CHAPTER XX.
THE STORM BREAKS.
“It is simply disgraceful. You have made yourself the talk of the hotel. I am ashamed that you belong to my party; and you shall go home on Monday in the mail. I will not have the responsibility any longer of a girl who has no sense of obedience or of the fitness of things. Back you shall go at once. Your uncle will telegraph, and somebody shall meet you at the other end. But stay here any longer to behave in this way you most certainly shall not!”
Sheila stood white-faced and almost terrified before her aunt. She was still in her riding-habit. She had come in so happily from her scramble with Ronald down by the shore; and with never a misgiving had run upstairs and entered the sitting-room before going to dress for dinner.
There she found her aunt alone, waiting for her as it now seemed; and without warning the tempest had broken over her head. She scarcely knew even now of what she stood accused. It seemed as though every sin of every sort had been laid at her door. She could at first scarcely get at the gist of what her angry aunt could mean; but as Mrs. Cossart proceeded it gradually dawned upon Sheila that she was being accused of having carried on a bare-faced flirtation with Ronald Dumaresq, and of having made herself the talk of the hotel in so doing.
It was like a stinging blow in the face to the sensitive girl. She was almost stunned by the rush of feeling that came over her. A few weeks ago she could have borne it better—she would have been more angry, but less overwhelmed with pain and shame.
The wakening womanhood within her made the accusation almost intolerable. The very looks and words which had passed between them that day seemed to rise up before her in a bewildering mist. Could it possibly be true what her aunt was saying? Had she been forward, unwomanly, fast? Had she made people remark upon her—got herself talked of as a flirt?—hateful title that Sheila recoiled from as from a blow. She had liked to be with Ronald, she had thought he liked being with her. But her aunt had said it was she who was always entrapping him—those were the very words. Oh, how cruel, how cruel and unjust! But it was not true, no, it was not! Only if such things were being said, she could never, never, never see Ronald again all her life!
A wave of sudden desolation seemed to sweep over Sheila. A rush of hot tears flooded her eyes. She burst into sobs and flung herself down on the sofa, crying—
“Oh, how can you say such cruel things? How can you?”
“I say them for your good—because they are true,” answered Mrs. Cossart, her anger in no way appeased by the sight of Sheila’s grief; “and there is the less excuse for you, because you have always had Effie’s example before you. You will never find her lowering herself by running after young men as you have been doing; and I tell you, Sheila, that nothing so disgusts those very young men as seeing girls do this. They humour them at the time for their amusement, and because their vanity is flattered; but in the end they despise them. Mr. Dumaresq has been very kind to you, but he must know perfectly well that you are trying to get him for a husband.”
Sheila suddenly started up, her face suddenly grown white.
“Aunt Cossart, you shall not say that again! I will not bear it from you. Yes, I will go away. I would not stay after this. Where is my uncle? Let me talk to him, but please do not say another word. I cannot bear it!”
There was something in the girl’s sudden change of manner that half frightened Mrs. Cossart. She did not particularly want Sheila and her uncle to meet just now.
“Your uncle has gone downstairs,” she answered uneasily, “you can see him after dinner.”
“I shall not go down to dinner,” said Sheila, putting up her hand to her head in a dazed way. “My head aches. I shall go to bed. If I am going away on Monday, I think I won’t come down to meals any more.”
“Well, I think you had better go to bed,” said Mrs. Cossart. “You have had a tiring day, and you don’t look yourself. I don’t mean to be unkind, Sheila, but you have no mother, and it is my duty to speak plainly sometimes.”
“Then I am sure you have done your duty, Aunt Cossart,” said Sheila, giving one direct look at her aunt, and then the wave of bitterness surged over her once more. The tears rushed to her eyes; she felt as though she were choking, and in a blind sort of way she darted from the room, dashed into the one she shared with Effie, and flinging herself upon her bed broke into wild weeping.
Effie had just finished her toilet, her face was rather flushed, and she looked uncomfortable and displeased. The maid was putting the room to rights, and cast a compassionate glance at the prone figure on the bed. She had received orders to pack up Sheila’s things in readiness for the mail on Monday, and as this was Saturday evening and no word had been spoken previously of such a thing, she divined that there had been a “row.” Probably she had a shrewd guess as to the cause, but of course she made no remark, finished her task and went away.
Effie came and stood by Sheila.
“Don’t cry so,” she said. “It’s a pity it has happened, but nobody will remember anything about it when you are gone. The Barretts are going in the mail on Monday. They will take care of you, and be pleased to have you. You always get on with people. And it’s better to go than to have bothers all the time.”
Effie was half glad, half sorry to be rid of Sheila. In a way she was fond of her cousin, but she had become rather jealous of her too. And then her foolish mother had fostered in her the belief that Ronald Dumaresq would certainly pay his addresses to her if only Sheila would let him alone, and not be perpetually attracting him off to herself. Effie had been taken by Ronald from the first, and was flattered at being told of his preference. She had begun to fancy herself more or less in love with him, as girls with nothing better to think about are rather disposed to do. She liked to picture herself the mistress of an establishment, with a handsome young husband to take her about. If it were true that Ronald admired her, it was a thousand pities he should not have a fair field. Effie did not pause to consider that he had an excellent opportunity as it was for prosecuting his wooing, and that if he let himself be turned from his purpose by Sheila’s “machinations”—as her mother called it—his love could not be very deep or true. She was accustomed to be led by her mother’s opinions; and she had become very jealous of the way in which people “took up” Sheila, and left her out in the cold.
As Sheila made no answer, Effie moved away, and joining her mother in the next room remarked—
“You have upset her very much, but I suppose she will get over it. I think she won’t come down to-night, her face will be all red and swollen. What shall we say to people? Shall you tell them she is going to be sent home?”
Mrs. Cossart looked a little taken aback. She had overlooked the fact that some explanation would have to be given of this exceedingly sudden arrangement. She looked at her daughter, and then said slowly—
“Well, we won’t say anything to-night, only that Sheila has a headache and cannot come down. You will have a chance of talking to Mr. Dumaresq at table now, Effie. I am quite tired of the sound of Sheila’s laugh, and her way of getting his notice all for herself.”
But Effie found Ronald rather abstracted, and she did not make much way with him. After he heard that Sheila was not coming down he seemed to go off into a brown study; and it was only when Mr. Cossart suddenly seemed to drop a bomb in their midst that he took note of what was passing.
“Yes, she is to go home on Monday, my wife has decided,” Mr. Cossart remarked to Miss Adene, all unconscious of his wife’s warning looks. “We brought her out for a little holiday and amusement; and now she will go back home to another uncle of hers. Oh, yes, we shall all miss her. She is a merry little puss. But we think she has been here long enough. Mrs. Barrett has kindly promised to take care of her on the voyage home.”
Ronald’s eyes had fixed themselves upon Mr. Cossart’s face.
“Are you speaking of Miss Cholmondeley? Surely it has been arranged rather suddenly?”
“Well, we have talked of it often,” said Mrs. Cossart interposing. “Sheila only came out for a time, not for the whole season. It is the chance of sending her back with such a good escort that has settled the matter. She will be very happy with the Barretts. They have made such friends, she and the girls.”
“It is strange she said nothing all day, when we were making all sorts of plans for the future,” said Ronald; and both Mr. and Mrs. Cossart looked so uncomfortable that Lady Dumaresq changed the subject.
There was no walking up and down the corridor or verandah with Ronald that evening, for he followed his party direct into their private sitting-room at the end of the ground-floor passage, and appeared no more that night.
“What does it mean?” he asked, with a note of indignation in his voice.
Miss Adene and Lady Dumaresq exchanged glances. They had seen perfectly through the clumsy manœuvre. Their eyes had been observing the turn affairs were taking for some while. They were not altogether unprepared for some such development.
“Now, Ronald,” said Lady Dumaresq quietly, “it is no use your putting yourself into a fume and fret about this. It is very evident that Mrs. Cossart is jealous of Sheila, because she so entirely eclipses Effie. It is not a very surprising thing that it should be so. We must allow for a mother’s weakness. Perhaps you have yourself helped to bring about the crisis by a rather too visible admiration for the little girl. You were not quite wise to-day, for instance; and she is too much the child to be on her guard; and if people do talk——”
“Let them,” answered Ronald rather proudly. “I am not afraid of having my name coupled with that of the girl I intend to make my wife!”
They all smiled at him. They were all in sympathy with his bold declaration. Lady Dumaresq held out her hand, and Sir Guy laid an affectionate arm over his shoulder.
“So it has come to that, has it, Ronald? Well, I am glad to hear it. But a little patience will not hurt either of you; and you will know better after a separation whether she cares for you in the way you wish.”
“After a separation!” repeated Ronald rather blankly. “But I mean to come to an understanding before they send her away. I may even be able to stop it if she is my——”
But Lady Dumaresq laid a gentle hand upon his lips.
“Ronald,” she said, “that would not be wise. Indeed it would scarcely be fair and right to her.”
“What do you mean?” he questioned quickly.
“I mean that the question you have to ask Sheila is too solemn and serious a one to be put when she is in a mist of bewilderment, sorrow, and indignation, which is sure to be the case. You would come to her then as a sort of champion and deliverer, and she would very likely accept you in that impulse of gratitude, whether or no her heart be deeply stirred. Do not win her in that impetuous way, Ronald. It will not hurt either of you to bear the yoke for awhile—to learn what patience has to teach. Her character will develop in the school of life’s discipline, as it has not done when all has been sunshine. Let her go now, Ronald. Prove your own heart first, then if you find it unchanged, seek her out later, and win her if you can. Believe me, it will be best so. I do not know what has passed between Sheila and her aunt, but whatever it is, I would not have you seek an interview now.”
And indeed, had Ronald desired it, it is doubtful if he could have obtained sight of Sheila. She remained in bed most of Sunday with a violent headache. Miss Adene and Lady Dumaresq stole up to see her, to whisper a few kind words and then retire. And when Monday came she was nothing but a little white-faced, woe-begone creature, so unlike the Sheila of the past weeks that her friends would scarcely have known her.
She would not say good-bye to anybody. She shrank from the thought of what they might have been told as to her sudden departure. Every nerve was tingling with pain, and shame, and misery.
The boat was in early, and whilst the rest of the people were at lunch, Sheila got her uncle to take her down to the quay and see her on board, for she felt she would sink into the ground if Ronald were to come out and see her, and say good-bye before the rest of the people.
“Well, I am thankful she went off so quietly,” said Mrs. Cossart, as they discussed the matter together before descending to dinner. “I was afraid there might be a scene, but there is no accounting for Sheila. She did not even want to say good-bye to the Dumaresq party, and if some of them hadn’t come up here, she would have gone off without even that. Girls are the queerest, most capricious creatures! Well, it’s all happily over; and, Effie, you will have Sheila’s place now at table, and nobody to interfere with you. Mr. Dumaresq——”
But Effie tossed her head rather defiantly. She had not got much change out of Mr. Dumaresq these last few table d’hôte meals.
“I don’t care for Mr. Dumaresq so mighty much. I’m not going to put myself out of the way for him. I don’t think I care so particularly for fashionable young men. I don’t mind him, but I’m not going to put myself out of the way just to amuse him. I think he’s very dull sometimes. I don’t know what you all see in him to make such a fuss!”
Mrs. Cossart rather felt as though she had taken an infinity of trouble for a chimera of her own brain, and when she reached the dining-room her jaw almost dropped. She had pictured the amalgamation which would take place between Effie and the Dumaresqs now that Sheila had gone; but what did she see?
The whole Dumaresq party had moved bodily to the side table, hitherto occupied by the Barretts, who had left to-day. Some new arrivals from the Cape had been given the seats next to the Cossarts—loud-voiced colonials with rather bad manners, who talked amongst themselves and seemed not to desire the acquaintance of their neighbours.
Mrs. Cossart sat in dismayed silence through the meal, and when she went into the drawing-room afterwards, she fancied that all the people looked coldly at her. Nobody spoke either to her or to Effie, and they soon retired to their own rooms.
Was this a sample of what would result from her laborious attempt to promote her daughter’s popularity?
(To be continued.)
