A Girl of To-day

by Ellinor Davenport Adams

A settlement between the opposed forces was brought about by the wise diplomacy of Austin. The boy had always found that he had more than enough to do in taking care of his own conscience, and it did not for a moment occur to him that he was the appointed keeper of anybody else’s. Least of all was he inclined to try to dictate to his mother and Frances on points of duty or conduct; if only they would let him alone, he was quite willing to be equally tolerant.

So Austin struck a bargain. His visits to the smithy were to be permitted, in return for a promise that he would not enlighten Woodend as to Jim’s revelations. Austin claimed one exception—he must and would tell Max everything. Dr. Brenton knew already; and the doctor and Max had no secrets from one another; so that Max, most likely, was already in possession of the strange news. Anyway, Austin could not shut out from his confidence his special chum.

Mrs. Morland made the best of the matter, and secured for the present her own peace of mind by holding an interview with Max’s eccentric father.

“Eccentric” Dr. Brenton certainly was in the eyes of Mrs. Morland, who had not hitherto entrusted the health of herself or her children to a medical man not possessed of a carriage and pair. The high esteem in which the Doctor was held by the gentle-people as well as the working-folk of Woodend had roused first her curiosity and then her scorn.

“You must look more closely, dear Madam,” the old-fashioned Rector had said to her, “and beneath Brenton’s shabby coat you will see the spreading of an angel’s wings.”

“I think not, sir,” Edward Carlyon had differed quietly; “beneath the shabby coat you’ll see only a shabbier waistcoat. The wings can wait a bit: we want the man.”

Mrs. Morland was persuaded that she could secure the Doctor’s silence, and indeed she did so. But she did not forget, during a whole uncomfortable day, the “eccentric” man’s look as he bowed agreement to her request. Dr. Brenton heartily wished Jim well, and he knew that Mrs. Morland’s departure from Woodend would in no way help the lad; but while he handed his visitor to her carriage with punctilious courtesy, he wondered what manner of woman this was who could stoop to inflict so great an injustice.

Though in the case of Austin Mrs. Morland gave way to what seemed to be necessity, she was careful to hold Frances to her promise. And Frances wavered miserably between the two parties, in this house divided against itself. Of one thing she was sure—she could not have taken the half-measures which had satisfied Austin. Had Frances acknowledged her brother at all, she must have acknowledged him to all the world. The feeling that in this respect Austin had fallen short of consistency warped her sympathy with his actions, and to some extent seemed to justify her own. She, surely, was at least consistent.

When poor Frances reached this stage in her meditations, she began to falter. She remembered that she was still the leader of the Altruists, and that a score of boys and girls paid her real homage as the inspirer of deeds of self-denial and mercy. When the Carlyons’ school reopened after the Christmas vacation, Muriel’s pupils began slowly to detect some changes in their popular comrade. The girls with whom she had seemed hitherto to have least in common were those who now met eagerly her tardy advances. To be sought as friend and playfellow by Frances Morland had been a happy distinction to any of Miss Carlyon’s little band. Frances had never affected superiority, and it was impossible to suspect her of vanity; but her clear gray eyes had appeared to look beneath the surface, and to choose with unerring confidence the best natures as those most akin to her own. Her gentle sincerity had appealed to every loyal heart and won its ungrudging recognition.

Now, in the society of her former favourites, she was dull and ill at ease; and when her new friends gathered round her, only too ready to hail her as leader, her instinctive contempt for the offered loyalty made her capricious and even tyrannical. Muriel Carlyon, who watched over her pupils with a very real tolerance and sympathy, knew a pang of disappointment as she saw Frances apparently content to reach a lower plane in character and conduct.