“All right, Aunt Sophia Ann, just as you please,” cried Cornelia, naughtily. She was standing up, cup in hand, but even as she spoke she subsided on to a footstool by Miss Briskett’s side, with a sudden lithe collapse of the body, which made that good lady gasp in dismay. She had never seen anybody but a professional acrobat move so quickly or unexpectedly, and felt convinced that the tea must have been spilt, and crumbs scattered wholesale over the carpet. But no! not even a drop had fallen into the saucer, and there sat Cornelia nibbling at an undamaged sandwich with little, strong, white teeth, as cool and composed as if such feats were of everyday occurrence.
“This is how I sit by Poppar at home; it’s more sociable than right across the room. Poppar and I are just the greatest chums, and I hate it when he’s away. There was a real nice woman wanted to come and keep house, and take me around—Mrs Van Dusen, widow of Henry P Van Dusen, who made a boom in cheese. Maybe you’ve heard of him. He made a pile, and lost it all, trying to do it again. Then he got tired of himself and took the grippe and died, and it was pretty dull for Mrs Van. She visits round, and puts in her time the best way she can. She’d have liked quite well to settle down at our place for three or four months, and I’d have liked it too, if it hadn’t been for you. I wanted to see you Aunt Soph—ia Ann!”
She put up a thin little hand, and rubbed it ingratiatingly up and down the shiny silk lap, to the stupefaction of Mason, who came in at that moment bearing a plate of hot scones, and retired to give a faithful rendering of the position to her allies in the kitchen, sitting down on the fender stool, and stroking the cook’s apron in dramatic imitation, while that good lady and her satellites went into helpless fits of laughter.
“I’d as soon stroke a nettle myself,” said the cook, “but there’s no accounting for taste! You take my word for it, if she goes on stroking much longer, she’ll get a sting as she won’t forget in a hurry!”
Upstairs in the drawing-room, Miss Briskett’s fidgeting uncomfortably beneath that caressing hand. In her lonely, self-contained life, she was so unused to demonstrations of the kind that she was at a loss how to receive them when they came. Instinctively she drew herself away, shrinking into the corners of her chair and busying herself with the re-arrangement of the tray, while Cornelia asked one question after another in her high-pitched, slightly monotonous voice.
“It’s mighty quiet out here, Aunt Soph—ia Ann! Does it always go on being just as still? Do you live all the year round, right here in this house by your lonesome, listening to the grass growing across the lane? What do you do, anyway? That’s a real smart-looking maid! Will she be the one to wait upon me? Most all my shirt waists fasten up the back, and there’s got to be someone round to fix them, or I’m all undone. I guess you’re pretty tidy by the looks of you, Aunt Soph. I can’t see after things myself, but I fidget the life out of everybody if I’m not just so. I’ve got the sweetest clothes.—Do you have gay times over here in Norton? Is there a good deal of young society? I love prancing round and having a good time. Poppar says the boys spoil me; there’s always a crowd of them hanging round, ready to do everything I want, and to send me flowers and bon-bons. I’m just crazed on bonbons! My state-room was piled full of bouquets and chocolates coming over. I had more than any other girl on board!”
Miss Briskett’s lips tightened ominously. “If by ‘boys’ you mean young men, Cornelia, I am surprised that your father allows you to receive indiscriminate gifts from strangers. I fear he hag become a thorough American, and forgotten his early training. In England no young man would venture to send a gift to a lady to whom he was not either related, or engaged to be married.”
“My! how mean! Amurican men are for ever sending things, and the girls just love to have them do it. Seems to me, Aunt Soph, it’s about time I came over to teach you how to do things in this benighted isle! Poppar says you’re all pretty mouldy, but, short of an earthquake, he can’t think of anything better calculated to shake you up, than a good spell of me waltzing around. I guess he’s about right. I’m never quiet unless I’m sick. There’s not much of the Sleeping Beauty about Cornelia E Briskett!”
Miss Briskett sat still, a pillar of outraged propriety. This was worse than anything she had expected! The girl appeared to have no modesty, no decorum, no sense of shame. She might straighten her back until it was as stiff as a poker, might arch her brows into semicircles, and purse her lips into an expression of disapproval which would have frightened Elma Ramsden out of her senses, but Cornelia never appeared to notice that anything was amiss, and continued her meal with bland enjoyment. When she had finished the sandwiches she rested her left arm more firmly on her aunt’s knee, and raised her pointed chin until it rested, actually rested, upon the edge of the table, the while she carefully scrutinised the different varieties of cake, and selected the piece most to her taste. At this she proceeded to nibble with evident satisfaction, lifting it to her lips in one thin hand, while the other still rested caressingly on that shiny silk lap. Miss Briskett’s dumb swellings of anger gradually subsided to the point when it became possible to put them into words. She cleared her throat with the usual preliminary grunt, whereupon the girl turned her stag-like head, to gaze questioningly upwards, her expression sweetly alert, her eyes—limpid, golden eyes—widely opened between the double line of lashes!
Miss Briskett looked, and the remonstrance died on her lips. The scene shifted, and in an instant she had travelled back through the years to a day long, long ago, when she sat, a girl in her teens, talking to the little boy brother who was the dearest of all created things, telling him stories, and watching the wonder in his eyes! Pert, self-sufficient, and presumptuous as she might be, by some contradictory freak of nature, that divine innocence still lingered in this young girl’s eyes. The sight of it arrested the words on the spinster’s lips. She realised with shame that almost every word which she had spoken to the girl since her arrival had been tinged with reproof, and blushed for her own lack of hospitality. The frown faded, and was replaced by a struggling smile. With a half-strained movement she advanced a chilly hand to meet the girl’s warm grasp.