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Flaming June

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<h3>Chapter Two.</h3> “My dear,” said Mrs Ramsden, solemnly, “this is indeed great news. I don’t wonder that you feel unnerved!” “I do, indeed. The three o’clock post came in, and I was quite surprised when Mary came in with the salver. I was not expecting any letters. I have so few correspondents, and I am mostly in their debt, I am afraid. Still, of course, there are always the circulars. I looked for nothing more exciting, and then—this arrived! I really felt that I could not sit alone and think it out by myself all day long. I hope you will forgive me for asking you to come over on such short notice.” “Indeed, I am flattered that you should wish to have me. Do tell me all about this brother. He has lived abroad a long time, I think? It is the eldest, is it not? The rich one—in America?” “I believe he is rich for the moment. Goodness knows how long it may last,” sighed Miss Briskett, dolefully. “He speculates in mines, my dear, and you know what that means! Half the time he is a pauper, and the other half a millionaire, and so far as I can gather from his letters he seems just as well satisfied one way as another. He was always a flighty, irresponsible creature, and I fear Cornelia has taken after him.” “She is the only child?” “Yes! She had an English mother, I’m thankful to say; but poor Sybil died at her birth, and Edward never married again. He was devoted to Sybil, and said he would never give another woman the charge of her child. Such nonsense! As if any man on earth could look after a growing girl, without a woman’s help. Instead of a wise, judicious stepmother, she has been left to nurses and governesses, and from what I can hear, has ruled them, instead of the other way about. You can see by the tone of her father’s letter that he is absurdly prejudiced.” “That is natural, perhaps, with an only child, left to him in such peculiarly sad circumstances. We must not judge him hardly for that,” said little Mrs Ramsden, kindly. “Has the girl herself ever written to you before, may I ask, or is this her first communication?” Miss Briskett’s back stiffened, and her thin lips set in a straight line. “She has addressed little notes to me from time to time; on birthdays, and Christmases, and so on; but to tell you the truth, my dear, I have not encouraged their continuance. They were unduly familiar, and I object to being addressed by abbreviations of my name. Ideas as to what is right and fitting seem to differ on different sides of the Atlantic!” “They do, indeed. I have always understood that young people are brought into quite undue prominence in American households. And their manners, too! One sees in that postscript—you don’t mind my saying so, just between ourselves—a—a broadness—” “Quite so! I feel it myself. I am most grieved, about it. Cornelia is my niece, and Edward is the head of the family. Her position as his only child is one of importance, and I feel distressed that she is so little qualified to adorn it. She has been well educated, I believe; has ‘graduated,’ as they call it; but she has evidently none of our English polish. Quite in confidence, Mrs Ramsden, I feel that she may be somewhat of a shock to the neighbourhood!” “You think of receiving her, then? Your brother leaves you the option of refusing, and I should think things over very seriously before incurring such a responsibility. A three-months’ visit! I doubt you could not stand the strain! If you excused yourself on the ground of health, no offence could possibly be taken.” But at that Miss Briskett protested strongly. “Oh, my dear, I could not refuse! Edward wishes to find a home for the girl, and says he would be relieved to have her with me. I could not possibly refuse! I think I may say that I have never yet shirked a duty, distasteful though it might be, and I must not do so now. I shall cable to say that I will be pleased to receive Cornelia, when it suits her to arrive.” Mrs Ramsden crumbled her seed-cake and wondered why—that being the case—she had been summoned to give advice, but being a good-natured soul, smiled assent, and deftly shifted the conversation to the consideration of details. “Well, dear, I only trust you may be rewarded. Miss Cornelia is fortunate to have such a home waiting to receive her. What room do you propose to dedicate to her use?” Miss Briskett’s face clouded, and she drew a long, despairing sigh. “That’s another thing I am troubled about. I had the best spare room done up only this spring. The carpet had faded, and when I was renewing it I took the opportunity to have in the painters and paperhangers. It is all fresh, even the curtains and bed-hangings. They have not once been used.” Mrs Ramsden purred in sympathetic understanding. “Poor dear! When one has just made a room all fresh and clean, it is most trying to have it taken into use! But why give her that room at all, dear? You have several others. A young, unmarried girl should be satisfied with a room at the back, or even on the third storey. You have a nice little guest room over your own bedroom, have you not?” “No!” Miss Briskett again manifested a noble determination to do her duty. “I should like Edward to feel, when he comes over, that I have paid his daughter all due honour. She must have the spare room, and if she spills things over the new carpet, I must pray for grace to bear it. She has been accustomed to a very luxurious style of living for the last few years, and I daresay even my best room will not be as handsome as her own apartment. In the present state of Edward’s finances, she is, I suppose, a very great heiress.” Little Mrs Ramsden stared into her cup with a kindly thoughtfulness. “I should keep that fact secret, if I were you,” she said earnestly. “Poor lassie! it’s always a handicap to a girl to be received for what she has, rather than what she is. And there are two or three idle, worthless young men hanging about, who might be only too glad to pick up a rich wife. I should simply announce that I was expecting a niece from the United States of America, to pay me a visit of some months’ duration, and offer no enlightenment as to her circumstances. You will have enough responsibility as it is, without embarrassing entanglements.” “Yes, indeed. Thank you so much. I feel sure that your advice is wise, and I shall certainly follow it. There’s that soldier nephew of Mrs Mott’s, who is constantly running down on short visits. I object intensely to that dashing style! He is just the type of man to run after a girl for her money. I shall take special care that they do not meet. One thing I am determined upon,” said Miss Briskett, sternly, “and that is that there shall be no love-making, nor philandering of any kind under my roof. I could not be troubled with such nonsense, nor with the responsibility of it. I am accustomed to a quiet, regular life, and if Cornelia comes to me, she must conform to the regulations of the household. At my age I cannot be expected to alter my ways for the sake of a girl.” “Certainly not. She is a mere girl, I suppose! How old may she be?” Miss Briskett considered. “She was born in the winter! I distinctly remember coming in and seeing the cable, and taking off my fur gloves to open it.—It was the year I bought the dining-room carpet. It was just down, I remember, and as we drank the baby’s health, the cork flew out of the bottle, and some of the champagne was spilt, and there was a great fuss wiping it up— Twenty-two years ago! Who would have thought it could be so long?” “Ah, it always pays to get a good thing while you are about it. It costs a great deal at the start, but you have such satisfaction afterwards. It’s not a bit faded!” Mrs Ramsden affirmed, alluding, be it understood, to the Turkey carpet, and not to Miss Cornelia Briskett. “Twenty-two. Just a year younger than my Elma! Elma will be glad to have a companion.” “It is kind of you to say so. Nothing would please me better than to see Cornelia become intimate with your daughter. Poor child, she has not had the advantages of an English upbringing; but we must hope that this visit will be productive of much good. She could not have a better example than Elma. She is a type of a sweet, guileless, English girl.” “Ye–es!” asserted the sweet girl’s mother, doubtfully; “but you know, dear Miss Briskett, that at times even Elma...” She shook her head, sighed, and continued with a struggling smile: “We must remember—must we not—that we have been young ourselves, and try not to be too hard on little eccentricities!” Mrs Ramsden spoke with feeling, for memory, though slumbering, was not dead. She had not always been a well-conducted widow lady, who expressed herself with decorum, and wore black cashmere and bugles. Thirty odd years ago she had been a plump little girl, with a lively capacity for mischief. On one occasion she had danced two-thirds of the programme at a ball with an officer even more dashing than the objectionable nephew of Mrs Mott, and in a corner of the conservatory had given him a flower from her bouquet. He had kissed the flower before pressing it in his pocket-book, and had looked as if he would have liked to kiss something else into the bargain. ... After twenty-five years of life at Norton, it was astonishing how vividly the prim little widow recalled the guilty thrill of that moment! On yet another occasion she had carried on a clandestine correspondence with the brother of a friend, and had awakened to tardy pangs of conscience only when a more attractive suitor came upon the scene! Mrs Ramsden blushed at the remembrance, and felt a kindly softening of the heart towards the absent Cornelia but Miss Briskett remained coldly unmoved. She had been an old maid in her cradle, and had gone on steadily growing old maidier ever since. Never had she so forgotten herself as to dally with the affections of any young man, which was perhaps the less to her credit, as no young man had exhibited any inclination to tempt her from the paths of single blessedness. She looked down her nose at her friend’s remark, and replied that she trusted she might be enabled to do her duty, without either prejudice or indulgence, and soon afterwards Mrs Ramsden took her leave, and returned to her own domain. At one of the windows of the over-furnished sitting-room of The Holt, a girl was standing gazing dreamily through the spotted net curtains, with a weary little droop in the lines of the figure which bespoke fatigue, rather mental, than physical. She was badly dressed, in an ill-cut skirt, and an ill-cut blouse, and masses of light brown hair were twisted heavily together at the back of her head; but the face, which she turned to welcome her mother reminded one instinctively of a bunch of flowers—of white, smooth-leaved narcissi; of fragrant pink roses; of pansies—deep, purple-blue pansies, soft as velvet. Given the right circumstances and accessories, this might have been a beauty, an historical beauty, whose name would be handed down from one generation to another; a Georgina of Devonshire, a beautiful Miss Gunning, a witching Nell Gwynne; but alas! beauty is by no means independent of external aid! The poets who declaim to the contrary are men, poor things, who know no better; every woman in the world will plump for a good dressmaker, when she wishes to appear at her best. Elma Ramsden, with the makings of a beauty, was just a pretty, dowdy girl, at whom a passer-by would hardly cast a second glance. She looked bored too, and a trifle discontented, and her voice had a flat, uninterested tone. “Well, mother, back again! Have you enjoyed your call?” “Thank you, dear, it was hardly a case of enjoyment. I was invited to give my opinion of a matter of importance.” “Yes, I know!—Should she have the sweep this week, or the week after next?—Should she have new covers for the drawing-room?—Would you advise slate-grey, or grey-slate for the new dress? ... I hope you brought the weight of your intellect to bear on the great problems, and solved them to your mutual satisfaction!” Mrs Ramsden seated herself on a deeply-cushioned arm-chair, and began pulling off her tight kid gloves. A touch of offence was visible in her demeanour, and the feather in the front of her bonnet reared itself at an aggressive angle. “It is not in good taste, my dear, to talk in that tone to your mother. Matters of domestic interest may not appeal to you in your present irresponsible position, but they are not without their own importance. The subject of to-day’s discussion, however, was something quite different. You will be interested to hear that Miss Briskett is expecting a young American niece to pay her a visit at an early date.” “How young?” inquired Elma, tentatively. Her mother had a habit of alluding to “girls” of thirty-five, which did not commend itself to her youthful judgment. She reserved her interest until assured on this important point. “About your own age or slightly younger. The only daughter of Mr Edward Briskett, the head of the family. His business takes him away from home for several months, and his daughter is anxious to avail herself of the opportunity of visiting her aunt.” “Oh!” said Elma; no more and no less, but as she turned her pansy-like eyes once more to the window, she grimaced expressively. She was sorry for the delusion of the American daughter who was willing to cross a whole ocean for the privilege of beholding Miss Sophia Briskett! “What is she like?” she asked presently. “Did you hear anything about her?” Mrs Ramsden shook her head dolefully. “I fear, dear—strictly between ourselves—that she is not precisely what we should call a nice girl! The tone of her letter was decidedly flippant. Miss Briskett is hoping much from your influence. You two girls will naturally come a good deal into contact, and I hope you will do your utmost to set her an example of ladylike demeanour.” Elma stared steadily through the window. “Flippant” she repeated to herself in a breathless whisper. “Flippant!” The pansy eyes widened. She heaved a sigh of deep, incredulous delight. <hr></div> <div class="bodytext"> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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