“Suppose,” she said blankly, “suppose Nobody comes! It would be a terrible disappointment, but the worst of all would be Gervase—my husband! He laughed so at the preparations. I’ve provided enough for twenty. He would tease me to death if it were all left.”
“It won’t be!” cried Betty stoutly. “If the worst comes to the worst, I shall be so ravenous with disappointment and nervous strain by six o’clock, that I shall be able to demolish enough for ten.”
“And you can’t say you have had nobody. You have had Miss Perks,” added Cynthia slyly; but Mrs Vanburgh refused to be comforted, and wandered disconsolately up and down the room, peering out of each of the three windows in succession, and watching the clock with anxious dismay.
“Half-past four, and not one here! What can it mean? Three big Homes I went to, and there must have been at least a score of inmates in each; it isn’t possible that nobody will come!”
“In all the length and breadth of this great city, is there not one governess who will take pity upon a hospitable lady!” quoted Cynthia mischievously. It was evident that she also knew the source from which had sprung the inspiration of these Saturday gatherings; but though Nan laughed, it was with a somewhat uncertain sound, and her brown eyes looked suspiciously moist. The two girls were quick to realise that it was not a time for teasing, and hastened to give a safer turn to the conversation.
In truth, Nan’s heart was very deeply in her enterprise. Hers was one of those sweet, generous natures which expand, instead of shrivelling under the influence of prosperity. Just in proportion as her own life was beautiful and hedged round with all the sweet fences of love, so did she yearn more and more over her sisters whose lots were cast in such different places—which is the true spirit of Christ, who left the very heavens for our sakes. She had woven many happy dreams about these afternoon meetings, seeing the radiance of her own happiness lighting up dark places, and the power of love and sympathy cheering starved and lonely lives, and was it all to end like this—in a joke for her husband and these two girls? Would Gervase come home, and laugh his tender, happy laugh, and stroke her hair, and call her “Poor little pet!” as if she, and not the missing guests, was the real object of compassion?
Nan blinked the tears from her eyes, but they rose again and again—tears of bitter disappointment; and then, just as the clock was about to strike the quarter, there came another quick whirr of the electric bell, and Cynthia, running out into the hall, came back aglow with excitement.
“It is! It is!” she hissed in an excited whisper. “I saw her. She’s coming upstairs. Quick! Quick! To your posts!”
Betty rushed to the fire, Nan stood in the middle of the floor radiant with expectation. The servant threw open the door, and announced in solemn tones—
“Miss Beveridge.”