And Pip, who had just left his glad boyhood paths and was stepping so carelessly into the strange, sorrowful ones of manhood, where there were precipices and pitfalls at every turn,—how she longed to be at his elbow again, giving him the right kind of help! He had spurned her away just now, she knew; but soon, she felt certain, she could slip back to him as if nothing had happened, and keep him from worse things, perhaps.
But not if she made fresh ties for herself.
She told some of her fears, half falteringly, to Alan.
“I think you must give me longer,” she said.
But he only laughed at her. Men never understand these things.
[211]
]“I didn’t think you were conceited, Meg,” he said; “why, Nellie will make a model eldest sister, by-and-by, of course. And I have far more need of you than these children have. And I’m not going to take you to New Zealand or the Islands; we shall live somewhere in Sydney, and you will still be able to keep your eye on Bunty’s collar,—that’s the greatest grievance, isn’t it?”
Meg was trying to imagine beautiful, spoilt Nell as a model eldest sister this evening as she sat on the hearthrug. Why, not one of the young ones would have acted so wrongfully, so utterly foolishly as she had done about these Brownes; the girl had no “balance” naturally, and her great beauty already seemed likely to prove as much of a snare as beauty is popularly supposed to be. She was not even decently educated; the daily governess they had had so long had been a person of weak will, and Nellie in especial had learned or refused to learn much as she pleased. True, she could play and sing fairly well, and write a ladylike hand; but her French was hopeless, her slate pencil had not travelled beyond discount and the rule of three, and her acquaintance with the great lights of English literature was so restricted that, though she knew Shakespeare wrote “Romeo and Juliet,” and “Paradise Lost” was composed by one John Milton, [212] ]nearly all the other names she met conveyed nothing more to her mind than that they were “men at the end of the history book.”
Meg’s lips grew severe as the night wore on. In truth she did not know what to do in this crisis, she felt so young and powerless. If Nellie insisted on going to Trafalgar House every night of her life, how could she prevent it? She told herself her sister knew this, and was taking advantage of their father’s absence in an exceedingly unworthy way.
Through the rain came the half-deadened sound of wheels along the road. Meg stood up, cramped and cold, sick at heart. How she did dread and detest “scenes,” and she knew there must be one!
The gate clicked, but no wheels came up the drive. Meg pulled herself together and went out to the front door with a little shiver. She knew exactly how it would all be: Nell would be flushed and beautiful and defiant; she would brush past her and go upstairs in her pretty, white trailing gown, her head very high. She would most probably say “Mind your own business” or “Hold your tongue,” for both these phrases were in Miss Nellie’s vocabulary of anger. And then she would lock her bedroom door and go to sleep, rebellious as ever.