Blanche: A Story for Girls

“No,” Mr Dunstan replied, “I came across him at Cannes. I ran down there for a week last month to see an old relation of mine. Sir Adam has not been in England for two years, but he hopes to come over before very long, and he is sure to stay at Alderwood with my aunt, if he does so, as Mrs Lilford has suggested it. He asked me if I had met Mrs Derwent when I was staying there, and he was so pleased to hear about you all. I am staying at Alderwood again just now, you know, for a day or two by myself.”

Blanche suddenly raised her eyes and looked at him.

“Does,” she said – “did Sir Adam know, when you saw him, of – of what had happened to us? That we had lost all our money?”

“No,” said Archie. He could not hesitate or feel awkward, when the girl was so straightforward. “No, he certainly had heard nothing about it. I doubt if he has heard it even now.”

“I am glad of that,” said Blanche, “for he has not written.”

“I did not know myself – I had not the slightest idea of it – till two days ago, when I came down here,” said the young man; “and I cannot tell you how dreadfully sorry I was, for I suppose it is all quite true?”

“Quite true,” replied Blanche. “Thank you for being sorry about it. I am rather surprised at your not having heard of it before. Not, of course, that our affairs are of general interest. But have you not seen Lady Hebe lately? I wrote to tell her about it, because it affected the work I had undertaken to do for her.”

“And has she not written to you direct?” inquired Mr Dunstan quickly.

Blanche shook her head slightly.

Archies face darkened.

“I don’t understand her,” he said, as if speaking to himself. – “No,” he went on aloud, “I have not seen her for some time; she has been away for several weeks at Coblenz, of all places in the world at this time of year. She is back in London now, but I didn’t call before coming down,” he finished, rather abruptly.

“I thought you were such very great friends,” said Stasy, looking him full in the face. “Have you had a quarrel?”

“Stasy!” said Blanche, her colour rising as she spoke.

But before she had time to say more, the rustle of a skirt across the grass made her start up. Their mother had just come out to join them.

Chapter Eighteen

Herty’s Confidences

Derwent greeted Mr Dunstan with quiet courtesy, scarcely, however, amounting to friendliness. He was instantly conscious of the slight change in her manner, and at exerted himself to regain the ground he found he had somehow lost. This, under usual conditions, would have required little effort on the young man’s part, for he was gifted with that charm of manner which springs from a really unaffected and unselfish character. “Spoilt” he might well have been, and to some extent, in fact, he was so. But the spoiling did not go far below the surface. Yet it was second nature to him to feel himself more than welcome wherever he chose to go. Awkwardness of any kind was a perfectly novel sensation.

What was the matter this afternoon? He felt embarrassed and self-conscious, as if treading on ground where he had no right to be.

Mrs Derwent’s attitude was that of tacit expectation, as if waiting to hear the reason of his visit, so Archie’s preliminary remarks about the heat in London, and the refreshment of getting a day or two in the country, fell rather flat.

So at last he plunged abruptly into the only tangible explanation of his visit he could lay hold on.

“I have just been telling Miss Derwent,” he began, “that I met a very old friend of yours the other day at Cannes. He is an old friend of some of my people’s too – Sir Adam Nigel – who used long ago to live at Alderwood, you know.”

Mrs Derwent’s manner grew more cordial, and her face lighted up.

“Oh,” she exclaimed, “I am so glad to hear about him. He spoke of us – of me – then, to you?”

“Oh dear, yes,” said Archie, delighted at his success. “He asked me no end of questions about you, when he heard I had had the pleasure of meeting you. And he begged me to give you all kinds of messages, as I told him I was sure to see you again before long. I’m always turning up in this neighbourhood,” he went on, “though my own home is in another county, for my uncle Dunstan was my guardian, and they’ve been at Alderwood for fifteen years or so now. Mrs Lilford has never really settled there.”

“Dear me,” said Mrs Derwent, “that makes it seem still longer since it was almost like home to me,” and her face saddened again a little. “Did Sir Adam say nothing about coming over this year?” she added. “I had hoped to see him before this.”

“Mamma,” said Blanche gently, “Mr Dunstan tells us that Sir Adam had no idea of what has happened, or that we had left Pinnerton Lodge.”

“No indeed,” said Archie eagerly.

Mrs Derwent’s face cleared again.

“I am not surprised,” she said. “Indeed, I felt sure of it, from his not having written again.”

“He is pretty certain to be in this neighbourhood before the winter,” added Archie, “and then, of course.” But he hesitated. It was not his place to assure Mrs Derwent that her old friend would look her up.

“Yes; then, of course, I shall see him,” she said, finishing the sentence for him. “But I think perhaps I will write, as, no doubt, Mr Dunstan, you can give me his present address.”

“Certainly I can,” the young man replied. “That’s to say, I can give you the Cannes address, and from there his letters are sure to be forwarded.”

Just then Herty reappeared, carefully carrying a plateful of buttered toast.

“There were no tea-cakes,” he said apologetically; “so Aline and me have been making this.”

“Buttered toast in July!” exclaimed Stasy contemptuously. “And you look as if you’d been toasting your face too, Herty; you’re as red as a turkey-cock.”

Herty’s beaming face clouded over.

“I thought you’d like it so much,” he said. “You generally do, Stasy.”

“Of course we like it,” said Blanche, as she began to pour out the tea.

“I think there’s nothing better than buttered toast at any time of the year,” said Archie heartily, at once following Blanche’s lead.

He was beginning to feel quite himself again. More than that, indeed, when Blanche glanced at him with an approving smile such as she had not yet favoured him with. How lovely she looked! He had always thought her lovely, but never, it seemed to him, had he seen her to such advantage as now; the afternoon sunshine adding a glow to her fair hair, and a touch of warmth to the delicate tints of her face, which had struck him as rather pale when he first saw her. Yet nothing could be simpler than the holland dress she was wearing. What made it so graceful in its folds? He had often condemned holland as too stiff and ungracious a material to be becoming, for Archie was a great connoisseur in such matters. Its creamy shade even seemed to deepen her blue eyes, lighted up by the transient smile. He had been a little doubtful about the colour of her eyes before, but now he was quite satisfied. They were thoroughly blue, but never had he seen so rich a shade in conjunction with that complexion and hair. He forgot he was looking at her, till a slight flush, for which the sunshine was not responsible, creeping over the girl’s cheeks, made him realise his unconscious breach of good manners.

The little bustle of handing cups and plates covered his momentary annoyance with himself.

“Really,” he thought, “what’s coming over me? I must be losing my head.”

The next quarter of an hour or so, however, passed very pleasantly. Mr Dunstan began to hope that he might feel himself re-established in the little family’s good graces.

“Are you going to be at Alderwood for some time?” asked Mrs Derwent in the course of conversation. “Isn’t it rather dull for you?”

“I don’t mind it,” replied Archie. “I’m rather used to being alone – in the country, that’s to say. I’ve no one but myself at my own home. I’ve been an orphan, you know, since I was a little fellow, and my only sister has been married for several years. Her husband is Norman Milward’s half-brother, Charles Conniston. They live in Ireland. By the way, you must have seen them that – that first afternoon I met you at Alderwood. They were staying at Crossburn then.”

“No,” said Blanche, whom he seemed to be addressing. “I don’t think I remember any one except old Mrs Selwyn that day, though I have seen young Mr Milward – Lady Hebe’s fiancé– once or twice, and his sister several times.”

“Oh, Rosy!” said Mr Dunstan. “Isn’t she nice? But isn’t she plain – almost odd-looking?”

Blanche did not reply.

“Blanche never thinks people that she likes, plain,” said Stasy.

“I beg your pardon,” said Blanche, “I’m not so silly. But the word doesn’t seem to me to suit Miss Milward, she has such wonderful eyes.”