Chapter II.

Bruce Herald, Volume XX, Issue 2020, 7 December 1888, Page 5

Chapter 11.

I suppose it is from having lived all my life at echool that I have none of that mystic, romantic, devotional, rollicking idea of Christmas that distinguishes English people who have been brought up in large families and genial homes. In G-ermany certainly the feast; is kept, if anything, more festally than in England — did not the Christmas tree have its origin there ? But at Fraulein Gartner's we looked upon it merely as a time for extra eating and extra dancing — we had no sacred or tender associations with it. So it annoys me exceedingly that, just because it happens to be the twenty-fourth of December, Ciifton's two old aunts should bo banging over us, like two swords of Damocles, excepting that there is not that one frail chance of escape for us ; they are quite certaia to be here at B'2o p.m, No fear of a railway accident ; they cannot even be delayed by snow, for it has rained a steady drizzle all day. Nature seems to have no intention of putiing herself out of the way to keep up old Christians customs of frost and snow ; why should we bo so heavily mulcted to do honour to the season ?

It is a very long journey for them, owing to perpluxing junctions and complicated branch lines ; but, though they have their home on the Welsh coast, hate strange beds, have not grown quite used to the novelty of travelling by steam, and puffer agonies of apprehension that they must lose all their luggage, they accept Clifton's yearly invitation as they accepted his father's, and mode this painful pilgrimage to the shrine of old custom. Monica is playing ore of Field's sweet dreamy nocturnes in the shadowy corner of the big drawing-room ; she will not have candles, but plays by ear a languid melody, soft and low. Clifton, who always comes out from dinner with us, is lying back in a deep chair, either asleep, or shutting his eyes, that his ".ears may be the more acute. I have nothing to do, so am amusing myself by ohanging the posi'ion of my rings, trjing different effects of light and colour, lmging to talk of something grossly commonplace, to break the spoil that Monica is weaving, bat held back against my will by a feeling that is neither fear, nor reverence, nor unwillingness to jar, but something that irritates me by being a little of all.

Carriage wheels crunch up the avenue, and the bell rings a loud peal that breaks up all the mystery «"d won'ler of the music. Clifton hurries hospitably into the hall. I hesitate, not, knowing pxisctly what is expected of me. They are my husband's aunts, so should be received ruther affectionately than politely ; but I disliked them coining, and do noi wish to encourage them ; above all, I do not want them to think that I »m ready to fall down and worship them for fbeir rank, st do not intend to be effufivo. They are his mother's sisters — and she was an earl's daughter — Lady Jane and Lady Anne Weldon.

Then I c itch Monica's ey«s fixed upon me with surprised disapproval ; there is arrested motion in ncr parted lips and the slight forwavd inclination of h->r btHj ; she wants to go out into'lho hall to mee.fc them, old friends of hers, but strangers to me, hub must wait for me to take the initiative. I will not be guided by her code and manners ; so I ronvun upon the hearth-rug, standing certainly, but not one further concession will I make to satisfy her or to conciliate them. Clifton brings them in, inheaps of fur and Shetland wool. I see a maid in the background, who is nearly invisible under a mountaiu of rugs and cushions. They kiss me, and, in spite of all their precautions and the warm comfort of our carriage, they smell damp and they feel cold. ' This is Ivy,' says Clifton in a proud loving tone. ' I am happy to nviko your acquaintance ; I trust you are well,' observes Lady Anno, in a thin metallic voice, bestowing a very light kiss on my cheek ; she has a Roman nose, and chestnut curls hanging on eitiner side of her long, hard, colourle-s face. ' Glad to see you, my dear,' says Lady Jam, in a cheerier, fuller voice ; eLe has a modified Roman nose, curia not so long, but clustered in two little gray bunches. She puts her hand on my shoulder to kiss me. Lady Anne only held my hand in hers. ' And, dearest Monica, this is such a pleasure ! ' continues La iy Jane. ' How nre you, my love ? But nobody need ask that.' And there comes such a rush of questi >n and answer and counter-question, out of which lam left completely in the cold. I cannot say I think much of 'lie manners oftheßriti?h nobility if this is a fair fpecimen. Titles fly about in their talk like a star-shower ; I know nnne of the people aft r whom they nil aek ?o familiarly. T (eel angry at ii st, and rreent this parade before my oyos of theermined and coroneted world to which they belong. lam the lady of the house, and should rule the conversation ; they should talk of people whom I know ; but I know nobody but Friiulein Gartner «nd the girls nt scho 1 ! So I feel sad, »s if I could cry — a poor little wandering beggar-maid who has lost her way and fallen among these awful giants, who will either pass her over unseen in her smallness and obscurity, or will crush her beneath tbo weight of their dignity. • You look so tired Mrs. VVallis,' says Monica, in a tone that would have been kind did I not believe it to be affected ; ' let rm show Lady Anne and Lady Jane where their rooms are.' ' I am not tired at all, thank you,' I return coldly. ' Will you come this way.' Monica seems determined upon taking my place, and those old womon seem ready to give it to her if I am not firm enough in asserting myself. How very disagreeable of the old ladies to come at such an inconvenient time ! The evening ia quite spoilt for me. The talk goes on ; Clifton explains names and events to me, which is very annoying, as it ia annauncing to the others that it is all Bn un»

known world to me of which they talk ; but he means Hndly in his bungling honest way. Monica, with moretnet, includes me graoefnlly in the conyirsi iin, committed me to pc thing, but covering up ignorance in a kind of mantle of skilfully worded remarks. Lady Anne hardly speaks, she seems tired and rather cross. Lady Jane chatters all the time and treats me with a bustling patronage thnt I resent. What a happy silence bedtime is!

Christmas Day passes v( id of incident, the dinner-party is utterly tame and uninteresting. We go to church, of course. It is not raining, but a dull, waim, sodden day — the kind of areen Christmas that makes a fat hirkyard. I put on all my beautiful new sable?, and feel weighed down by them, and c^n hardly breath. Monica looksso cool and comfortable, and yet quite seasonable, in her tight gray tweed coftume, relieved by a scirlet necktie, and a scarlet wing in her emnll hat. Ho v do some people always know t! c exact thing in which they will look their very beet iv <tny given woatber and circumstances ? Monica Hay looks faultlessly dressed. I know that my sables are most becoming to me, and of course should be an ideal costume for Christmas Day, and I know that I look tired and over-drrssed and over- weighted.

After luncheon, Lady Anne gors to lie down; Clifton goes to tae stables *o get rid of the ettnwioftbis half-Sunday half-week-day j Monica goes cut in a wa'erproof — it is raining again — to complete her conquest of the curate at a distribution of buns and oranges to the school-children. Lacly Jane and I have the little drawing-rcorn all to ourselves. We are sitting idly in our low chairs by the bright warm fire ; Bhe has a great brown owl ' displayed,' as they say in heraldry, impaled on a gilt stick, held between her face and the dime. I have only the Christmas Number of Tinsley, which I had taken up to read as seasonable literature, though I read it all through early in November in Paris ; but, thinking for the moment that it is Sunday, and that Lady Jane, being an elderly spinster, and therefore no doubt of severe Sabbatarian j views, will be shocked at any Sabbath-break-ing intentions, I have not opened it, and use it only (or a screen. I rather like Lady Jane, and would much rather be left tete-a-tete with her than either of the other ladies. ' ( Well, my denr,' she says, after a little prelude of weather-falk, ' and how do you like your home ? But I suppose I need not ask, as wherever a young bride is with her husband will be heaven.' 1 1 have not seen much of it yet,' I replied indifferently. 'It his rained so much, you see.' 'Ah, yes; and the country is dull for a girl ! But. you will go up to town early and be presented ? ' 1 I suppose so ; one must be presented on one's marrisgo.' ' Oh,' says Lady Jauo doubtfully, ' I did not know you had been presented before. I fancied you had lived all your life abroad.' ' Yes,' I reply, and I feel my face burning, for I suspect I have made a mistake somewhere ; ' I think Lady Winborough is going to present me.' But I do not carry out my intention of turning Lady Jane from my faux pas. ' It is only when people have been presented in their maiden days that they are ' presented on marriage,'/ she,explains. ' When a woman — or, of course, a man — changes her name or her rank, she ia obliged to be presented again as if she herself hud passed away and a new person had been created. You will be simply ' presented,' if Miss Ivy Leigh never had a existence. Aud how do you like Monica Hay?' My spirit, galloping along on the fiery horses of anger and pride, is brought to a eudden check by this abrupt question, as if tho horses were thrown back on their haunches. • I don't knovr — pretty well. I hardly know her yet.' ' Poor thins; ! She looks very well,' says Lady Jane mysteriously. ' Why should she not ? ' I ask, not much caring to hear ; Monica Hav'a health and haopincss do not make any differ >rico to me. ' And you get on comfortably ? ' continues Lady June, evading my question, but inviting more by her manner, which is a mixture of assumed melancholy and genuine inquisitiveness. All the evil spirits that I admitted into my he rt on the day when Clifton had bought Monica's photograph, and that have never since slept, but have been whispering insinuations day and night, now burst all the chains of semi silenc*, and shriek a wild chorus of jealousy, singer, and hatred. My pulses be if so fast "that Ie m lutvlly steady my voice; 1 but I try to spe.-vk calmly and indifferently. ' Yes, so far,' I say. 'Is there any reaao-i why we should not? ' The question is another faux pas. Why could I not pass if over by a £ood-naturedly indifferent remark, instead of betraying th.xt I am jealous and suspicious? I continue hastily — ' I suppose you think we are too unlike each other to get on togother ? '

' People often like a contrast,' says Lady Jane.

She is only trying to put me off; 1 kmw quite well that there is some story she is bursting to tell me, and either does not like to rake up the past or dares uot enlighten me. In spite of my burning eagerness to know what there is to know, 1 will not help her by questions, though she tries bard to provoke them by her meaning coughs andgbmres. In the first place, my wifely instinct will not let mo Jbetray that I am conscious of there being anything to find out in another woman's life that can concarn me; in the second, I know that, if I give her time, Lady Jane will tell me everything there is to tell of her own accord. But a coal jumps out from the fire, nearly falling upon her small fur-ed^ed velvet slipper, and startles the subject away from her mind. She carefully pscks it up with the tongs lruin the hearthrug, replaces it, and inquires how much we pay for our coals. This opens a ne-v subject, and I am n rr jwly crO33-exaruinpd on every detail of our houseke"pi>'g, Lady June finding m>i as «ro?-<ly ignoru'it of the priors cf mutton, tea, airi cmdli'fl us lam of court etiquette. She and Lady Anne, living on small uniled incomes, seem to have giver, all the eurne^t attention and dei-p thought to matteis of domestic economy that, philosophers (jive to abstruse sci' noes. This is a new i!ei for me ; 1 never imau'iuei that titled ladies c>u!d possibly have troubled themselves about such vuigir maiters as American meats, paraffin oil, and servants' w&j'B. It is not interesting, ani rhe fie is warm ; SJon aunt Jane"s m inologa" cease* t-.» convey any eeuse to my mind, soon it will not. even reach my ear, when su Idenly she exclaims — 1 Clifton nnd Monica ! How very foolish of them to walk out in the rain ! ' I am wide awake now ; and, forgetting all about my dignity, I rise quickly from my seat and go to the window. They are coming along the drive in front of the bouse ; they hav^ just met a,*, the corner where Clifton would come from the stablea ; but I will not give any charitable aurmisd a moment's plac<! in my mind. Doubtless the siables were an empty excuse, aDd he has been with her all the time. I say nothing, but stand at the window, though they have disapoeared into the porch, and I bear them in the hall, where Monica is taking off her wet waterproof. {To be continued.)