LITTLE ELIZABETH.

Otago Witness, Issue 3014, 20 December 1911, Page 81

LITTLE ELIZABETH.

(All Rights Reserved.)

• By John Strange Winter.

I. Little Elizabeth was sitting in the oldfashioned window seat. The dusk was falling fast, but as the ground was covered with snow it was. lighter than usual at that time of year and under those circumstances. The actual day was December 23. The place was an old-fashioned Manor House. There were no lights as yet in the room in which little Elizabeth sat. The fire, made of peat and. wood, with a very small modicum of coal, had fallen to. about half its usual size, and little Elizabeth, sitting in the embrasure of the window furthest from the fire, would have been cold if she had not been so entirely miserable. Oh, how miserable the girl was! Her outlook was black, her thoughts ran ; she loathed, the Manor House, loathed Christmas, loathed balls, loathed partners, loathed everything. And yet, up to that very morning, she had been so determined that she would go to a certain dance given by the owners of a large country house some five miles away. Yes, she hated dances; she would never go to another; no, not the next time —not the next time.

"This," her thoughts ran, with a sigh, "this Ls what comes of being poor, of not having enough money for one's station in' life. Fancy the two Miss Dampiers, last daughters of a proud Norman race — oh!" And so she sat, with ,her elbow on the window sill and her face. resting on the palm of her hand,; her disgusted eyes staring out over the snow at nothing How she hated her grandfather, and her great grandfather, and a dozen Dampiers that had gone before them. Why couldn't they keep the money? Why did they want to gamble, and wine, and paint the town red, or whatever they called it at that horrid time of day? , Aiiy way, why did they want to diminish the* broad acres, euitail the handsome income, and leave her, Elizabeth Dampier, stranded for want of a few guineas to buy a decent-looking ball frock? "And they're so cheap too!" she said. "Ah, well! After all, it is Jeanne's turn. She was with!n her rights. She didn't believe I had a feeling about tonight^—she never believes me. I would have believsd her—oh, I would! There! What's the. good of thinking about it? I'll go to bed—l'll go to bed early, I'll be jr. bed when they go away. I won't see Jeanne dressed for the ball. I can't ihtnk why mother doesn't do away" with her diamonds and have them copied i» pa3te. ■ She could raise no end of money on them ; and then, when Jeanne and I have made good marriages—you can't make good marriages without ball frocks — we could get them back from wherever they were and she would be the paste set to the good. Poor dear! I daresay she has never thought of it. And even if I were to tell her now it's too late —too late". It's always too late! And I'm only 19 years old, and I'm the most miserable girl in Blankshire to-day—l am! I wish I was dead I wonder if there will be balls in heaven? They'll- dance—it's human nature to dance, it's joy to dance. Babie? danca, dogs dance when they're happy, horses dance when they're fresh—it's nature to dance. Young things like me ought to have all the dancing they want. Oh, lam miserable —now, what's that?"

She turned her head aside' as a closed carriage came up the drive. The windows of the morning room did not look actually on to the drive, but she could see that it was a closed carriage. A minute later the door opened, and the butler announced ''Lady Constance Winterton." Lady Constance turned at the door. "Bring the boxes in here," she said. "Oh, is that you, my dear child? Resting yourself for the ball to-night?" said Lady Constance. "I've brought you and Jeanne bouquets. I was over your conservatories last week, and I .saw you hadn't much in them —not enough heat, my dear. I always tell your father so; he doesn't keep his houses hot enough to get a good return." "He can't keep his houses hot enough," said Elizabeth, putting up her face to be kissed.

"What! in tears? Surely not! Yet your face is wet, child. What is tlie matter ? I've brought you bouquets—beautiful they are; Shnonds surpassed himself." * "For Jeanne and me?"

"Yes, for Jeanne and you. And as you are my godchild, Elizabeth, I have given you my best bouquet-holder. I've given Jeanne a little silver-gilt thing that I had when I was no older than you two. Now look at this —now, isn't it sweet?"

"It's sweet 1" said Elizabeth, breaking into tears again—"sweet, godmother, sweet!'

"Well, what are you crying about?" "Because I shan't uee it—l shan't use it, godmother. I've got no—dress." "Got no dress? What nonsense! Didn't I meet you out at dinner only the night before last In a charming white frock?" "Yes, I know} but it's Jeanne's turn to wear it." "Blesa my life and soul! Do you mean to say youvo only got one ball frock between you?" "That's all. It wouldn't run to two. Mother tried, but she couldn't squeeze it out. And Ave all talked it over, and we made up our minds—it was the only way to make a good show—to have one good frock and to wear it in turn when we go out, and to wear our little old frocks at home You know, Jeanne has a blue one, mine's a sort of old rose, you know 5 we've had them for years, godmother— years!" "I never heard such a thing in my life," said Lady €J*nafc&nc« in sharp staccato accent*.

"No —it did seem wise when we did it—but "

"What did it cost?" "Well, it cost eight guineas." "Eight guineas! Why didn't you buy one each at four?"

"Well, you see, mother's never been anywhere but to her own woman, and she made a frock at eight guineas as a great concession, as mother was an old customer. 'She wanted us to have one each — she said mother could pay when she liked. But mother's so nervous when there are bills, she can't sleep at night. And it did seem rather a lot to take two girls about—only it's always a lot to take two girls about—only it's always the one I want to go to when it isn't my turn!" "And you want to go to-night?" "Of course I want to go to-night! I have a feeling—l've had it for daye. I did tell Jeanne—she was pretty brutal over it; she said I had a feeling the last time it wasn't my turn, and she gave way and nothing happened." ''Well, she's not such a fool as she might be," said 'Lady Constance.

"And then, when I told her I had a very special feeling, she said, 'Yes, I know—l have one myself, and as it's my turn I shan't give in.' " Then there was a fresh burst of tears.

"Come, come!" said Lady Constance. "I'll tell you what we'll do—what size shoes do you take, child ?" "I take—l take threes—a much bigger foot than mother, a much bigger foot than Jeanne. They both take twos—small twos. I take threes, and I won't say whether they're small threes or large threes, but they're big feet." "They're small enough for you. If you've no trouble bigger than that you'll do very well, my child. I might find a pair of shoes in my store. Here," she .said, slipping off her smartly-buckled walking-shoe, "try this on. If this fits you then we can get over the shoe difficulty. As for your—bless my life and soul, child! I can't bear to look at you." "Why not?"

"Well, it seems such a shame, poor kid! "Look here, I'm going to this-ball to-night." Yc<u go and put your hat. and coat on, "and bring anything in the shape of nice underthings you happen to possess, and we'll se<e what we can do. Oh, is that you, Louise? I found this child crying her heart out —go and get. dressed! '—crying her' heart out: because she can't go to the ball to-night." "Well, Constance, it can't be managed," said Mrs Dampier. "I would' eo much rather she should go instead of me, but it's one of Henry's fads that where my daughters go I should go. And we've never been pinched "as we are now. . With two boys in the army and one in the navy what "can you expect?" "Well,'my.dear, whatever made you put them into the army? Why didn't you p:them into some business where they could make something instead of only spending?" > \ •' • - "I did suggest it; but Henry said my ideas were too horribly plebeian for words, so I gave in. They were all for \ the army—except Dick, who was mad for the navy. That doesn't cost as much, as the army; but I assure you these last two years, Constance, life has been hideous. And that child simply breaks my very heart."

"Oh, well, you needn't break your heart ovei- Elizabeth. I'll see to her. You needn't say a word to Henry, with his ridiculous pride—just say she has gone to the ball with me. I presume I am a good enough chaperon for Henry Dampier's daughter?" "Oh, Constance! Of course you are. But she can't go without frocks." "Oh 1 well, frocks can be bought." "Not at the eleventh hour."

"Yes, even at the eleventh hour. We'll get something or other. I'm not so fat, my dear, but that one of my slips will do very well for her. I'll turn her out all right, you'll see. Here she is ! Come along, child—we haven't a moment to lose. Say good-bye to your mother. You'll see her again to-night, though." She hustled the girl out to the motorbrougham. "I want you to go into Blankhampton, Wilkins," she said to the chauffeur. "Go to Robinson's as quickly as you can; you needn't get fined, because that will delay us—yes, put the box in, James. And lose no time, you understand ?" "What are you going to do, godmother?" asked Elizabeth, whose tears had long been dried up —for she had great faith in her godmother. "Well, I'm going to Robinson's to see what they've got. They won't have a dress to * fit you—that's very unlikely; but they may have something of a sequintrimmed tunic thing, and that, over a white satin slip, will do very well." "Hut where am I to get a white satin slip ?" "That's easy enough; we'll cut it out of one of mine. Margaret will fit you up. Luckily the ball doesn't begin till 10 o'clock.'* In Blankhampton they had what, up to then,' amounted to the time of Elizabeth's life. By great good luck they found a model costume in white satin veiled with some spangled net, and in turn veiled again with white chiffon, through which delicate gleams of silver peeped here and there; and one little touch of pink across the bodice told that she was not quite a debutante. Then thev went to another part of the shop for "silk stockings, for a frothy, narrow petticoat; then to the bootmaker's for satin, silver-embroidered slippers; then back to Robinson's again for a wrap.

"You can't go without a wrap, my child, and you can't wear any of my matronly things; besides, I haven't got any to spare." So a wrap wae added—a lovely white thing, edged with white fur. "Godmother," said Elizabeth, as they drove down St. Thomas street—"godmother, it's just like Cinderella." "Have you still got a feeling, child?" asked Lady Constance.'

"Oh! this is to be the night <jl my life—l know it! 1 know it I" "Well, 1 hope you're a true prophet/' said Lady Constance, 11. The clock had just struck 10. Mrs Dampier and Jeanne, not looking at all poor, either of them, were standing not far from the entrance to the ballroom when Lady Constance and little Elizabeth came in. The girl's face was radiant and shining with happiness. She was very pretty, slim, and lissome, of a sunny fairness, and with a sweet little face which ought never to know the touch of tears.

"Elizabeth!" exclaimed Jeanne, In a hushed tone.

"My dear, she bought the lot new for me! Isn't it lovely? I never had such a frock. She gave —my dear, the irock was fifteen guineas, and I've got the most lovely coat that cost nine, and my shoes were twenty-five shillings, and my petticoat was two guineas, and my silk stockings were fifteen shillings. And she's given me this beautiful string of pearls—goodness only knows what they're worth —and I feel like Cinderella, I do really 1 I was mean to you to-day, I did feel beastly to you all day—l was a pig !" Oh, no, you weren't; I should have felt just the same. But perhaps it was lucky, dear, that I held out, although there's no credit to me," said Jeanne, giving her sister 1 * hand a friendly squeeze. "But we shan't have to stay' at home turn and turn about this winter. I do think Lady Constance is a brick; I wish I had such a godmother. However, never mind —oh, how do you do? I didn't know yon were coming to-night," she said in a different tone, turning to a dark young man who stood bowing deferentially at her elbow. "How do you do? You know my sister Elizabeth, don't you? Yes, we have only just come —I've got lots of dances. Don't tell everybody, because sometimes my programme fills up dreadfully early, when some people want them."

"I may take what I like?" said the smooth voice, and the gentleman possessed himself of her card; then went on without waiting for an answer. "May I introduce my friend, Mr Van Heythuseil? Of course I know Miss Elizabeth—may I introduce Mr Van Heythusen, Miss Elizabeth ?"

"Oh, yes," said Elizabeth, "of course." "And may I I dance very well," said Mr Van Heythusen. "I do, really." "Perhaps I don't."

"Oh, I think ycu do—well enough for me, any way. Look, here, Miss Elizabeth,' he went on, "I've put down half as E.V., and tihe other half as V.H. ; th-3n nobody will be able to make any comment. Don't you think it's a good plan " "You evidently often do it," said Elizabeth.

"Never in my life before —give you mv word of honour, honest injun! I don t want to dance with, anybody but you and your sister to-night. I dont know very many people here, only my friend John Bryant here." "Is Sir John a great friend of yours?" murmured Elizabeth.

"Yes, a great friend, my greatest and best friend. Shall we dance now—or are you anxious to get your programme further filled?"

"No; it will get filled," said Elizabeth. "You have left so little. What my mother would say if she knew I don't know —still less what mv father might think ''

"He's not here, is he?' said Van Hey thusen.

"No, he's not here." "Well, then, we needn't worry about him."

"I didnt come with my mother to-night —I .came with my godmother." "I don't think ishe'll mind," said the young man. "Any way, if we start we shall get one in, shan't we " The next moment they were skimming together over the polished floor. "Who is Elizabeth dancing with?" asked Lady Constance, turning to Sir John Bryant. "That's Van Heythusen,'of Castles." "Oh, yes—l see. Why aren't you two dancing? What are you wasting your time for?"-

"Come along, Miss Jeanne,' said John Bryant with a laugh. "My deav Louise," said Lady Constance, "do you know What that is with the child?' "With Elizabeth?"

"Umph!' "No. He's very good-looking." "My dear, he's Vaoi Heythusen, of Castles. He has thirty thousand a year We must encourage him." "No, no, no, Constance!" said Mrs Dampier. "Oh, these mothers! How thankful I am I never had chick or child —and I married my step-daughter to a Duke, don't you forget that; and heaven knows a plainer girl and one with less brains and more stupidity it would be hard to find in ths three kingdoms. She quite thinks it was her own doing, and I have never undeceived her." It was late that n'ght before Lady Constance summoned her carriage and her godchild. , "I knew your mother," she said to ths young man, who was still in devoted attendance. "I knew her very well in my youth. She was a very pretty girl, and a very pretty Avoman." "Yes, and she's a very pretty woman yet," said he. "What! Is she living?" "Oh, rather! My mother—she's eighteen yeans older than I am, and I was slx-and-twenty last birthday. My mother's a beauty still." "Is she? Well, now, I'm glad to know her son. You see, I'm such a h'ome tbeee last years—my husband was ill a long time, and I'm fond of my place, I don't go to London very much—and »8 I lievet cesae Ramses ba*. You

know how friends slip away, without any inten titan on either side. You must come and lunch with me. When will you come?" "To-morrow," said the young man promptly. "Very well. We'll talk things over. I must renew my friendsihp with your charming mother." Now Francis Van Heythusen was a young gentleman who never lost things for the sake of asking for them. "If you were a real good friend of my mother's, Lady Constance/' he said, deliberately, "you would befriend me just at this important juncture of my life." "How can I do that?" "Well, it's very kind of you t'o ask mo to lunch —couldn't you extend it? Couldn't you ask me to stay for a few days?" "I might." "Well —and you will? Shall I come to-morrow?" "Certainly —oh, certainly ! Don't mind me!" said Lady Constance. "I won't—l won't, since you're so pressing. And then—er —shall we say four or five days?" '' Oh, certainly—certainly." "And—er " He bent a little nearer to her. "We can get this little matter pulled off," he said. "Seriously ? " "Quite seriously. It will pull off in time," he said, throwing his head back and squaring his shoulders., "but we might as well expedite it, don't you think—eh?" "Well, you can come," said Lady Constance, not ohoosing to commit herself. "My dear Louise," she said, a week later, "that was the best-laid-out cheque I ever drew. The child's whole rig-oufc didn't cost me thirty pounds; thirty, pounds to get thirty thousand a year and •a handsome young' fellow into the bargain ! What a lucky thing that I happened to come myself that afternoon!" [The End.]