CHAPTER VII.
FAIRY RELENTS.
Now that, to every one’s intense relief, Fairy had changed her mind and withdrawn her claim, the question remained, Who was to go? Public opinion, her mother, Jessie—in short, every voice save one, said Honor. But Honor was indisposed to visit the East. She was not an enterprising young woman, and she was fond of home; and Fairy, when alone with her, shed showers of crocodile tears every time the subject was mentioned. She could not bear to part with her favourite sister; no, it was too cruel of people to suggest such a thing. Who, she asked herself, would dress her hair, and button her boots, and read her to sleep? And many of Honor’s hateful tasks would fall to her, such as arranging the flowers, dusting the drawing-room, housekeeping, going messages, for Jessie’s time meant money, and must be respected. Aloud, in the family circle, she said in authoritative tones, “Let Jessie go! As to looks, any looks are good enough for India; even Jessie will seem handsome there. After all, why should any of them accept the invitation? England was a free country. She (Fairy) would send a nice, grateful little letter, and keep the cheque. Uncle Pelham would never be so mean as to take it back, and they would buy a pony instead of that maddening donkey, and make a tennis-ground, and take a fortnight’s trip to London, and enjoy themselves for once in their lives.”
A week elapsed. The mail had gone out without an answer to Mr. Brande. Jessie and her mother had both talked seriously to Honor, and she had listened with her pleasantest smile, whilst they pointed out the advantages she would personally reap from her Eastern trip. She made no attempt to argue the point, only asked in a playful way who was to drive the donkey? Who was to play the harmonium in church? for she flattered herself that she was the only person in the parish who could do either. And there was the garden and the poultry—the hens would be lost without her!
“We shall all be lost without you,” rejoined Jessie; “but we can spare you for your own good.”
“I don’t want to be spared for my own good,” she answered. “I prefer staying at home. You think that I shall carry all before me out there! You are greatly mistaken. All your geese are swans. I am a goose, and not a swan. I am just a country cousin, with a bad complexion and uncouth manners.”
“Honor! you have a beautiful skin, only not much colour; and as for your manners, they are as good as other people’s.”
“You have often said that mine are alarmingly abrupt, and that I have the habits of a savage or a child in the way I blurt out home-truths.”
“Oh, but only at home; and you must not always mind what I say.”
“Then what about the present moment? When you say that I ought to go out to Uncle Pelham—how am I to know that I ought to mind what you say now?”
“Upon my word, Honor, you are really too provoking!”