livehere?" said Ermine. "He would not do so six years ago, and I think hewas right then. But _now_--Heaven knows he has gained his laurels ifever a man did; and as for being idle, he would have plenty to do herein looking after the place and with his own writing."
"Stop, Ermine," said Madelene decidedly. "Such an arrangement isabsolutely out of the question. Bernard would never feel he had a wife,nor I that I had a husband: coming into the midst of a family like ourswould certainly not be the kind of thing he would like, and everyexisting difficulty would be increased."
"You mean Ella, I suppose?" said Ermine; "and yet you are indignant withme for wanting Philip to fall in love with her and marry her. Thatwould make everything easier. It would leave me at liberty to gohopping about a little, and perhaps somebody decent might take a fancyto poor me at last. Nobody ever has, you know, hitherto."
"Nonsense, Ermie. Lots have, but you've snubbed them all, you know.Why don't you go about more as it is?"
"And leave you alone for all the home worries? No, indeed--if you had ahusband to help you, now."
"Oh, Ermine, do leave the subject," said Madelene wearily. "Of course,as far as we are concerned it _would_ be delightful for Ella to marryPhilip--it would make a different man of papa, I do believe; but neitherpapa nor we are the chief people to be considered. And I will not doanything to help on a marriage in that way--above all, with the gravedoubts I have as to how it would turn out."
"Well then, it's to be hoped nobody ever will take pity on me," saidErmine, dryly, "for assuredly I will never leave you here as thingsare."
"It is fortunate then that the contingency in question, according toyou, has not yet arisen," said Madelene calmly, turning again to herletter.
Yes--Ermine had spoken truly. It was really six years since Madelene StQuentin had agreed to consider herself engaged to Bernard Omar, with theunderstanding that no one but her sister and Bernard's old friend,Philip Cheynes, were to be taken into their confidence. For it was atthat time that Colonel St Quentin's health had begun to fail, and anyadditional anxiety or excitement was forbidden for him. Besides this,the engagement could not have been but an indefinite one; for Madelene,though but nineteen, had many responsibilities on her hands, andBernard, three years her senior, was on the point of starting with hisregiment for India. It had been due to an accident that anunderstanding, even between the two themselves had ever been come to,for Mr Omar was poor and Madelene was rich, and both were proud. Butthey had known each other since Madelene's childhood; their mutual trustand confidence were entire; and trying though the long delay had been,it had yet been the great happiness of both lives.
Once only during those six years had Bernard, now Captain Omar, returnedto England on a few months' leave. He and Madelene had not seen verymuch of each other, for during some part of the time the St Quentinshad been abroad. But little as they were together, the two separatedmore deeply attached to each other, if that were possible, than before,and with fervent, if vague, hopes for the future. These hopes, however,were rendered vaguer still by Colonel St Quentin's increased illness,aggravated, if not caused, by his money troubles, which made Madeleneentirely renounce all idea of ever leaving him even for a few years'sojourn in India. For some time she looked forward to Captain Omar'sretirement as the goal which was to see all difficulties set straight;but with the advent of Ella on the scene, her father's morbidirritability, and her own ever-increasing duties, she began to despair.Breaking off the engagement seemed to her the only alternative, and shewrote to India to this effect, entreating Bernard not to dream ofrenouncing his profession for her sake, but to try to forget her and theweary years which had but led to ever-repeated disappointment. To thisletter she had just received an answer. Captain Omar refused to come toany decision till they should again have met and discussed matters; inorder to do this he had applied for leave and expected to be in Englandin the course of the next six mouths. But the tone of his letter seemedto Madelene cold, and her heart was very sore.
"He is getting tired of it at last," she thought.
The situation was a complicated one, for though Captain Omar haddistinguished himself both as an officer and a writer, in the eyes ofthe world his marriage with Miss St Quentin would be looked upon asgreatly to his advantage; furthermore, he felt keenly that in offeringto renounce his profession for Madelene's sake he was giving thestrongest possible proof of his devotion--devotion which it now seemedto him, or would have done so had he known her character less perfectly,was but faintly appreciated.
The letter was completed, folded, and directed. Ermine made a face atit when she saw it lying ready for the post on the side-table of theirlittle sitting-room up stairs.
"I suppose Maddie has written to say that he need not give himself thetrouble of coming here at all, or something of that kind. I do thinkit's too bad. She is sacrificing any--ah, well, it's no use thinking ofthat. I don't believe the Marchants are going to ask me after all--andnegatively, so to say, sacrificing Ella, too. I'm _sure_ Philip admiresher more than he has ever admired anybody before, but Madelene has suchinfluence over him--a cold look or glance of hers would prejudice him--even without her meaning it in the least. And if I were Bernard Iwouldn't stand it, no I wouldn't, and in one side of my heart I hope hewon't."
Ermine stamped her foot--there was no one to see--with an energy whichwould have gone far to prove her relationship to fiery little Ella. "Iwon't tell Madelene of the Marchants' invitation, if it does come, tilltoo late. If she is so obstinate I have no choice--I must follow suit,I suppose."
The next day or two passed uneventfully enough. The weather continuedbitterly cold, and Colonel St Quentin scarcely ventured to leave hisroom. One or other of his elder daughters was almost constantly inrequest to read or talk to him or write his letters. Ella paid himlittle duty visits and was always kindly received, but the sort ofaffectionate and almost familiar tone which had begun between the fatherand daughter while they were alone, seemed to have disappeared. Againthere came over the girl the cold mortifying sensation of being but anoutsider in her own home, and the vague scheme for her future which hadmomentarily, in the excitement of her visit to the Manor and theappearance of Philip on the scene, been half-forgotten, began again tohaunt her restless little brain.
"This life is too dreary," she said to herself, "day after day the same.No one to sympathise with me--no one to care what I do or feel oranything. It is becoming unendurable."
But on the third morning of this unendurable existence--the fourth thatis after Sir Philip's visit to Coombesthorpe--something did happen. Thepost brought an invitation from Lady Cheynes to Madelene and Ella, todrive over the following afternoon to dine and stay the night with her.
"Ella!" exclaimed Miss St Quentin, involuntarily. "Not you, Ermine?"
"Why not, Ella?" said Ermine, and had she been speaking to any one buther adored Madelene, one would have been inclined to call her tonetesty, if not snappish; "why shouldn't it be Ella? You don't want toset off like the graces, or the `three old maids of Lea,' or anyunfortunate trio of spinsters you like to name, whenever we go avisiting, do you? And I was spending the whole day at Cheynesacreyesterday."
"Well, then, why didn't you bring the invitation verbally, or at leastyou might have told me of it," said Madelene. "You know Ella is not--"
"Madelene would have liked to hear of it privately, so that _I_ shouldnever have known of it," thought Ella, while aloud Ermine exclaimedimpatiently.
"Not out, are you going to say, Maddie? You can't give that as anexcuse to Aunt Anna, for she certainly thinks she has a right to a voicein Ella's concerns. And late events show she means to claim her rightstoo! As for my not bringing the invitation or telling you of it, I wasnot told to do so by Aunt Anna--you know she has her own ways of doingthings."
Madelene looked,--not annoyed,--but dissatisfied still.
"Did you know she was going to invite us?" she said again to Ermine.
But Ermine was at that moment busil
y reading a letter of her own, andeither did not, or wished to seem as if she did not, hear the question.Be that as it may, Madelene got no answer. Ella, secretly enjoying herelder sister's discomfiture, happened just then to catch sight of herface. It looked more than anxious; pale and weary and almost worn.Something in its expression touched Ella's impressionable feelings.
"Poor Madelene," she thought, with a rush of a kind of generous pitywhich she would have found it difficult to explain to herself. "I amsure she _means_ to do right. And after all--if she does want SirPhilip to--to care for Ermine, why shouldn't she? Ermine is her veryown sister. Only--I wish it had all been settled
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