"I'll think it over, all the same," Leoni said slowly. But in her heart of hearts, she knew that the choice was indeed self-evident. What Julia had just said had made up her mind for her.
But for Leoni the word "against" was changed into "for."
CHAPTER THREE
In spite of Mrs. Vandeem's warning, it was, of course, quite irresistible to indulge in some sort of discussion of the evening. And since'Julia was by nature more disobedient than Leoni, it was she who came into Leoni's firelit room and curled up on the end of the bed.
"Did you enjoy yourself as much as you expected?'* she demanded anxiously.
"More," Leoni assured her. "It was simply lovely from beginning to end."
"And don't you think Norman's a pet? Of course, if you did go to London he'd probably take you about and give you a good time."
"I think he's awfully nice," Leoni said earnestly. "And I'd love to see him occasionally if he wanted to see me in London. But, of course, Julia, there is one thing you rather overlook. If I do go to London—or if I stay here, come to that—I shall be a very junior sort of shorthand-typist or something. You couldn't quite expect a successful lawyer to take much notice of someone like that. It's all very well when he meets me as your friend^ but—"
"Don't be an inverted snob," was all Julia had to say to that. Then she added immediately, "How did you get on with Lucas, talking of snobs?"
"I don't think he's a snob a bit," exclaimed Leoni rather indignantly.
"Don't you?" Julia was quite unmoved by this defense. "Well, anyway, he's conceited. You should have seen him when he was about twenty—"
"I did," Leoni said, before she could stop herself.
^^Lucas? But you couldn't have. I didn't know you then. He's quite old, you know. Nearly thirty," Julia explained.
"Yes. I ... I know. At least, I guessed as much. But I did see him, really, Julia. I recognized him at once, and he remembered me when I recalled the circumstances."
*'Did he? My goodness, that was a piece of condescension on his part," declared Julia with good-natured scorn. "Do tell me about it. I can't sort of imagine Lucas even noticing anyone your age then."
"Well, I rather insisted," Leoni admitted with a smile. And then she told Julia about her speaking through the gate to Lucas and asking him to take her home. But somehow she didn't add the bit about his kissing her. For one thing, Julia looked sufficiently astonished about the rest of the story.
"Well, I wouldn't have believed it if you hadn't told me," Julia assured her with emphasis. "It's quite out of character for Lucas. He never so much as noticed me at that age."
Leoni didn 't say anything to that. She was remembering how Lucas had twice used the word "pathetic" of that incident. And by no stretch of imagination could one suppose the carefree, self-sufficient Julia to have been an object of pathos at any period of her existence.
"I thmk he was rather—touched," Leoni offered diffidently.
"He wasn't in the habit of being touched," retorted Julia, skeptically.
'Oulia...."
"Um-hm."
"Tell me a bit more about him. You speak all the time as though you don't like him and as though you can't imagine anyone else liking him. But I ^o."
"Do what?"
"Like him."
"Well, I believe lots of women do," Julia said judicially "I mean, he can be awfully attractive and all that. In fact, I'm sure mummy and dadcfy think he's a bit too attractive— for a relative, you know. After all, it's all right for film actors and characters in books and people who get into the newspapers to be frightfully picturesque and good looking. But it's a bit embarrassing in one's own family."
"Is it?" inquired Leoni doubtfully, being unable, in her rather romantic heart, to subscribe to this cult of mediocrity.
**In a manner of speaking—yes,'' said Julia, who had probably just recalled the fact that nothing really embarrassed her personally—not even the possession of an over-picturesque cousin. **Anyway, that bit doesn't really matter, of course. Only Uncle Henry and Aunt Muriel just doted on him, you know, and never could say enough about how marvelous he was—which never pleases other parents much. And then suddenly something happened. I never found out what it was, because it was the kmd of thing that makes parents say, 'Run into the garden and play, dear,' whenever they want to discuss it, and 'Not in front of the child, darling' out of the corners of their mouths. Terribly silly because it only attracts one's attention, really," added Julia tolerantly.
"Of course," agreed Leoni feelingly.
"It was years ago. I suppose about the time when you saw him. Somehow I haven t thought about it for such a long time that I've stopped being curious about it. And, anyway, when a person gets to be thirty it doesn't really much matter what they've done. It*sso long ago."
Leoni didn't agree, but was anxious not to appear too curious. She wished she could have questioned Julia more closely, but as usual it transpired that Julia was quite willing to put forward her opinions without the necessity of questioning.
"I expect he had a terrific love affair when he was abroad, or something like that," she said carelessly.
"Do you think so?" Leoni didn't like the idea at all.
"Well, what else?" inquired Julia, agreeably willing to consider any other possible sensation that Leoni felt like advancing.
But before Leoni could do so—and indeed she had no alternative explanation to offer, in any case—Mrs. Vandeem tapped sharply on the door and called out: " Stop talking girls, and go to sleep."
"All right, mother. I'm just going this minute," cried Julia, with the conviction of one who really thought she had been about to move, in spite of the fact that her position showed she was willing to go on talking half the night. "Well, I'd better go, I expect." She got slowly off the bed and yawned. "Anyway, it was a lovely party. And that's awfully interesting about you and Lucas. And of course if
you did choose to go to London you might find out more about him.**
"I might choose London, in any case, since your father says the prospects are so good,** Leoni said, being cowardly enough to give what seemed to her the less important reason for her decision.
*'We'll talk about it tomorrow,** Julia replied, yawning again. And then she finally took herself off—to leave Leoni lying watching the firelight and thinking about life in London for the final few mmutes before she fell asleep.
Afterward Leoni was a good deal astonished and annoyed with herself that she had not been able to lie awake longer and consider the whole momentous question of her future, so that in the morning she could announce her choice, complete with all her reasons for making that choice.
As it was, the one reason that seemed paramount to her for choosing to go to London could hardly be put forward. And she had to maintain her choice in the face of Julia *s protestations and Mrs. Vandeem*s'perfectly reasonable argument.
"I don*t know that you ought to go straight from the sort of protected institutional life you*ve had to London, child.** Nonsense. She's got to learn to stand on her own feet sometime,*' declared Mr. Vandeem, who appeared to take an exaggerated view of Leoni *s common sense and power to look after herself
"1*11 talk it over with matron,** Leoni said, though her common sense regretfully told her that matron would be very likely indeed to take Mrs. Vandeem *s view.
At this point Julia's opinion swayed in favor of Leoni *s own choice, now that she saw there would be some opportunity of setting authority at naught
"After all, I shall be in London a good deal too, won*t I, mother? When I leave school at the end of term I won *t want to be buried here all the time."
"You've given no sign up to now of being interred alive, '* her father pointed out dryly.
"No, but it's different when you're grown up,** Julia declared. "You*ll have to have a little apartment, Leoni, and then I can come and stay with you and we*ll have marvelous times. * *
Leoni pointed out with reeret that she would be unable to run an apartment on a
shorthand-typist's salary.
"Yes, yes. But 1 expect you'll be Lucas's private secretary before you know where you are," Julia declared optimistically.
All her listeners considered this a piece of absurdity unworthy of reply, so Julia was left to hug her opinion unchallenged.
After that, the rest of Leoni's magic weekend went far too quickly. In spite of matron's well-meant warning that she must not regard the visit as anything but an exceptional luxury, it was hard not to feel that she fitted remarkably well into this pleasant and easy life, and that the return to the orphanage (quite apart from the return to school) was an almost unbearable anticlimax.
However, Leoni had more than a streak of philosophy in her makeup and she managed not to feel too deeply de-
Eressed when she bade goodbye to her kind host and ostess, and set out for school in Julia's company on Monday morning.
Perhaps the fact that matron's borrowed suitcase now held not only Leoni's simple night things, but also the wonderful blue lace dress, had something to do with the lightening of her spirits. It was impossible to be the happy owner of that dress and not believe that there woulcf be other occasions on which it might be worn.
Surprisingly enough, the real wrench came when she and Julia Dade each other a careless goodbye at the end of afternoon school. They had done that every day throughout term time for many years now. But this time there was something poignant and significant about it to Leoni. Julia was going home—and now Leoni knew all the details of that simple experience. She herself, on the contrary, was going back to the orphanage.
It was not until after homework, supper and evening prayers, that Leoni was called to matron's study to give an account of her weekend. And when she arrived there she had to admit to herself that there was something very cozy— yes, almost homelike—about the shabby room by nrelight. The thick curtains shut out the sight, and almost the sound, of the rain-swept night. In a worn leather chair by the fire
sat matron, while evidently the other chair drawn up opposite her was intended for Leoni. And finally on a tray on a low table steamed two cups of pleasantly smelling cocoa.
Life, thoueht Leoni, was not at all bad—even without the sugar on the best plum cake.
Well, Leoni, come and sit down and tell me all about your visit, *' matron said with a smile.
So Leoni sat down and sipped cocoa and told matron all about the weekend. All, that is to say, except the meeting with Lucas—or, indeed, some of the most gratifying things that Norman Conby had said to her. But matron, being a sensible as well as an experienced woman, was not so unreasonable as to suppose that "air* would be interpreted in anything but a comparative sense.
When Leoni came to Mr. Vandeem's offer regarding her future, she saw at once that this was not entirely news to matron.
"Did you know Mr. Vandeem was going to suggest this, matron?" Leoni inquired with interest.
"Well, I didn't know quite what form it would take," matron told her. "But he has taken a great interest in your schooling, Leoni—rather more than you knew—and I felt sure something like this would be forthcoming. How do you feel about it yourself?"
"About staying here or going to London, you mean? I'd like to go to London," Leoni replied promptly and held her breath.
"Yes, I expected that," Matron said rather surprisingly. "I think, on tne whole, that you 're right, too."
"Do you?" Leoni was enchanted. "But Mrs. Vandeem seemed to think it mightn 't do for me to be on my own in London after always being used to the orphanage."
"No. Not on your own, of course, matron frowned thoughtfully.
"Perhaps I could go to—to a hostel or something like that?" Leoni suggested, because it was hard to imagine oneself living in anything but a rather strictly ruled community.
But to her surprise, matron shook her head.
"No. I don't think that's the right thing for you, Leoni. No one knows better than I do what restrictions there are to
institutional life. I don't really want you to go from one community to another. It*s bound to mold all your ideas in one form. When a girl leaves her family to live in town it*s often the best thing for her to eo into a hostel at first. But youVe never known anything out community life. I want you to break away from it.*'
"Do you?" breathed Leoni, very much impressed by this view of matron's, but at the same time experiencing some of the sensations of a puppy about to be thrown into the water in order to have proven to it that it can swim.
Matron, however, was not apparently contemplating such a drastic course as that.
"I don't know whether it could be managed," she said thoughtfully, "but if you do go to London, I should very much like you to make your home with my sister and her family, at first at any rate."
Leoni, who had never thought of matron as having any relatives or roots or connections but just being matron, in much the same manner as God was God—could contribute nothing but a gasp of excitement to the conversation at this point.
Matron looked a good deal amused.
"There isn't anything very glamorous or exciting about their way of life, you know," she explained. "My sister lives in one of the inner suburbs and has four children—three of them old enoueh to earn their own living. There isn 't too much money, but they live a comfortable, homely life. I think it would be a very good background for you if my sister would agree to the arrangement."
"Oh, matron, do you think she might?" Leoni was flushed and eager, as she leaned forward in the firelight. "I'd give her all the money I earned and—"
"No, no, you wouldn't," matron said and began to laugh. "You would pay a proper amount for your keep, just as her own children do—anci as all children earning their own living should," matron added dryly. "You would have to learn how to handle the rest sensibly, so that your commuter ticket and lunches and clothes and holidays all came out of it. Nothing but experience will teach you how to do that, and I have no doubt that you will do some very silly things with your money at first. Very few people know by instinct both the worth and the worthlessness of money. The thor-
oughness with which you learn the lesson has a lot to do with your usefulness in the world. Don't forget that, Leoni.*'
Leoni said very solemnly that she would not, but hoped very much that matron would tell her more about the family with whom she might soon be making her home.
However, matron seemed to think—perhaps wisely—that as little as possible should be said on the subject until the practical possibilities had been examined.
*'I will write to my sister tonight," she told Leoni. "And now it's time for you to go to bed."
So, somewhat reluctantly, Leoni said good night and went to bed in her little white cubicle in the senior dormitory.
Before she got into bed, she took out her blue lace dress, and shook out its delicate folds. In the austere surroundings of the dormitory, it looked beautiful to the point of sinfulness and it was much too long to go into her small, painted wardrobe.
With a slight sigh for the spacious fitted cupboard in her room at the Vandeems' house, Leoni carefully folded the dress so that she could hang it by its slender waist from a hanger. Even then it swept the bottom of the wardrobe with luxurious abandon. She wondered, as she closed the door upon its beauties, whether hfe in the home of matron's sister would include any opportunities for wearing such a glamorous garment. Perhaps *'a comfortable, homely life" could hardly be expected to furnish such opportunities.
"Anyway, I've got it, in case there is a chance of wearing it," Leoni told herself as she got into bed. "And Norman Conby did say he would see to it that we met again."
Oddly enough she didn't admit, even to herself, that it was not for Norman Conby that she wished to wear her blue lace dress again.
During the next few weeks it seemed to Leoni that Julia's birthday party and Mr. Vandeem 's offer had been the signal for a tremendous quickening in the tempo of existence. She, to whom practically nothing remarkable had happened in the last nme year
s, was suddenly the center of fast-moving events and exciting decisions.
Matron's sister replied by return mail that she would be very willing to have Leoni when she came to London in a
few weeks time. Not only that. She wrote an extremely kind letter to Leoni herself, telling her that she would be very welcome. The letter was signed Mary Dagram, and Leoni immediately began to construct around the person of Mrs. Dagram a composite portrait of matron and Mrs. Vandeem, since these were the only two heads of households she had ever known.
Following this came the first business letter Leoni had ever received, in which Mr. Vandeem—certainly in most friendly terms—formally offered her a post "as shorthand-typist m the London office of Vandeem, Morrion and Morrion, Export Traders, at a salary of five pounds ten shillings (L5 1 Os.) per week, rising et cetera, et cetera.' *
Leoni was impressed almost to the point of tears at the thought of any one wishing to pay for her services at all-much less pay what seemed to her an inflated figure. Matron, however, appeared to think it a perfectly reasonable action on the part of Vandeem, Morrion and Morrion, and assured Leoni that necessities, quite apart from reasonable indulgences, would account for more of this salary than she probably supposed at the moment.
Leoni, who nad never possessed more than the very limited pocket money possible in an orphanage, felt intoxicated at the thought of such riches, nevertheless.
It was all nearly too exciting and delightful to be borne with anything like calm and dignity.
After the breaking up at school, Leoni spent a few days at the orphanage, in order to have her last Christmas there. This was less as a matter of sentiment than because she was now extremely well versed in filling stockings, distributing presents from the Christmas tree and drying the tears of those orphans who became so excited that their festivities threatened to end in woe.
"I don't know quite what I shall do without you, Leoni," matron said. But as Leoni could not possibly imagine matron other than able to cope with any situation single-handed, she took this to be merely an unusual compliment in keeping with the general spirit of goodwill and one's own approaching departure.
Harlequin Omnibus: Take Me with You, Choose What You Will, Meant for Each Other Page 5