As Darsie sat drinking her tea in the old wainscoted hall, it seemed impossible to realise that such things as poverty and struggle were in existence; even the shabby bustle and squeeze of her own dear home became incredible in the face of this spacious, well-ordered calm!
Mrs Percival made no attempt at private conversation, and showed no trace of “ulterior motive” in manner or conversation, which was a huge relief to Darsie’s mind. She was not in a mood for serious conversation; what she wanted was the usual Percival offering of praise, admiration, and petting, and this was bestowed upon her with even more than the usual generosity. The grey-whiskered old Squire kissed her on both cheeks; the girls assured her that she was prettier than ever, and greeted her feeblest sallies with bursts of delighted laughter. Ralph gazed at her with adoring eyes; it was all, as Darsie had been wont to remark, most grateful and comforting!
The first evening passed pleasantly enough, though there was a noticeable effort on the part of each member of the family to keep the conversation from touching upon the subject of Ralph’s affairs. Any reference to Cambridge was taboo, as Darsie swiftly discovered, but there were many points of interest left, which were both pleasant and amusing to discuss.
The next morning—the last morning of the year—broke fine and bright, and the view seen through the long windows of the dining-room was almost as beautiful as in summer itself. The park showed the same stretch of velvet green, a belt of evergreens and tall Scotch firs filled up the far distance, while the leafless boughs of elms and beeches made a lace-like tracery against the sky. To the right the old cedar stood calm and unmoved, as it had stood while generations of Percivals had lived, and loved, and sorrowed, and died.
When breakfast was over—and breakfast in the country is a meal which pursues a calm and leisurely course—the four young people strolled into the porch to discuss the programme for the day.
“Darsie is nerving herself to look at the horses’ tails!” said Ida laughingly. It was a Percival peculiarity, agreeable or irritating according to the mood of the hearer, that they never by any chance forgot a remark, but continually resurrected it in conversation for years to come. Never a morning had Darsie spent at the Manor that she had not been reminded of scathing comments on the habit of daily visits to kennels and stables, as delivered by herself on the occasion of her first visit. To-day, however, she had only time to grimace a reply, before Ida continued cheerfully—
“You won’t be asked, my dear! We have something far more important on hand. You have walked right into the jaws of the tenants’ annual New Year’s treat, and will have to tire your hands decorating all the morning, and your gums smiling all the evening. It’s an all-day-and-night business, and we get home at cock-crow in a state of collapse—”
“It’s held in the village hall,” Noreen took up the tale, slipping unconsciously into what Darsie called her “squire’s-eldest-daughter-manner.”
“Quite a nice building. We make it look festive with wreaths and bunting. They think so much of decorations!” (“They” in Percival parlance alluded to the various tenants on the estate.) “We try to think of something novel each year as a surprise. They like surprises. We’ve arranged with half a dozen girls to be there to help. Quite nice girls, daughters of the principal farmers. You must be quite sweet to them, Darsie, please! It is our principal meeting of the year, and we make a point of being friendly.”
“Must I really?” Darsie assumed an expression of dejection. “What a disappointment! It’s so seldom I get an opportunity of being proud and grand. What’s the good of staying at a Manor House, and driving down with ‘the family,’ if I have to be meek and friendly like any one else? Couldn’t you introduce me as the Lady Claire, and let me put on airs for a treat? It would act as a contrast to your ‘friendly ways,’ and make them all the more appreciated.”