“Oh, surely not! Don’t say that; it makes me feel so horribly guilty. Let me try if I can rub it off,” cried the visitor eagerly; and, before Nan could protest, out came a superfine hemstitched handkerchief, and Gervase began rubbing the damaged skirt with such vigour, that the stains grew larger and larger, and increased their borders so rapidly that they met and blended in one great whole. His face lengthened with horror as he withdrew his handkerchief, and gazed upon the results of his labour; and Nan said dismally—
“Thank you so much! It’s much worse now! Wish I were old enough to wear black always, and not be bothered. My life’s a burden to me because of my clothes!”
“For the mother’s pride the child must suffer pain!” cried Mr Rendell, laughing. “That is what Kitty said, isn’t it, when her mother insisted on pinning down the end of her collar? Better confess at once, Mops, and get it over! Tell your mother she can send it to the cleaner’s, and I’ll stand the racket.”
“Come and tell her yourself. D–oo, ducky darling! Sweetest father in all the world, come and plead for me!” coaxed Nan, hanging on to his arm, and rubbing his face with her soft cool cheek, while he affected to push her away, and in reality allowed himself to be led where she would take him.
Mr Vanburgh followed, stroking his moustache to conceal his smile, and Mrs Rendell’s quick eyes saw their approach, and fixed themselves sternly upon Nan’s ruined skirt.
“Another accident, Edith, worse luck! The grass would get damp, and Mops and I were so interested in looking at our plant that we forgot everything else, and—”
“So I observe! It is a pity, but I am not surprised. What can one expect from Nan, but destruction!” Mrs Rendell spoke with melancholy resignation, while the assembled sisters looked on with solemn eyes. Dainty Lilias, pensive Elsie, kindly Agatha, Christabel the immaculate, they stood gazing in a solid phalanx of disapproval, while Nan the culprit hung her head and flushed with embarrassment. A moment later Mrs Rendell had turned the conversation into another channel, unwilling to prolong the present discussion in the presence of a stranger, and Nan seized the opportunity to escape to the far end of the garden. Gervase Vanburgh stood in her path, and spied the glimmer of tears on the dark eyelashes as she passed by. Then she disappeared, and Elsie’s chin dropped with amazement as she saw the elegant stranger deliberately mark a stone on the path, and kick it savagely with the toe of his patent leather shoe.
“Bland of exterior, but concealing beneath the surface secret and violent impulses!” Such was the character given to Gervase Vanburgh in Miss Elsie Rendell’s diary that evening; and perhaps for once the youthful author was not far wrong in her conclusions!