14.—Who do you think has found us out? Our dear old Governor-General, “in all his laurels,” as enthusiastic little Avice was heard saying, which made Freddy stare hard and vainly in search of them. He is staying at Hollybridge Park, and seeing our name in the S. Clements’ list of visitors, he made Lady Hollybridge drive him over to call, and was much disappointed to find that you could not be here during his visit. He was as kind and warm-hearted as ever, and paid our dear mother such compliments on her son, that we tell her the bows on her cap are starting upright with pride.
Lady Hollybridge already knew Edith. She made herself very pleasant, and insisted on our coming en masse to a great garden party which they are giving to-morrow. Hollybridge is the S. Clements’ lion, with splendid grounds and gardens, and some fine old pictures, so it is a fine chance for the young people; and we are going to hire one of the large excursion waggonettes, which will hold all who have age, dress, and will for gaieties. The pupils, as Mr. Methuen is a friend of the Hollybridge people, will attend us as outriders on their bicycles. I am rather delighted at thus catching out the young ladies who did not think it worth while to bring a Sunday bonnet. They have all rushed into S. Clements to furbish themselves for the occasion, and we are left to the company of the small Druces. Neither Margaret nor Emily chooses to go, and will keep my mother company.
I ventured on administering a sovereign apiece to Isa and Jane Druce. The first blushed and owned that it was very welcome, as her wardrobe had never recovered a great thunderstorm at Oxford. Jane’s awkwardness made her seem as if it were an offence on my part, but her mother tells me it made her very happy. Her father says that she tells him he was hard on Avice, a great favourite of his, and that I must ask Jane to explain, for it is beyond him. It is all right about the Oxford girl. I have engaged her, and she goes home to-morrow to prepare herself. This afternoon she is delighted to assist her young ladies in their preparations. I liked her much in the private interview. I was rather surprised to find that it was ‘Miss Avice,’ of whom she spoke with the greatest fervour, as having first made friends with her, and then having constantly lent her books and read to her in her illness.
15.—S. Swithun is evidently going to be merciful to us to-day, and the damsels have been indefatigable—all, that is to say, but the two Londoners, who have lawn tennis dresses, and their mother’s maid to turn them out complete. Isa brought home some tulle and white jessamine with which she is deftly freshening the pretty compromise between a bonnet and a hat which she wears on Sunday; also a charming parasol, with a china knob and a wreath of roses at the side. She hopes I shall not think her extravagant, but she had a little money of her own.
Jane Druce displays two pairs of gloves and two neckties for herself and her sister; and after all Meg will not go; she is so uncouth that her mother does not like her to go without her own supervision; and she with true Bourne Parva self-appreciation and exclusiveness says—
“I’m sure I don’t want to go among a lot of stupid people, who care for nothing but fine clothes and lawn tennis.”
There was a light till one o’clock last night in the room where Avice sleeps with Charley and the dog; and I scarcely saw either of the Oxford sisters or Jane all this morning till dinner-time, when Pica appeared very appropriately to her name, turned out in an old black silk dress left behind by her mother, and adorned with white tulle in all sorts of folds, also a pretty white bonnet made up by Avice’s clever fingers, and adorned with some soft gray sea-birds’ feathers and white down. Isa and Metelill were very well got up and nice. Metelill looks charming, but I am afraid her bouquet is from one of those foolish pupils. She, as usual, has shared it with Isa, who has taken half to prevent her cousin being remarkable. And, after all, poor Avice is to be left behind. There was no time to make up things for two, and being in mourning, she could not borrow, though Metelill would have been too happy to lend. She says she shall be very happy with the children, but I can’t help thinking there was a tear in her eye when she ran to fetch her dress cloak for Jane, whom, by the bye, Avice has made wonderfully more like other people. Here is the waggonette, and I must finish to-morrow.
16.—We have had a successful day. The drive each way was a treat in itself, and the moon rising over the sea on our way home was a sight never to be forgotten. Hollybridge is charming in itself. Those grounds with their sea-board are unique, and I never saw such Spanish chestnuts in England. Then the gardens and the turf! One must have lived as long in foreign parts as we have to appreciate the perfect finish and well-tended look of such places. Your dear old chief does not quite agree. He says he wants space, and is oppressed with the sense of hedges and fences, except when he looks to the sea, and even there the rocks look polished off, and treated by landscape gardeners! He walked me about to see the show places, and look at the pictures, saying he had been so well lionised that he wanted some one to discharge his information upon. It was great fun to hear him criticising the impossibilities of a battle-piece—Blenheim, I think—the anachronisms of the firearms and uniforms, and the want of discipline around Marlborough, who would never have won a battle at that rate. You know how his hawk’s eye takes note of everything. He looked at Metelill and said, “Uncommonly pretty girl that, and knows it,” but when I asked what he thought of Isabel’s looks, he said, “Pretty, yes; but are you sure she is quite aboveboard? There’s something I don’t like about her eyes.” I wish he had not said so. I know there is a kind of unfriendly feeling towards her among some of the girls, especially the Druces and Charley. I have heard Charley openly call her a humbug, but I have thought much of this was dislike to the softer manners, and perhaps jealousy of my notice, and the expression that the old lord noticed is often the consequence of living in an uncongenial home.
Of course my monopoly of the hero soon ended, and as I had no acquaintances there, and the young ones had been absorbed into games, or had fraternised with some one, I betook myself to explorations in company with Jane, who had likewise been left out. After we had wandered along a dazzling stand of calceolarias, she said, “Aunt Charlotte, papa says I ought to tell you something; I mean, why Avice could not come to-day, and why she has nothing to wear but her round hat. It is because she and Pica spent all they had in paying for that Maude Harris at the Convalescent Home. They had some kind of flimsy gauzy bonnets that were faded and utterly done for after Commemoration week; and as Uncle Martyn is always growling about ladies’ luggage, they thought it would be a capital plan to go without all the time they are down here, till another quarter is due. Avice never thought of its not being right to go to Church such a figure, and now she finds that papa thinks the command to “have power on her head” really may apply to that sort of fashion, we are going to contrive something for Sunday, but it could not be done in time for to-day. Besides, she had no dress but a serge.”
“She preferred dressing her sister to dressing herself,” I answered; and Jane began assuring me that no one knew how unselfish that dear old Bird is. The little money she had, she added to Pica’s small remnant, and thus enough had been provided to fit the elder sister out.