But Nancy only jerked the tea-tray, tossing her head the while in her most nonchalant fashion.
“Can’t I cry if I like? Can’t I cry for myself? If I don’t, no one else will. No one thinks about Me! I tried for the prize as well as you, and I’ve far more right to be disappointed. No one ever said I might be great!”
She tossed her head and frowned and pouted, but Dreda was not deceived by the pretence. At her heart lay a warm feeling of comfort and gratitude. In recalling the incidents of this tragic day, it would always bring a throb of consolation to remember that Nancy, the imperturbable, had shed tears on her behalf!
Chapter Twenty Two.
Home again, and home with quite a festival air about it in honour of your return. Flowers in every corner, silver candelabra on the dining-table, favourite dishes for every course, a fire in one’s bedroom, chocolates lying ready at every turn—it was all most grateful and soothing! Dreda sunned herself in the atmosphere of tenderness and approval, and though no one referred in words to her disappointment, she knew that it was an underlying thought in every mind, and her sore heart was soothed afresh by each new instance of kindliness and care. The first evening was spent according to good old-fashioned custom, sitting round the schoolroom fire, brothers and sisters together, talking over the events of the term, and comparing exploits and adventures. In the dim firelight Dreda edged close to Gurth’s side and slipped her hand through his arm; and, wonder of wonders! instead of pushing her away, Gurth gave it a quick little grip, and leant his broad shoulder against hers in response. The boys were on their best behaviour, amiable and conciliatory, without a hint of the overbearing condescension which was apt to mark the end of the holidays. If there was a blot on the general harmony it was to be found in the air of detachment with which Rowena took part in the conversation. She was perfectly amiable, perfectly sweet, conscientiously interested in the different exploits, yet one and all felt disagreeably conscious that she was no longer one of their number, and that her thoughts were continually straying off on excursions of their own. Dreda remembered the parting promise of “Lots to tell!” and looked forward to hair-brushing confidences later on, but none were forthcoming. Rowena remained loving, preoccupied, and inscrutable.
Alone with Maud, Dreda discussed the change in her sister’s manner; but Maud’s explanation, though verbose, was hardly enlightening.
“She’s nineteen. She’ll be twenty on the twenty-first of October next. She’s got a train to her last new dress. And then there’s teaching me... She orders me about as if she were a hundred, but lately she’s grown moony. If I keep quite still and ask no questions she begins staring, and stares and stares and smiles to herself. So silly! But it passes the time. When the clock strikes she gives such a jump! I’m not getting on a bit; but I’m glad, because then I shall go to school. She takes no interest in me. I did the same exercises four times over and she never knew, and when I told mother she said, ‘Poor darling!’ I thought she meant me, but she meant Rowena. Well, if you grow up, you grow up, but you needn’t be silly!”
Three afternoons after Dreda’s return home a sharp rat-tat sounded at the door, and Maud, flattening her nose against the window, made one of her characteristic announcements.