“You know mamma, of course,” said Edgar’s pretty cicerone. “I suppose I need not enter into the family history. You know all us Thornleighs, as we have known you all our lives.”
“I am ashamed of my ignorance; but I have never been at home to have the chance of knowing the Thornleighs,” said Edgar. “Don’t imagine it is my fault.”
“No; it is quite romantic, I know,” said Gussy. “You have been brought up abroad. Oh yes; I know all about it. Mr. Arden nearly died of losing your mother, and you are so like her that he could not bear to look at you. Poor dear old Mr. Arden, he was so nice. But I thought you must have known us by instinct all the same. That is Ada sitting opposite. I must begin with us young ones, for what could I say about papa and mamma? Everybody knows papa and mamma. It would be like repeating a chapter out of Macaulay’s history, or that sort of thing. Harry is the eldest, but he is not at home. And that is Ada opposite. She is the good one among us. It is she who keeps up the credit of the family. Poor dear mamma has plenty to do with five girls on her hands, not to speak of the boys. And Ada looks after the schools, and manages the poor people, and all that. All the cottagers adore her. But she is not fun, though she is a dear. There is not another boy for ever so long. We girls all made a rush into the world before them. I am sure I don’t know why. As if we were any good!”
“Are not you any good?” said Edgar, laughing. He was not used to advanced views about women, and he thought it was a joke.
“Of course, we are no good,” said Gussy. “We are all very well so long as we are young—and some of us are ornamental. I think Helena is very ornamental for one; but we can’t do anything or be anything. You should hear what she says about that. Well, then, after Ada there is nothing very important—there is only me. I am the chattering one, and some people call me the little one, or the one with the curls. I have not any character to speak of, nor any vocation in the family, so it is not worth while considering me. Let us pass on to Helena. That is Helena, the one who is so like papa. I think she is awfully handsome. Of course, I don’t mean that I expect you to think so, or to say so; but all her sisters admire her very much. And she is as clever as a dozen men. All the boys put together are not half so clever as she is. She ought to have been in Parliament, and that sort of thing; but she can’t, for she is a girl. Don’t you think it is hard? Well, I do. There is nothing she could not do, if she only had the chance. That is the Rector who is sitting beside her. He is High, but he is Broad as well. He burns candles on the altar, and lets us decorate the church, and has choral service; but all the same he is very philosophical in his preaching. Helena thinks a great deal of that. She says he satisfies both the material and intellectual wants. Do you feel sleepy? Don’t be afraid to confess it, for I do myself whenever anybody uses long words. I thought it was my duty to tell you. For anything I know, you may be intellectual too.”
“I don’t think I am intellectual, but I am not in the least sleepy,” said Edgar; “pray go on. I begin to feel the mists clear away, and the outlines grow distinct. I am a kind of Columbus on the shores of a new world; but he had not such a guide as you.”
“Please wait a little,” said Gussy, shaking her pretty curls, “till I have eaten my soup. I am so fond of white soup. It is a combination of every sort of eatable that ever was invented, and yet it does not give you any trouble. I must have two minutes for my soup.”
“Then it is my turn,” said Edgar. “I should like to tell you all my difficulties about Arden. Clare is not such an able guide as you are. She does not tell me who everybody is, but expects me to know. And when one has been away from home all one’s life, instinct is a poor guide. Fancy, I should never have known that you were the chattering one, and Miss Thornleigh the good one, if you had not told me! I might have supposed it was the other way. And if you had been at Arden I never should have made such a dreadful mistake as I made this morning.”
“Oh, tell me! what was it?” said Gussy, with her spoon suspended in her hand, looking up at him with dancing eyes.
“I hope you will not think the worse of me for such a confession. I was so misled as to say I would go and dine with a certain Mr. Pimpernel——”