ACHING HEARTS AND LAUGHING FACES
The composition of the letter to Wivernsea needed all the powers Miss Chantrelle could bring to bear upon it. They were in no way of a mean order.
She did not, however, grudge time or labour; the expenditure was in a good cause: Percy had been on the matrimonial stocks too long; his was the kind of beauty which age withered rather than ripened.
A little sigh of content escaped her when, at last, she had finished writing. Leaning back in her chair, the end of the penholder between her lips, she read:
My Dearest Mab,—Isn't it a tiny little world? Just fancy—my brother and I are coming back to England on the same boat your brother is travelling by! Dear old Dick! He looks so strong and well; better I think than I have ever seen him look. With him is Mr. Masters—oh, of course, I ought to congratulate you, oughtn't I?—but I will leave that till I see you. It is a good job you are not of a jealous disposition, Mab, or I am afraid there would be a rough time ahead for you: Mr. Masters is such a dreadful flirt! He has been most popular with all the ladies on board, and made violent love to me within twenty-four hours of meeting me! He did not succeed in my case, though (not because of you, my darling Mab, because I had not heard of your engagement to him then) but I do not like a man who makes love to every woman he meets; whom you run across in odd parts of the boat engrossed in conversation with some pretty girl, generally a different one each time. But there, I must not say anything against him, or you will never forgive me. Besides, if you don't mind it, what does it matter? Of course, there's no real harm in what he does—don't think I want to insinuate that, it is the last thing I mean—as the girls must know he is only flirting; perhaps his heart is with you all the time. How beautiful it must be to have such faith as yours—I am afraid I'm not gifted that way. You must be very fond of him if all he says is true: that you dote on the ground he walks on, etc., etc., etc. Asked if the marriage day had been fixed, he replied that that only rested with himself! Fancy that; Aren't the men growing dreadfully cheeky? Your brother has asked us to come down to Wivernsea for Christmas. I never saw a man grow so awfully white as Percy did when he heard of your forthcoming marriage to Mr. Masters. Till then I had had no idea that he—but there, that would be telling tales out of school. We are coming to spend Christmas, unless, dear Mabel, you would rather we did not. If for that or any reason you would rather we did not come just now, wire to us, care of Charing Cross cloak room, when you get this. We shall quite understand that it is not convenient just now. You know what a dear, impulsive boy Dick is; he absolutely insists on our coming; says you will be really pleased to see us. I do hope so, darling. I have a recollection of many, many happy days spent with you.
With all my love,
Believe me, dearest Mabel,
Your ever true friend,
Amy.
As she folded the letter and directed its envelope she muttered:
"I think this puts a spoke in Prince Charlie's wheel! If I know anything of Mabel's pride, this won't ensure open arms and the warmest of welcomes for him."
She hesitated a moment, then laughed; continued:
"There is no scrap of fear of my letter ever being produced. Her pride would not allow her to do that, and she overruns with it."
Amy Chantrelle was a clever woman; that fact has been recorded. In addition to knowing what to say and how to say it, she correctly foresaw just the effect it would produce. Her study of womankind was a very close one.