Chambers's Journal of Popular Literature, Science, and Art, No. 687

'And you can still call her sister?'

'Yes.'

'God bless you, dear young lady! It's only the best and purest could say that. Let me – pray let me.'

And before Lilian could prevent her, Mrs Pratt sank on her knees and kissed the young girl's hands. It expressed all the more to me, because I judged that Mrs Pratt was not naturally so emotional as most people. She recovered herself quickly too. After turning away for a few moments towards the window, where she stood wiping her eyes, she was the same self-contained, quiet-looking, little woman we had first seen.

'Please forgive me, ladies; but, as you have guessed, I do know Marian Reed. Her poor mother was my only sister, and since her death, Marian has always lived with us. Mr Farrar has always paid very handsome for her; and she has been brought up like a – lady.' Mrs Pratt hesitated a little over the word, and added: 'I mean, compared with people like us – a deal better than my own little ones.'

To gain a little time for Lilian, I asked: 'How many children have you, Mrs Pratt?'

'We have seven, Miss; but I've a good husband; a better man than Jonathan doesn't breathe; and business is brisk; so we want for nothing.'

The latter part of her sentence was meant for a hint, I thought, and I was all the more favourably inclined towards her in consequence. At anyrate we were amongst honest people.

'Is – Marian in the house now?' inquired Lilian. 'May I see her?'

Once more I noticed the reluctance in Mrs Pratt's face, as she replied: 'Yes, Miss; I'll go and tell her.'

'No; please do not tell her; let me introduce myself.'

Mrs Pratt consented; and to be quite honest with us, did not leave the room. Standing at the open door, she called out: 'Miss Reed – Marian, dear!'

No reply.

'Marian, dear, will you please come down for a few minutes?'

'What for?' called out a voice from some upper chamber.

'Somebody wants to see you, dear.'

I heard a word which seemed very much like 'Bother!' and a sound as of a book thrown down. Then there was a somewhat heavy and leisurely tread descending the stairs.

'Well, what is it?'

A girl of about twenty or twenty-one years of age entered the room, looking as though she had been disturbed and resented it. At sight of her my heart sank. Lilian's sister! This underbred girl, arrayed in the latest style of elegance as interpreted by Islington. Everything about her was in the extreme of penny-fashion-book style; the largest of chignons, the fluffiest of curls covering her forehead down to her eyebrows, the longest of ribbons streaming down her back, and the latest inventions in the way of imitation jewellery. I am bound to acknowledge that she was in her way good-looking; with plenty of dark hair, large round dark eyes, red (not pink) and white complexion, and good though large figure, and yet – Could any one in the world be more disappointing, as Lilian's sister?

She crossed the room, seated herself with a dégagé air in a lounging-chair, and playing with a bunch of trinkets, it was then the fashion to call charms, upon her watch-chain, she languidly inquired if we had come about the music lessons.

'Because I have almost made up my mind to engage a gentleman. I require something advanced, you know; and the gentleman who is organist at our church gives lessons to a select few, and' —

'Are you Marian?' asked Lilian, white and trembling.

'I am Miss Reed,' very stiffly returned that young lady.

'This young lady is Miss Farrar,' I put in, to help Lilian.

'O indeed!' returned Miss Reed.

I saw that the name told her nothing. I know now that she had never been told her father's name.

With slowly gathering colour, Mrs Pratt now came to my assistance. 'Mr Farrar was the gentleman who – paid for your schooling and all that, Marian, dear – the quarterly allowance came from him.'

'And who was he?'

'Your father!' returned her aunt, in a low broken voice: 'and these ladies have come to tell us that he has been ill, and – and' —

'He is dead!' said Marian; taking note of our black clothes, and becoming as pale as one of her complexion could become.

'Come!' I thought, not a little relieved, 'she can feel.' But I very quickly found that I had been somewhat premature in giving her credit upon that account. It is possible to feel without the feeling being worth very much. I saw in what way she was touched, as she went on, with a little catch in her breath, looking from one to the other of us: 'What has he left me?'

We were silent; and putting the right construction upon our silence, she hurriedly added: 'You don't mean to say he hasn't left me anything, after' —

Without any further anxiety on the score of her feelings, I put in: 'Mr Farrar has left no will, Miss Reed; and all his property comes to this young lady – his daughter.'

'Then I say it is mean, and shameful – downright shameful! and' —

'Hush, Marian, pray; Marian, dear, you forget!' pleaded Mrs Pratt, laying her hand upon the girl's arm.

'Am I not his daughter too? Am I not to say a word if I am left a beggar, after being always led on to expect to be a lady? It is shameful; and I do not care who hears me say so!' Flashing a look of angry defiance at us.

Lilian sat gazing at her; in her sorrow and disappointment, utterly incapable of uttering a word. It had not occurred to her that she might find this kind of sister. She had probably never before been in contact with any one like Marian Reed, and indeed we had both of us expected to see a very different person from this. If she had been only poor – anything like the children of poor parents generally, there would have been some reason for hope. But now! I afterwards found that Mr Farrar's very liberal allowance had been expended entirely on Marian Reed herself, Mr Pratt very decidedly objecting to accept more than a fair remuneration for her board and lodging; and the command of so much money had fostered a natural vanity and love of dress, until she had become the fine lady before us.

'If you will only be good enough to allow me to explain, you will, I think, do Mr Farrar more justice, as well as spare his daughter, Miss Reed,' I said, in a tone which made her turn sharply towards me with a look and gesture which seemed to say: 'And who are you?'

Having succeeded so far as to quiet her, I went on: 'Mr Farrar's illness terminated rather suddenly at last, Miss Reed; and the lawyer who was summoned did not arrive in time for the will to be signed' —

'But he might have' —

I stopped her again. 'Mr Farrar did what he could in trusting his daughter to carry out his wishes; and you will find her only too anxious to do all that is right.'

I saw the round black eyes turn sharply and speculatively upon Lilian for a moment; then she replied, in a slightly mollified tone: 'So much depends upon what people consider right, you know.'

I saw that Lilian was battling against herself, and longed to say to my darling: 'Trust to your instinct, which is altogether against asking this girl to come to live with you. Whatever else you may do, do not yield to a false sentiment in this one thing.' Unfortunately (or fortunately; looking at the question from this distance of time, I am not really sure which I ought to write), Lilian did not obey her instinct. In her anxiety lest she should not carry out her father's wishes, she was afraid to trust to her own feelings in the matter. When Marian a little impatiently asked:

'I should like to know what you call right?' Lilian replied in a low faltering voice:

'He wished me to be good to you; and I came to-day to ask you to live with me, and – be my sister – for – dear papa's sake. He has left a great deal of money, and quite intended you to share it.'

'That is,' I hastened to interpose, seeing the effect of the word 'share' upon the other – 'Mr Farrar no doubt meant that the allowance which you have hitherto received should be continued to you, Miss Reed. I have reason to think something of that kind was to be done.' 'That would be very kind and generous. Wouldn't it, Marian, dear?' said Mrs Pratt.

'And' (I went on) 'perhaps you would prefer remaining with the friends who have been so good to you, and going on as before, Miss Reed?'

But Miss Reed very quickly gave us to understand that she did not prefer it; though Mrs Pratt put in a gentle word or two on my side: 'You have always been very comfortable with us, dear!'

Comfortable! That evidently would not be sufficient to satisfy Marian Reed any longer.

'I have been brought up as a young lady, aunt' (at present she had no doubts upon the point); 'and learned music, and French, and dancing, and all that; so papa must have intended me to come to live with him some time, and it seems only fair that my sister should ask me. – What's your name, dear? It seems funny my not knowing your name; doesn't it?'