Betty had no sympathy to spare for nails. She was too much occupied in considering another problem. Mrs Vanburgh looked almost as young as herself, and was far more spontaneous and lively in manner; it seemed impossible to imagine her the mistress of this stately house, and the wife of the handsomest man in the world! There was all the natural awe of the unmarried for the married girl in her voice as she said—
“It is so strange to hear you talk of your husband. You don’t look a bit married. Doesn’t it feel very—queer?”
Mrs Vanburgh laughed happily.
“It feels very—nice! I have only one trouble in life, and that is that I am too happy. Yes, seriously, it does trouble me! It’s so difficult not to grow selfish when one is always petted, and praised, and considered first of all. I want to be of some use in the world. My husband says I am of use to him, and of course that’s my first duty, but it’s not enough. When I was married a dear old lady wrote me a letter, and said that marriage often became ‘the selfishness of two,’ and I do feel that it is true. It’s no credit to be good to someone who is dearer than yourself, and giving a few subscriptions is no credit either when you are rich; it was a very different matter when you scraped them out of your dress allowance. I’ve thought over heaps of things that I could do, and at last I’ve decided—sit down, and I’ll tell you all about it! This is the comfiest chair. It’s so nice getting to know you first, because you can help. Ages ago I read a story by Sir Walter Besant, Katherine Regina was the name, I think. I forget what it was about, and all about it, except that one character was a poor governess living in a dreary London ‘Home,’ knowing nobody, and having absolutely nowhere to go in her leisure hours, because of course she could not afford entertainments. One day she had a desperately miserable fit, and said to one of her companions—I always remembered those words—‘Is there no woman in all the length and breadth of this great city who has a thought for us, or who cares enough for us to open the house to us for a few hours a week?’ I made up my mind then and there, that if I ever lived in a city and had a home of my own, I would share it with homeless people. I asked my husband if I might have an ‘At Home’ every Saturday afternoon, and he said I could ask everyone I liked, so long as I did not expect him to put in an appearance. So!”—she clasped her hands excitedly, and her eyes flashed—“this very week I drove round to three separate Governesses’ Homes and left cards of invitation—‘Mrs Gervase Vanburgh will be at home every Saturday afternoon between November 12 and December 20 from three to seven o’clock, and will be pleased to see any ladies who may care to call upon her.’ What do you think of that for a start?”
Betty stared in amazement. “Governesses! Three Homes! Three to seven! How dreadful! What will you do with them?”
“Oh! I’ve lots of plans. I’ll have a scrumptious light, cakey tea in the drawing-room, and in the dining-room a sort of cold high-tea as they have in the North, with chickens, and ham, and potted shrimps, and sandwiches, and all sorts of good things for those who can stay until six, and sit down to a regular meal. And I’ll have nice books and magazines in the library, and easy-chairs drawn up to the fire; and up here, anyone who likes can practise wood-carving, or copper beating, or any of my little hobbies. I’ll throw open the whole house, and let each one do what she likes best; and you shall help me! I’ve got another girl coming on Saturday, and between the three of us we ought to be able to manage. I don’t ask you to come, you see,—I command! I need your help.”
Betty hesitated between pride and dismay.
“I can’t imagine myself entertaining a party of govies! I am still under their thrall, remember. You are emancipated, so it’s different for you. But I’ll come, of course I’ll come. How many visitors do you expect?”
“That’s just what cook asked, and I hadn’t a notion what to say. I don’t suppose we shall have many the first time. Only the enterprising spirits will come, but when they go back and say what a good time they have had, the numbers will increase. Do you think perhaps—twenty altogether?”
“Say a dozen!” said Betty, and Nan’s face lengthened with disappointment.