Heriot's Choice: A Tale

by Rosa Nouchette Carey

'Or velvet coats,' quietly added Mildred, and Roy looked a little crestfallen.

'Aunt Milly, how can you be so unkind, so disagreeable?' cried Polly, with a little burst of indignation. 'I shall wear print dresses or cheap stuff. There was such a pretty one at sevenpence-halfpenny the yard, at Oliver's; but of course Rex must have his velvet coat, it looks so well on an artist, and suits him so. I would not have Roy look shabby and out of elbows, like Dad Fabian, for the world.'

'You would look very pretty in a print dress, Polly, I don't doubt,' returned Roy, a little sadly; 'but Aunt Milly is right, and it would not match my velvet coat. We must be consistent, as Richard says.'

'Cashmere is not so very dear, and it wears splendidly,' returned Polly, in the tone of one elated by a new discovery, 'and with a fresh ribbon now and then I shall look as well as I do now. You don't suppose I mean to be a slattern if we are ever so poor. But you shall have your velvet coat, if I have to pawn the watch Dr. Heriot gave me.' And Roy's answer was not meant for Mildred to hear.

Mildred felt as though she were turning the page of some story-book as she listened to their talk. How charmingly unreal it all sounded; how splendidly coloured with youth and happiness. After all, they were not ambitious. The rooms at the little cottage at Frognal bounded all their desires. The studio with the cross light and faded drapery, the worn couch and little square piano, was to be their living room. Polly was to work and sing, while Roy painted. Dull! how could they be dull when they had each other? Polly would go to market, and prepare dainty little dishes out of nothing; she would train flowers round the porch and under the windows, and keep chickens in the empty coop by the arbour. With plenty of eggs and fresh vegetables, their expenses would be trifling. Dugald had taught Rex to make potato soup and herring salad. Why, he and Dugald had spent he did not know how little a week, and of course his father would help him. Polly was penniless and an orphan, and it was his duty to work for her as well as for himself.

Mildred wondered what Dr. Heriot would think of the young people's proposition. As Polly was under age he had a voice in the matter, but she held her peace on this subject. After all, it was only a daydream—a very pleasant picture. She was conscious of a vague feeling of regret that things could not be as they planned. Roy was boyish and impulsive, but Polly might be trusted, she thought. Every now and then there was a little spirit of shrewdness and humour in the girl's words that bubbled to the surface.

'Roy will always be wanting to buy new books and new music, but I shall punish him by liking the old ones best,' she said, with a laugh. 'And no more boxes of cigarettes, or bottles of lavender-water; and oh, Rex, you know your extravagance in gloves.'

'I shall only wear them on Sundays,' replied Roy, virtuously, 'and I shall smoke pipes—an honest meerschaum after all is more enjoyable, and in the evenings we will take long walks towards Hendon or Barnet. Polly is a famous walker, and on fine Sundays we will go to Westminister Abbey, or St. Paul's, or some of the grand old city churches; one can hear fine music at the Foundling, and at St. Andrew's, Wells Street Polly does not know half the delights of living in London.'

'She will know it in good time,' returned Mildred, softly. She would not take upon herself to damp their expectations; in a little while they would learn to be reasonable. In the meanwhile she indulged in the petting that was with her as a second nature.

But it was a relief when her brother and Olive arrived; she had no idea how much she had missed them, until she caught sight of her brother's bowed figure and gray head, and Olive's grave, sallow face beside it.