Blanche: A Story for Girls

“It would have been perfectly impossible to refuse Hebe,” he thought to himself, as he was sitting alone in the small room where dinner had been served for him, “but it does seem dreadfully unlucky. I don’t see my way at all, and yet can I go away for an indefinite time and leave things as they are? I must trust to chance, I suppose. I must call there to-morrow, for I promised Hebe to give her message. Beyond that, I see nothing.”

Mr Dunstan’s visit had not made any great impression on the members of the little household in the High Street, with the exception possibly of Miss Halliday and Herty.

An unexpected and rather important order coming at a dull season had made the milliner and her young assistants unusually busy, and it was not without a feeling almost amounting to annoyance that Blanche found herself called away from the workroom the day after Archies return from London, to join her mother in the drawing-room.

“Do you want me particularly, mamma?” she said as she went in. “I am so busy just now. I could come in half an hour or so.”

As she spoke she suddenly became aware that her mother was not alone. Mr Dunstan was standing by the window.

“I did not know any one was here,” she went on, with an instinct of apology, “I had not heard the bell ring.”

“I am exceedingly sorry for interrupting you,” said the young man as he came forward, “but I could hardly help myself. I promised to see you personally to give you a message from Lady Hebe. I have been telling Mrs Derwent about it, but I know it would be a satisfaction to Hebe to hear that I had seen you, yourself.”

Blanche looked perplexed, and glancing at her mother’s face, she saw that it was unusually grave.

“Is there anything the matter?” she said quickly.

“Yes,” said Mrs Derwent. “You will be very sorry for poor Lady Hebe. A great trouble has come upon her.”

“Has anything happened to Mr Milward?” asked Blanche, and somehow Archie felt pleased that this was her first idea.

“No,” he answered. “Norman is all right. The trouble has come to Hebe herself, though, of course, it is terrible for him too.”

And then he went on to give the details of the grievous loss with which the young girl was threatened.

Blanche’s face grew graver and graver as he spoke. “Oh dear!” she exclaimed, when he had finished. “How dreadfully sad! Those pretty, happy eyes of hers. I can’t believe it. May I write to her, Mr Dunstan, do you think? I do feel so inexpressibly sorry for her. Mamma, our troubles don’t seem much in comparison with this, do they?”

“No, indeed,” Mrs Derwent agreed heartily. “But still it is not hopeless by any means, is it, Mr Dunstan?”

“I trust and believe not,” he replied. “But then I have only Hebe’s own account, you see. I shall know more after I have seen Norman and the Marths. – About writing to her,” he continued, turning to Blanche, “I don’t quite know. I don’t fancy she’s allowed to read at all, and you might not care for your letter going through other hands.”

Blanche looked disappointed.

“Then will you tell her from me?” she began, but he interrupted her.

“I’ll tell you what,” he said, “if you won’t think me officious – if you like to write to her and will give me the letter, I’ll take it myself, and she can have it read to her by some one you would not mind – Rosy – Rosy Milward, perhaps.”

“Thank you,” said Blanche. “I would like to write a little, however little, if I were sure she would get it herself. I can write it at once,” she went on, “if you don’t mind waiting a few minutes;” and she left the room as she spoke. She had hardly done so, when Stasy made her appearance.

“Blanche,” she said, as she came in, “Miss Halliday does so want you – How do you do, Mr Dunstan? I did not know you were here. – Where is Blanchie, mamma?”

“She is writing a note,” Mrs Derwent replied – “something rather particular. Can I not do instead of her?”

“Oh, well, perhaps you can; it’s about a letter she is wanted,” said Stasy. “If you could come, Miss Halliday will explain about it.” And with a word of apology to Mr Dunstan, Mrs Derwent left the room with her younger daughter.

“What a life of slavery for women in their position!” said Archie to himself. “To be at the beck and call of all the Blissmore shopkeepers. It is insufferable!”

He strolled restlessly to the window and stood looking out, feeling very indignant with the world in general and, most unreasonably, with Miss Halliday in particular.

He had not stood there long when Blanche returned with an envelope in her hand.

“This is my little letter,” she said, holding it out to him. “Thank you for taking charge of it, though it does not say half – not a hundredth part – of what I feel for her.”

“I know that she will value your sympathy,” said Archie, wishing he could think of something less commonplace to say.

He stood there, feeling, if not looking, uncertain and embarrassed, Blanche’s evident expectation – for she did not sit down again – that he was on the point of going, not tending to set him more at his ease.

Suddenly he spoke.

“I know you are busy, Miss Derwent,” he began. “I’ve no doubt you are wishing I would go. But the truth of it is, I can’t go without saying something more to you.”

Blanche looked up, a gleam of surprise in her face.

“I am busy,” she said, smiling a little. “But if it is anything important, I can wait a few minutes.”

Archie glanced irresolutely towards the window.

“Would you mind,” he said, “coming out into the garden. It is something important, and if we stay here they will be calling for you immediately.”

Chapter Twenty

A Nephew and an Aunt

Blanche did “mind,” for she was anxious to go back to the workroom. But Mr Dunstan had been very kind, and it was not in her nature to be unyielding in small lings.

“Perhaps he has something more to tell me about, Hebe,” she thought, as she led the way out through the open glass door.

“Miss Derwent,” began Archie again, when they had strolled towards the farther end of the long strip, “the fact of the matter is – and you must forgive me if it seems impertinent – I cannot stand this.”

“What?” asked Blanche, looking up in bewilderment.

“This – this position for you,” he said. “This horrid slavery.”

“Oh,” said Blanche, somewhat coldly. “I couldn’t think what you meant. It’s very good of you, but you really needn’t trouble about it. On the whole, I think we are very fortunate indeed. Lots of people have far worse things to bear. I thought you were going to tell me something about Hebe.”

“I see you do think me impertinent,” Mr Dunstan resumed, with some slight bitterness in his tone. “You don’t understand. I don’t care about ‘lots of people’s’ troubles. It is you I care about. It is for you I can’t endure it.”

Blanche looked up again, this time with slightly deepened colour.

“Thank you again,” she said, “for your kindly meant sympathy. But if you knew me better, or had known me longer, you would understand that there are many kinds of troubles which would be much worse to me. I am really not unhappy at all – none of us are. Indeed, in some ways, the having more to do makes life more interesting.” And then she stopped, at a loss what more to say – feeling, indeed, that there was nothing more to be said.

Archie grew desperate.

“You are not like any girl I have ever met,” he said; “you won’t understand me. Can’t you see that the reason I mind it so much is that I care so much for you?”

“Mr Dunstan!” exclaimed Blanche, and in the two words a calmer hearer would have detected some indignation as well as the astonishment which was unmistakable. “No, I don’t understand you,” she went on. “We are almost strangers.”

“Strangers!” he repeated reproachfully. “You have never seemed a stranger to me since the first day I saw you, for since then you have never been out of my thoughts. You must understand me now. Can I speak more plainly? I don’t want to vex you by seeming exaggerated, but I care for you, and have done so all these months, as much, I honestly believe, as it is possible for a man to care for a woman. I did not mean to have said this so soon. Of course I don’t ask you to say you care for me as yet, but don’t you think you might get to do so in time? I could be very patient.”