only I prefer to go back to my work—that’s all. I consented to remain for a week to please Mr Farrell, but I don’t see that I am called upon to make any further sacrifice. I have my life’s work before me, and just now it needs all the attention I can give it. Besides, Mr Farrell and I would never get on; I should be a disturbing element which would not improve matters for any of you. Between ourselves, I think there is little doubt who will be the Chosen, as you express it. Your sister is evidently first in favour. Witness your experience a few minutes ago.”
Mollie stared before her, thoughtful and absent-minded. One word in Jack’s speech had detached itself from the rest and printed itself on her brain. Sacrifice! He had stayed at the Court for a week as a matter of necessity, and did not feel called upon to sacrifice his inclinations any further. Sacrifice, indeed! The word rankled the more as she realised how differently she herself had described the past five days, and how high Jack Melland’s presence had ranked among the pleasures of the new life. When she projected her thoughts into the future, and imagined living through the same scenes without his companionship, it was extraordinary how flat and dull they suddenly became. But he called it a “sacrifice” to stay away from a dingy, dreary office, and preferred the society of his partner to all the Mollie Farrells in the world! He liked her, of course—she could not pretend to doubt that; but just as a grown man might care for an amusing child who served to while away an idle hour, but who was not worth the trouble of a serious thought.
“He thinks I am shallow,” thought Mollie sorrowfully, and then suddenly inverted the sentence. “Am I shallow?” she asked herself, with an uneasy doubt creeping over her self-complacency. “I expect I am, for I am content with the surface of things, and like to laugh better than to think. But I’m twenty; I don’t want to be treated as a child all my life. It’s horrid of him to talk of sacrifices!”
Thoughts fly quickly, but, even so, the pause was long enough to be unusual. Jack looked inquiringly at the thoughtful face, and said smilingly—
“Why, Miss Mollie, you look quite sober! I never saw you so serious before. Is that because I said that your sister was preferred before you?”
That aroused Mollie to a flash of indignation.
“No, indeed; I am not so mean. I’d almost sooner Ruth had things than myself, for I’d have all the fun and none of the trouble. Besides, she wants it more than I do, and would be a hundred times more disappointed to do without. And then you must not blame Uncle Bernard too much. He had a good reason for saying what he did. I deserved it.—You will never guess what I did.”
Jack looked amused and curious.
“Nothing very dreadful, I feel sure. You are too hard on yourself, Miss Mollie.”
“I asked him for heaps of money to buy heaps of new clothes—”
Jack’s whistle of amazement was too involuntary to be controlled. He tried his best to retrieve himself by an expression of unconcern, but the pretence was so apparent that Mollie laughed at the sight, albeit a trifle ruefully.
“Do you mean to tell me seriously that you asked Mr Farrell for money?”
“Yes, I did. I asked him on Wednesday. It seemed the only thing to do, as he wants us to entertain his friends, and go out whenever we are asked, and we hadn’t enough clothes to go in. Ruth wouldn’t ask, so I had to do it. We have no evening-dresses in the world except those black things that you see every night, and we can’t live in them for three months like a man in his dress suit.”
“They are very pretty dresses. I am sure you always look charming.”
“Oh, don’t feel bound to be flattering, I hate obvious compliments!” cried Mollie irritably. She was surprised to realise how irritable she felt. “I only told you because it was mean to let poor Uncle Bernard get the blame.” She paused, and over her face flashed one of those sudden radiant changes of expression which were so fascinating to behold. Her eyes shone, her lips curled, a dimple dipped in her cheek. “But he did give it to me—he gave me more than I asked—carte blanche, to spend as much as I liked! Next Tuesday morning as ever is, we are going up to town to shop with Mrs Thornton as assistant. Think of it! Think of it! Oxford Street, Regent Street, Bond Street—just to look in at all the windows in turn, and buy what one likes best. Hats,”—two eager hands went up to her head - “dresses”—they waved descriptively in the air—“coats; fripperies of all descriptions, delicious blouses for every occasion, and evening-dresses!—oh, chiffon and lace and sequins, and everything that is fascinating! I’ve never had anything but the most useful and long-suffering garments, though I have yearned to be fluffy, and now I shall be as fluffy as I can be made! Think of me, all in tulle and silver gauze, with a train yards long, all lined with frills and frills of chiffon!” cried Mollie ecstatically, tilting her head over her shoulder, and pushing out her short skirt with a little slippered foot as if it were already the train of which she spoke.
“Indeed, I will think of you! I wish I could do more than think; I should like to see you into the bargain. It is hard lines that I have to leave before the exhibition opens.”
“Oh, pray don’t pose as an object of pity! Whose fault is it that you are leaving at all?” retorted Mollie quickly. “You have made up your mind to go, and it’s a matter of pride with you that nothing or nobody shall prevent you. My poor fineries would be a very weak inducement; but you will have to reckon with Uncle Bernard before you get away, and I don’t think he will be easy to oppose.”
Jack Melland straightened himself, and his nostrils dilated in characteristic, high-spirited fashion.
“When I make up my mind I never give way,” he said slowly.
Mollie tossed her head defiantly.
“So you say; but there is something even stronger than will, Mr Melland.”
“And that is—”
“Fate!” cried Mollie dramatically.
The blue eyes and the brown met in a flashing glance; then the girl dropped a demure curtsey, and ran lightly upstairs.