“I’d scorn to cry. I wouldn’t condescend to shed a tear for the nasty horrid thing!” cried Mellicent, mopping with her handkerchief at the continuous stream which rolled down her cheeks. “It is she who should cry, not I. If I am poor and shabby, I know how to behave. I’m a lady, and Rosalind Darcy is a c–cad. She is, and I don’t care who hears me say it! I’ve known her all my life, and she’s ashamed to be seen with me. I’ll go home to-morrow, I will! I’ll stay at home where people love me, and don’t choose their friends for the cl–clothes they wear!”
Mellicent burst into fresh tears, and Peggy looked anxiously into Arthur’s face. It was drawn and fixed, and his lips were set, as if in endurance of actual physical pain.
Chapter Ten.
Four days before Peggy left town she had an amusing encounter with one of her old friends. The little party had divided, and while Mrs Saville and Mellicent shopped in the West End, the colonel and his daughter drove into the City to visit a collection of the pictures of one of the old masters. They were sauntering through the second room when Peggy’s attention was attracted by a group standing at a few yards’ distance—a lady, a gentleman, and two little boys with Eton collars and round-about jackets—a family group for a ducat, yet surely, surely there was something familiar in the figure and bearing of the supposed mother! She was tall and dignified, her clothes were quite miraculously tidy, and the smooth, fair hair was plaited in Puritan fashion round the head.
“Can it—can it be?” queried Peggy to herself; then, catching sight of a long grave face, “It is!” she cried with a flash of joy, and walking forward, planted herself deliberately in the stranger’s path. What she anticipated came precisely to pass, for the lady stepped back from her position, collided violently with herself, and began hurriedly to apologise.
“I beg your pardon! I did not see—I hope I have not hurt you.” So far in fluent unconsciousness; then suddenly she stopped short, gasped, hesitated, stared hard at the face before her, and ejaculated a breathless, “Peggy—Saville!”
“Esther Asplin! I knew it was you! I knew no one else in the world could possess that back hair! How extraordinary to come across you here! It’s a marvel that Mellicent was not with me, but we were both looking forward to seeing you at the vicarage at the end of the week!”
“I am on my way home now. I go down by the six o’clock train, and took the opportunity of bringing the boys into town to see some of the sights. They are such dears, Peggy. The one with the red hair is a genius. You should see his Latin prose! The fat one is a lovable little soul, but terribly stupid and lazy; a great trial to my patience. I suppose Mellicent has told you all about my work, and how happy I am? The parents are such charming, cultivated people. The mother is a sister of Professor Reid, the gentleman who is with us now.” She rolled her eyes meaningly towards the cadaverous-looking man who had fled to the end of the room at Peggy’s approach. “He was one of our lecturers at Girton, and recommended me to his sister when I left. Such an honour for me, for he is one of the finest men in the ‘Varsity’—So wonderfully learned and clever!”