Blanche: A Story for Girls

“Of course we did,” said Miss Halliday, “though we couldn’t do without Miss Stasy’s taste in anything. But do go out into the garden for a little, my dear; you’ll only make your head ache, and not be pleased with what you do in the end, when you’re feeling so.”

Stasy looked regretfully at the hat on her knee.

“I meant to make it so pretty,” she said. “And so you will, if you put it away in the meantime. There’s no hurry for it – there isn’t, really. Miss Bracy’s not leaving home till the end of the week,” said Miss Halliday.

Blanche had crossed the room to her sister, and took up the hat to look at it.

“It is pretty already,” she said, “and it is going to be quite charming, I can see. So uncommon!”

Stasy looked up with tired eyes.

“Do you really think so?” she said more cheerfully. “I am so glad, for I do want to make it very nice.”

It was an uncommon hat, even in these modern days of eccentricity without end – uncommon, but still more, perfect in taste – and in imagination Blanche already saw Adela’s piquant face and beautiful dark eyes looking their best under its shade.

“I want the roses to droop over a little on to her hair, do you see?” said Stasy. “And they will look rather sprawly.”

“They will come all right in the end, I am quite sure,” said Blanche encouragingly, as Stasy rose half reluctantly from her place.

“I just wish you’d go out with her too, Miss Blanchie,” said the milliner. “It is hot in here, and you’re looking pale yourself. I can call you in a moment when you’re wanted. I’ll tell you what,” she went on, with a sudden inspiration, “shall I tell Aline to take your tea out into the garden? Your dear mamma might like it, for she’s been writing all the afternoon, and Master Herty will help Aline to lay it.”

Aline was the only servant who had been added to the High Street establishment, and with her happy French faculty of adapting herself to varying circumstances, she had proved so far a real boon to the little family.

So Miss Halliday opened the door leading to the kitchen and gave her directions, while Blanche and Stasy made their way out to the long, pleasant strip of walled-in garden at the back of the old-fashioned house.

“Blanche,” said Stasy, as they slowly walked up and down the gravel path, “it wasn’t only about the hat I gave that sigh. I do feel so hurt at Lady Hebe, and I do so wish Miss Halliday hadn’t put her into my head again.”

“She doesn’t know anything about Hebe a not answering my letter,” said Blanche. “There was no use speaking of it.”

“No, of course not,” Stasy agreed.

“And I feel certain there must be some reason for it,” Blanche resumed. “She is the very last girl in the world to change to us because of all this. Besides, I think it was quite as difficult for her before to be nice to us, as it would be now.”

“Perhaps so,” said Stasy, rather absently. “Blanche, I do feel so dull and cross now, somehow. It isn’t, after all, as much fun as I expected. I do so dislike some of the people that come with their orders.”

“Yet, I think, on the whole, they have been wonderfully kind,” said Blanche. “Kind, and even delicate.”

“Oh, I daresay they have,” said Stasy. “But they have such ridiculous ideas! That woman yesterday, who wanted a bonnet that would ‘go’ with everything. And yet it wasn’t to be black or any neutral colour.”

“Yes, but Stasy,” said Blanche, “I was trembling for fear she should find out that you were making fun of her, when you proposed a – What is it, Aline?” she said, as the maid came out with the tea-tray, which she hastily deposited on a garden seat.

“Some one is at the front door,” replied Aline. “The bell rang as I left the kitchen. Will mademoiselle excuse my leaving the tray there? I must answer the door, for that stupid little girl has not yet dressed herself,” and she hastened off.

Just at that moment Herty put his face out at the glass door, which was slightly ajar.

“Where is Aline?” he said. “She promised I was to help her to carry out the tea things.”

“She has gone to open the door,” said Blanche. “She will be back in a moment. Come out here and help us to lay the table. – We may as well, Stasy,” she said to her sister; “the tray is not very secure on that chair.”

She began unfolding the little table-cloth which Aline had brought out.

“Herty must have run to the door,” said Stasy with some annoyance. “I am afraid he is getting rather common in his ways, Blanche, now that we live so plainly. I think we must be more particular with him. It does seem so vulgar for a child to be peeping out to see who is at the door.”

“I doubt if Herty will content himself with peeping,” said Blanche. “I wonder if all little boys are as inquisitive as he is.”

At that moment Herty’s shrill voice was heard in eager excitement.

“Blanchie, Blanchie,” he cried; “Stasy – somebody’s come to see you. – Come along, do,” he added to some one, as yet invisible in the drawing-room. “We’re going to have tea in the garden; won’t it be jolly? You’re just in time.”

Some inaudible words of remonstrance must have been addressed to him by the unfortunate individual he had under his convoy. But Herty was not to be so easily balked of his prey.

“You must come out,” they heard him say. “They’ll be as pleased as anything to see you.”

And apparently the invisible new-comer judged it wiser to resist no more, though it was with somewhat heightened colour, and less appearance of being equal to the occasion than was usual to him, that Mr Archibald Dunstan followed, or, more correctly speaking, allowed himself to be dragged out into the garden by the irrepressible Herty.

“I do beg your pardon, Miss Derwent,” he said as he shook hands, “but I couldn’t help myself, Herty is such a determined young person.”

Blanche looked up at him, serenely enough to all appearance, though in her heart she was not sure how this unexpected visit should be regarded.

“I had no idea you were in the country,” she said. – “Herty, go and tell mamma that Mr Dunstan is here. We are just going to have tea, as you see; we hoped it would be a little cooler in the garden than in the house.”

“It has been very hot lately,” Archie replied, slightly disconcerted, he scarcely knew why, and disgusted with himself for finding nothing more original to say; though Blanche was to the full as self-possessed as if she were receiving him in the pretty little home in which she had last seen him, as if no crash had completely broken the tenor of their life.

Archie almost felt as if he were dreaming, and yet – there could be no doubt that all he had heard was true. The facts spoke for themselves. Here the Derwents were, installed in the back rooms of the Blissmore milliner’s house.

And yet how nice it was! The sunny afternoon and the old garden; nothing to jar even upon the ultra refinement with which he was often taxed. Was it that Blanche Derwent, by the perfect sweetness and dignity of her presence, shed harmony and beauty about her wherever she might happen to be? He almost thought that herein was to be found the secret of it all.

“Why are we all standing?” said Stasy, with her rather incisive, girlish abruptness. Her voice recalled the young man to matters of fact. He hastily turned to draw forward some of the seats that were standing about.

“I daresay mamma won’t come down for a minute or two,” Stasy continued. “She told me just now that she had two or three letters that she must finish for the post.”

Mr Dunstan looked rather guilty.

“I do hope she will not hurry on my account,” he said. “I am in no hurry, but I do want to see Mrs Derwent. I have a” – and he hesitated – “a message for her from an old friend. At least I promised to give her news of him the first time I saw her.”

“Indeed,” said Blanche, who, if she felt curious as to who the old friend might be, for her own reasons repressed her curiosity.

But Stasy was less self-contained.

“An old friend,” she repeated eagerly. “How interesting! I wonder who it was. Do tell us, Mr Dunstan.”

Archie was by no means reluctant to do so. Anything to get out of the stilted commonplace-isms which had begun the conversation.

“It is no one you know personally,” he said, turning rather pointedly to Stasy; “though you have probably heard of him, as he was your grandfathers greatest friend – I mean old Sir Adam Nigel.”

Stasy almost clapped her hands.

“Oh, how glad I am,” she exclaimed, “and how delighted mamma will be! She has been longing to hear of him again. Is he in England? He was to have come in the spring.”