Chapter Eight.
August 15th.
It is three weeks since the moonlight picnic, and so many things have happened since then, such awful, terrible things, that I don’t know how to begin to tell them. I didn’t think when I began this diary how thrilling it was going to be before I’d got half way through; but you never know what is going to happen in this world. It’s awful how suddenly things come. I don’t think I can ever again feel confident and easy-going, as I used to do. You read in books sometimes, “She was no longer a girl, she was a woman,” and it is like that with me. Everything seems different and more solemn, and I don’t think I can ever frivol again in quite the same whole-hearted way.
To begin at the beginning: we had a very lively time for the next week, and I grew quite fond of Vere’s friends, even Lady Mary, whom I hated at first, and they all made a fuss of me, and made me sing every night till I felt quite proud. I invited Rachel over and over again, but she would never accept our invitations; but Will came often, either to dinner or lunch, or for an odd call, and Vere neglected everyone for him, and was so fascinating that I was in terror all the time. He admired her, of course; he would have been blind if he hadn’t, but I could not decide if he liked her or not. Sometimes I saw him smiling to himself in the queer, half-scornful way he had done when they first met, and then I was sure he did not; but at other times he would watch her about the room, following every movement as if he couldn’t help himself, and that’s a bad sign. Lorna has a sister who is married, and she knew the man was going to propose, because he looked like that. Somehow I never had a chance of a quiet talk, when I could have given him a hint, and it was thinking about that and wondering how I could see him alone which made me suddenly remember that it was a whole week and more since I had been a walk with father. I went hot all over at the thought. It was ghastly to remember how I had planned and promised to be his companion, and to care for him first of all, and then to realise how I had forsaken him at the very first temptation! He was so sweet about it, too, never complaining or seeming a bit vexed. Parents are really angels. It must be awful to have a child, and take such trouble with it all its life, and then to be neglected for strangers. I hadn’t the heart to write in my diary that night. I was too ashamed. I was worse than Vere, for I had posed as being so good and dutiful. I won’t make any more vows, but I confess here with that I am a selfish pig, and I am ashamed of myself.
The next morning I could hardly wait until breakfast was over, I was so anxious to be off. I got my cap and ran down to the stable and slipped my arm in father’s as he stood talking to Vixen. He gave a little start of surprise—it hurt me, that start!—looked down at me and said, smiling—
“Well, dear, what is it?”
“Nothing. I’m coming with you!” I said, and he squeezed my hand against his side.
“Thank you, dear, but I’m going a long round. I won’t be back until lunch. Better not leave your friends for so long.”
“Vere is with them, father. I want to come.”