“There’s nothing to see but the old wheel creaking round. Tea is far more to the point. I’m dying for some, and I’m sure—er—Miss—er—Garnett is, too! She’s had a tiring afternoon.”
“Er—Miss—er—Garnett’s name is Darsie. You can always call a girl by her Christian name till her hair’s up,” said Darsie quickly, and Ralph immediately availed himself of the permission.
“All right, Darsie. It’s a jolly little name. Much easier to say.”
Rather to Darsie’s disappointment tea was served in the drawing-room in formal, grown-up fashion, Mrs Percival presiding over the little table, with its shining silver and fine old-world china. There were hot, brown little scones, crisp buttered toast, iced cakes, thick cream, and other indigestible luxuries, which came as an agreeable change from Lady Hayes’s careful dietary, and Darsie was acutely conscious of the beauty and elegance of the room. How small and poky and drab the home drawing-room would appear in comparison! How different the outlook on another row of red-brick houses, from the sweep of green lawns, and the avenue of great beech-trees seen through the four long French windows which broke the side of this long, low room!
How different her own life promised to be from those of the two girls by her side—the girls who had just returned from a ride on their own horses over their own land! ... They would never need to worry about money; their rôle in life for the next few years would consist in being pretty and agreeable, wearing charming frocks, visiting at friends’ houses, travelling in summer, hunting in winter, and, finally, making suitable Carriages, settling down as mistresses of other luxurious houses, and living happily ever after!
She herself would study and cram for examination after examination; go through agonies of suspense waiting for results, and as she passed or failed, obtain a good or second-rate appointment in a suburban school. Henceforth work, work, work—teaching by day, correcting exercises by night, in a deserted schoolroom, with three months’ holiday a year spent at home among brothers and sisters whose interests had necessarily drifted apart from her own! As the years passed by she would become staid and prim; schoolmistressy manner; the girls would speak of her by derisive nicknames...
A knifelike pang of envy pierced Darsie’s heart; she dropped the dainty morsel of cake on to her plate with a feeling of actual physical nausea; for the moment her old ambitions lost their savour, and appeared grey and dead; she was pierced with an overpowering pity for her own hard lot.
The sensation was, perhaps, as much physical as mental, for no one can pass through a moment of acute mental tension without suffering from a corresponding nervous collapse, but being too young and inexperienced to realise as much, Darsie mentally heaped ashes on her head, and shed tears over her blighted life. The signs of her emotion were noticeable, not only in an unusual silence but in whitening cheeks, which brought upon her the quick attention of her friends.
“Aren’t you feeling quite well, dear?” Mrs Percival asked kindly. “You look pale. Would you like to lie down?”
“Darsie, you are green! What’s the matter? You were all right a moment ago.”