LOIS ERCOTT.

New Zealand Times, Volume LXVI, Issue 3259, 16 October 1897, Page 1 (Supplement)

LOIS ERCOTT.

BY KATHARINE S. MACQUOID, (Author o£ ‘ Patty,’ ‘Appledore Farm, 1 &c., &o.). All RiqTila Reierved, CHAPTER VIII. SOPHY EOSHVELI. Mrs Ercott wrote her letter and gave it to be ready for the postman. She saw Lois come Into the garden, followed at a little distance by her fattier. They both looked so pale and haughty, that it was plain they had quarrelled. The poor step-mother sighed and earnestly hoped that her invitation would find Sophy disengaged and able to present herself at the cottage. Experience had taught her that both husband and step-daughter were unapproachable after a dispute. In this case she found the enforced silence especially irksome, she was so very curious to find out what had happened in the wood. She was dressing for dinner when Mr Ercott knocked at her door. He put in his head, and seeing she was alone he came in and closed the door. Mrs Ercott’s heart beat more quickly—there was something to tell. ‘ Do not say anything about Sophy’s visit till to-morrow.’ He was gone before she could answer. ‘ Such nonsense 1’ his wife said, pettishly. * Sophy’s visit would have been something to talk about at dinner-time, and I expect instead there will be dumb show.’ The meal was certainly a silent one ; and as soon as it was over Lois retreated to her bedroom, and Mr Ercott went to his study. Next morning the girl did not appear till breakfast was over. She then learned that her friend was expected in the afternoon. Lois Was delighted, but she shook her head at her step-mother. ‘ Why was not I told sooner ? you know I hate mysteries, mother.’ Her keen glance made her step-mother nervous. ‘ I—l only invited her yesterday, dear; she will brighten us up ; your father is so dull, and out of spirits. I thought he seemed vexed yesterday.’ Lois turned away, she was not going to confide in her step-mother. They were very good friends, but there was no real confidence between them. She sighed, however; it was humbling that a stranger should have power to sooth and cheer her father better than she could. ‘ It’s all right, and I’m very glad. Sophy was born to make things smooth for other people. I wonder how she does ' it ? If I were less fond of her I should say she can’t take things much to heart, but to mo she's a perfect angel. Please lend me your flower scissors, and I'll make her room lovely against she comes.’ • You won’t cut roses, will you dear ?

There are so few out, and your father is fond of them.’

leave off, it’s time to go and read to grandfather," ’

‘ You jealous thing, why mayn’t I be as fond of reading aloud as you are of reciting? Grandfather enjoys listening to me, too ; you haven’t got such a listener as he is in the wood.’ Lois tossed her hair from her forehead-

‘ I know all about it, you dear little humbug. Stop I I’ve heard your axiom again quite lately about happiness.’ She pressed her long fingers on her forehead, and stood still while she recalled Sir Milos’words; she meant presently to tell Sophy about him. ‘ Arn’t you going to tell me your trouble 7 said Sophy.

Lois flung her arm round her friend’s slender waist. ‘ Come along to my nook, butterfly, it’s extra good this year, for I made Joyce fence it round with sweetpeas—it’s ever so snug and sweet.’

CHAPTER IX. A CONFIDENCE. Lois led the way to a rustic summerhouse at the end of the grassed walk, bordered by the laurel hedge over which she had talked to Sir Miles Oaversham. Only the old tiled roof was left visible from the garden, so completely was it screened by a tall row of sweet-peas, gay with white and pink, and purple-blue blossom. A gap had been left in the hedge just big enough to pass through. ‘ How very charming ?’ exclaimed Sophy, seating herself in a cosy chair. ‘ There’s mignonette below the pea-vines, how sweet it all is, and how clever of you to plan it. Now I’m not going to utter till you have told me your trouble.’ She fondled one of Lois’ hands between her small fingers. - 1 My trouble ?' (Lois began to gather mignonette and sweet - pea blossom.) 1 Well, it’s the usual bother—a row with dad. It’s so jolly to find myself here with you, that I’d rather say, pass it, let’s talk of something else.’ Sophy pinched her cheek. ‘ Bad child 1 Very well, I’ll go indoors and ask aunt Agatha why she sent for mo.’ She rose as she spoke; Lois seized her shoulders and put her back in her chair. 1 You ore a self-willed puss. Now listen; I have had two rows with father, both about a thing you like me to do.' * Is uncle angry with mo, too ?’ 1 Do you suppose I brought your name into it? No; I like to fight single-handed. I don’t want you to help me, child, only it’s a comfort to toll you about it.’ Sophy looked perplexed. She had listened to many of these confidences, and though Lois was often to blame, her friend thought she was hardly treated by Mr Ercott. Sophy was only twenty, and she felt sure that Lois had been badly managed. Lois gave her the flowers, and began to walk up and down in front of the summerhouse. ‘l’ll begin at the beginning. I was

reciting Portia’s speech in the wood, and a stranger suddenly appeared ; he said he

* Fancy grudging Sophy our roses,’ Lois Enid definantly, ‘ and if my father likes them so much, why don’t you put some of the Manor-house roses in his study, instead of giving them all to me ?' Mrs Ercott looked uneasy, but she knew it was useless to bandy words with Lois. She talked more than her stepdaughter did, but the girl’s tongue was far readier at repartee. ‘ I must go to the cook now,’ she said; and Lois went out to gather flowers. The porch on one side was smothered with white blossoms of mountain clematis, and on the other with the orange and red tassels of a quaint delicate leaved creeper, which seemed likely to reach an upper row of latticed casements. The girl’s hat fell back as she stood clipping graceful sprays of this climber into her basket; while she gathered floweret she pictured their effect when grouped, she did not gather a blossom merely for its individual beauty. She was happy in the hope of seeing Sophy, she had so much to tell her friend; her life during the last few weeks had been eventful compared- with the monotony of the previous months. Sophy would enjoy listening to" it all. She felt intense relief in the certainty of escape for some time to come from a discussion with her father; and as the thought came, she gave an involuntary shiver. ‘ I’ve had a bad taste in my mouth ever since yesterday, and I „want to get rid of it.’ She lingered over the arrangements of her flowers till the sound of the double doors of the study told her that her father hod left the luncheon table. She dearly loved him, but she dreaded his habit of

was staying at the Manor-house; ho praised my voice; and then we had a talk. All at once father came up in a temper; he said I must not speak again to my friend, and carried me off. Wasn’t it horrid ?’ She stopped in her walk, looked at Sophy, and burst out laughing at the expression in her friend's eyesM tu Brute, as my French master said when I made a mistake in my participles. Well, well, well I I see girls and women are all alike; just that little word he has made your eyes burn with curiosity. Ah, it is disappointing that oven you should be commonplace 1' Sophy laughed at her pathetic tone. ‘ I can’t help being a woman, child; so if women are all common-place, I must bo so too.’ Lois looked at her in huge disdain. ‘ No one need follow a worn-out fashion. A woman ought to have the privileges of a man. Why cannot a woman have a man friend without thinking about him as a husband ?’ Sophy looked at her from under her eyelashes. ‘ Please don’t be severe ; I'll try to improve, only do tell me the “man’s" name, Lois?’ ‘ The man who was listening to me reciting is a Mr Eiehard Stem. He’s very clever.’ Her pale face flushed. ‘ I cannot tell you how interesting our talk was. Then dad came and spoiled everything,’ she sighed. Sophy looked earnestly at her friend. It seemed to her that Lois had taken a fancy to -Mr Stem. ‘ What did you talk about ?’ ‘About acting, of course ; what else d»

gnawing at a subject which everyone else had grown weary of discussing. ■While she ate her solitary luncheon, *he was listening for the sound of wheelsPresently there were footsteps on the gravel, path, and a merry young voice cried through the open window:

you suppose I should call interesting ? He listened most kindly, and advised me to study; ho said he would help me on if he could. Sophy, try just to picture for a moment how glorious my life will be if, at last, I become a famous actress.’ Sophy looked lovingly at her. She

' Caught in the act, bad child 1 See how you want me to keep you punctual.’ Lois turned and ran out into the porch; she clasped her arms round the slender well-dressed girl who Stood there, and kissed Miss Bushnell heartily: then she held her a little way away, so that she might get a good look at her face. 1 You darling old thing.. You’re ns welcome—no, you’re much more welcome than flowers in May, because May has always plenty of flowers, and there’s nothing like you in the whole world, child. How awfully jolly of you to drop from the

skies like this; where did you spring from ? ’

Sophy nodded towards the gate at the farther end of the road. " ‘ Uncle sent a trap to meet mo at the station, but I left it at the end of the

meadow. It is so good to be here again, dear.’

Sophy Bushnell looked thoroughly glad as she kissed Lois. . Her dark eyes' were os bright as her tall friend’s were, but more mischievous; her lips were as; red, but her mouth was small and essentially leminine; the general air of gaiety about her at this moment, justified Lois's nickname of “ butterfly." Sophy’s gentleness ■of voice and manner completed mo charm «be had for Lois.

'Will you eome to your room, or shall I take you down the garden ?.’' ‘ I’ll do whichever you like.’ ' * You darling,’ Loia kissed her again, * just as if you ever dia anythihg I don’t like.’

‘ Ah.’ Sophy slipped her tiny hand under her friend’s arm, and gave her a glance full of mischief, 1 perhaps that is coming in the near future.’ Lois squeezed the little hand close to her side. •Why, what have they been telling you?’ ; Sophy laughed.

thought Lois beautiful as she stood before her—her large eyes shining, her cheeks aglow, and her lips parted in a happy smile. It seemed to her that she was a wonderful creature. ‘ You will certainly distinguish yourself one of these days, darling. I used to wish it might not be as an actress; perhaps that was' because I know nothing about theatre life.’ ‘But when you are in town you see plays acted. I never saw one, except at school; you know how I enjoyed it there, Sophy? ’

‘ Yes, I saw you act, and I shall never “orget it; but a real theatre is very

different. Do you think you could stand up and act before four of five hundred people ? ’ ‘ Why not ? But don’t forget, Sophy,

I have only told you what Mr Stern said; I have never uttered the word ‘ acting ’ to

dad since ho first came back from India, before I went to school. Then he was so angry that he shocked me. I have kept my longing all to myself. The mere fact of my reciting in the wood the day I met Mr Stem, so excited dad that I could not tell him everything; I should like to tell him, but somehow he won’t let me get it out Please don’t speak of it, dear. I have not told Sir Miles all about it, though

I think he understood.’ Sophy’s delicate eyebrows rose ; she felt inquisitive and Bewildered. Lois’s horizon had certainly widened since she was last at the cottage.

‘ Do you mean Sir Miles Caversham ? ’

• Yes, he is quite neighbourly: sends us flowers and fruit, and he is very pleasant. I fancy you will like him. I could not have thought such jolly apricots would grow in that old waste of a garden. We shan’t get any more now, I’m afraid.’ Sophy felt still more interested. Her fixed gaze had brought a vivid flush to her friend’s cheek.

‘Theyl You are the only “they" I have seen, but what is it child ? Are-you in trouble, Lois ?’ • The motherly tenderness in the sweet low voice made it easier to realise that Sophy was older than her friend; she looked a year or two younger; she patted the hand that lay on hers with a protecting fondness that comforted Lois. ‘ It is strange, quite unaccountable,’ the younger girl said,, ‘you are not one bit related to me, and yet you never rub me the wrong way. If you were always here, my butterfly, even I might grow good.’ Sophy laughed. ' Don’t be a goose, Lois,’ she said; ' you are good; don’t you suppose every one has their bad moments ? When one is

‘ Why shan’t you get any more ? ’ she said, slowly. ‘ls Sir Miles going away ? ’ Lois shrugged her shoulders; there was an angry light in her eyes. ‘That is just what puts mo out, and makes life so miserable. Sir Miles has been ever so nice to mother and me, and, naturally, when he asked me to come to the wood, and recite to him, of course I went like a bird. That’s what caused row number two; though I refused the first time ho asked me to go.’ She looked defiantly at Sophy. ‘ Well, dear, it was eccentric, that's all. And when you told Uncle Ercott, I suppose he said you were not to do it again; that’s not much of a trouble, child.’

teased and crossed, the badness comes She had risen, and now she put her out, that’s all the difference.’ hand on Lois' shoulder: the girl drew ‘ But, Sophy, do you mean to say that herself away, those two tyrants, your mother and your ‘ You don’t take it in at all. You have grandfather, often torment you ?' v forgotten my explosive temper. Before Sophy-seemed to think , this an'ex- I’d finished reciting to Sir Miles, his qnisite joke; she laughed. — r gardener arrived. • You know him—that ‘To begin with, they are not tyrants. I queer-looking man, Shin, He said Sir said to mother only yesterday, “ it’s a Miles was wanted at once about some pity you spoil me so, I shall never be able poaching business. I could see he was to'live with any one but you and my awfully vexed, but he had to go, and I grandfather."’ came away. I met dad at the top of the * But they take up all your time. In steep meadow path Haney he'had come* very last letter you said, ‘*X must rushingnp to catch me in the act*.: He

was out of breath, and he looked dreadful, so pale and upset.’ ‘ Well ?’ ‘ When he got breath enough, he scolded me horribly. He said no properminded girl could lower herself as I had done. “Lower" is a very nasty word, Sophy, and I was affronted. I said I did not care if I never saw Sir Miles again, and several other equally wise and unpleasant things. Since then I’ve been trying to digest them, and —and I can’t.' She turned away, and stifled a sob. ‘ It’s not pleasant to feel that you have been very rude to your own father. I wish—never mind what I wish—tell me how I can get straight again with him ; we have not spoken to one another since the row.’

Sophy understood the reason of Mrs Ercott’s hasty summons. l ls uncle angry only about these two meetings in the wood—is that all ? ’ Lois looked down to avoid her friend’s eyes.

There was something else I did not mean to tell you—you inquisitive child. Not long ago I got desperate, I felt buried alive, and I advertised in a newspaper as companion to a lady who was going to travel.’

‘ You advertised ! Oh, Lois, that was risky 1 ’ Sophy exclaimed. ‘ Well, never mind, it’s done and over. Such a nice answer came, I’ll show it you when wo go in. Of course dad was angry, he wouldn’t hear of it; ho never will let me do anything I want. One of these days, I shall either run away or hang myself in the orchard.’

Sophy smiled, but she was secretly alarmed.

‘ You’re not an actress yet, child, so you need not ho tragic. Ee reasonable, and undo will listen to you. Stop a bit,' she wrinkled her smooth forehead in her effort to think—‘ you know you are all to spend ‘this winter in London. “When you are there explain yourself gently and quietly to undo Ercott: say you don’t want to leave homo, you only wish to study for the stage, eh ?—is not that a good idea ? ’ Lois shook her head. ‘ I know he will never listen to me ; I shall never be able to get it out.’ Sophy gave her a loving hiss. ‘ You have black spectacles on. I tell you it will all come right if you are patient—you are too solemn about it. Go and find him, dear ; don’t argue with him, just say you are sorry about yesterday. Go, dear child, and I’ll unpack my trunk.’ (To be continued.)