NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS UN MEMOEIAM. Isaac Flagg 1843-1933 NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS A NOVEL BY ROSA NOUCHETTE CAREY Author of "Uncle Max," "Only the Govern* " Etc CHICAGO W. B. CONKEY COMPANY 76 NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS. CHAPTER L FIVE-O'CLOCK TEA. Five-o'clock tea was a great institution in Old- field. It was a form of refreshment to which the female inhabitants of that delightful place were strongly addicted. In vain did Dr. Weatherby, the great authority in all that concerned the health of the neighborhood, lift up his voice against the mild feminine dram-drinking of these modern days, de- nouncing it in no measured terms: the ladies of Oldfield listened incredulously, and, softly quoting Cowper's lines as to the "cup that cheers and not inebriates," still presided over their dainty little tea-tables, and vied with one another in the beauty of their china and the flavor of their highly scented Pekoe. In spite of Dr. Weatherby's sneers and innuen- does, a great deal of valuable time was spent in lin- gering in one or another of the pleasant drawing- rooms of the place. As the magic hour approached, people dropped in casually. The elder ladies sipped their tea and gossiped softly; the younger ones, if it were summer time, strolled out through the open windows into the garden. Most of the houses had tennis-grounds, and it was quite an un- derstood thing that a game should be played before they separated. With some few exceptions, the inhabitants of Old- field were wealthy people. Handsome houses *~ M3007S1 A NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS. Standing in their own grounds were dotted here and there among the lanes and country roads. Some of the big houses belonged to very big people indeed; but these were aristocrats who only lived in their country houses a few months in the year, and whose presence added more to the dignity than to the fiilarity of the neighborhood. With these exceptions, the Oldfield people were highly gregarious and hospitable; in spite of a few peculiarities, they had their good points; a great deal of gossip prevailed, but it was in the main harmless and good-natured. There was a wonder- ful simplicity of dress, too, which in these days might be termed a cardinal virtue. The girls wore their fresh cambrics and plain straw hats ; no one seemed to think it necessary to put on smart cloth- ing when they wished to visit their friends. People said this Arcadian simplicity was just as studied; yievertheless, it showed perfection of taste and a just appreciation of things. The house that was considered the most attrac- tive in Oldfield, and where, on summer afternoons, the sound of youthful voices and laughter were the loudest, was Glen Cottage, a small white house ad- joining the long village street, belonging to a cer- tain Mrs. Challoner, who lived here with her three daughters. This may be accounted strange in the first in- stance, since the Challoners were people of the most limited income an income so small that nothing but the most modest of entertainments could be fur- nished to their friends; very different from their neighbors at Longmead, the large white house ad- joining, where sumptuous dinners and regular even- ing parties were given in the dark days when pleasures were few and tennis impossible. People said it was very good-natured of the Maynes; but then, when there is an only child in the case, an honest, pleasure-loving, gay young fel- low on whom his parents dote, what is it they will NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS. 5 not do to please their own flesh and blood? and, as young Richard Mayne or Dick, as he was always called loved all such festive gatherings, Mrs. Mayne loved them too ; and her husband tried to persuade himself that his tastes lay in the same direction, only reserving certain groans for private use, that Dick could not be happy without a house full of young people. But no such entertainments were possible at Glen Cottage; nevertheless, the youth of the neighbor- hood flocked eagerly into the pleasant drawing-room where Mrs. Challoner sat tranquilly summer and winter to welcome her friends, or betook them- selves through the open French windows into the old-fashioned garden, in which mother and daughters took such pride. On hot afternoons the tea-table was spread under an acacia-tree, low wicker-chairs were brought out, and rugs spread on the lawn, and Nan and her sis- ters dispensed strawberries and cream with the de- licious home-made bread and butter; while Mrs. Challoner sat among a few chosen spirits knitting and talking in her pleasant low-toned voice, quite content that the burden of responsibility should rest upon her daughters. Mrs. Challoner always smiled when people told her that she ought to be proud of her girls. No daughters were ever so much to their mothers as hers; she simply lived in and for them; she saw with their eyes, thought with their thoughts was hardly herself at all, but Nan and Phillis and Dulce, each by turns. , Long ago they had grown up to her growth. Mrs. Challoner's nature was hardly a self-sufficing one. During her husband's life-time she had been braced by his influence and cheered by his example, and had sought to guide her children according to his directions; in a word, his manly strength had so supported her that no one, not even her shrewd young daughters, guessed at the interior weakness, 6 NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS. When her stay was removed, Mrs. Challoner ceased to guide, and came down to her children's level. She was more like their sister than their mother, people said ; and yet no mother was more cherished than she. Her very weakness made her sacred in her daughters' eyes; her widowhood, and a certain fail- ure of health, made her the subject of their choicest care. It could not be said that there was much amiss, but years ago a doctor whom Mrs. Challoner had consulted had looked grave, and mentioned the name of a disease of which certain symptoms re- minded him. There was no ground for present apprehension; the whole thing was very shadowy and unsubstantial a mere hint a question of care ; nevertheless, the word had been said, and the mischief done. From that time Mrs. Challoner was wont to speak gloomily of her health, as of one doomed. She was by nature languid and lympathic, but now her lan- guor increased; always averse to effort, she now left all action to her daughters. It was they who decided and regulated the affairs of their modest household, and rarely were such wise rulers to be found in girls of their age. Mrs. Challoner merely acquiesced, for in Glen Cottage there was seldom a dissentient voice, unless it were that of Dorothy, who had been Dulce's nurse, and took upon herself the airs of an old servant who could not be re- placed. They were all pretty girls, the three Misses Chal- loner, but Nan was par excellence the prettiest. No one could deny that fact who saw them together. Her features were more regular than her sisters', and her color more transparent. She was tall, too, and her figure had a certain willowy grace that was most uncommon; but what attracted people most was a frankness and unconsciousness of manner that was perfectly charming, NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS. 7 Phillis, the second sister, was not absolutely pretty, perhaps, but she was nice looking, and there was something in her expression that made people say she was clever; she could talk on occasions with a fluency that was quite surprising, and that would cast Nan into the shade. "If I were only as clever as Phillis!" Nan would sigh. Then there was Dulce, who was only just eigh teen, and whom her sisters treated as the family pet; who was light and small and nimble in her movements, and looked even younger than she really was. Nobody ever noticed if Dulce were pretty; no one questioned if her features were regular or not, or cared to do such a thing. Only when she smiled, the prettiest dimple came into her cheek, and her eyes had a fearless childlike look in them; for the rest, she was just Dulce. The good-looking daughters of a good-looking mother, as somebody called them ; and there was no denying that Mrs. Challoner was still wonderfully well preserved, and, in spite of her languor and in- valid airs, a very pretty woman. Five-o'clock tea had long been over at the cottage this afternoon, and a somewhat lengthy game of tennis had followed; after which the visitors had dispersed as usual, and the girls had come in to pre- pare for the half past seven-o'clock dinner; for Glen Cottage followed the fashion of its richer neighbors, and set out its frugal meal with a proper accompaniment of flower-vases and evening toilet. The three sisters came up the lawn together, but Nan carried her racket a little languidly; she looked a trifle grave. Mrs. Challoner laid down her knitting and looked at them, and then she regarded her watclv plain- tively. M Is it late, mother?" asked Nan, who never missed any of her mother's movements* "T'e* 8 NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS. minutes past seven! No wonder the afternoon seemed long." 4 * No one found it long but Nan," observed Dulce, with an arch glance at her sister, at which Nan slightly colored, but took no further notice. "By the bye," she continued, as though struck by a sud- den recollection, "what can have become of Dick this afternoon? He so seldom fails us without tell- ing us beforehand. " "That will soon be explained," observed Phillis, oracularly, as the gate-bell sounded, and was imme- diately followed by sharp footsteps on the gravel and the unceremonious entrance of a young man through the open window. "Better late than never," exclaimed two of the girls. Nan said: "Why, what has made you play truant, Dick?" in a slightly injured voice. But Mrs. Challoner merely smiled at him, and said noth- ing; young men were her natural enemies, and she knew it. She was civil to them and endured their company, and that was all. Dick Mayne was not a formidable-looking indi- vidual; he was a strong, thick-set young fellow, with broad shoulders, not much above middle height, and decidedly plain, except in his mother's eyes; and she thought even Dick's sandy hair beautiful. But in spite of his plainness he was a pleasant, well-bred young fellow, with a fund of good humor and drollery, and a pair of honest eyes that people learned to trust. Every one liked him, and no one ever said a word in his dispraise ; and for the rest, he could tyrannize as royally as any other young man who is his family's sole blessing. "It was all my ill luck," grumbled Dick. "Tre- vanion of Exeter came over to our place, and of course the mater pressed him to stay for luncheon ; and then nothing would do but a long walk over Hilberry Downs." "Why did you not oring him here?" interrupted NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS. $ Dulce, with a pout. "You tiresome Dick, when you must know what a godsend a strange young man is in these wilds!" "My dear!" reproved her mother. "Oh, but it is true, mamma," persisted the out- spoken Dulce. "Think how pleased Carrie and Sophie Pain would have been at the sight of a fresh face! It was horrid of you, sir!" "I wanted him to come," returned the young man, in a deprecating voice. "1 told him how awfully jolly it always is here, and that he would be sure to meet a lot of nice people, but there was no persuading him ; he wanted a walk and a talk about our fellows. That is the worst of Trevanion, he always will have his own way." "Never mind," returned Nan, pleasantly; she seemed to have recovered her sprightliness all at once. "It is very good of you to come so often; and we had Mr. Parker and his cousin to look after the Paines." "Oh, yes! we did very well," observed Phillis, tranquilly, * Mother, now Dick has come so late, he had better stay. " "If I only may do so?*' returned Dick^ but his in- quiry was directed to Nan. "Oh, yes, you may stay," she remarked, care- lessly, as she moved away; but there was a little pleased smile on her face that he failed to see. She nodded pleasantly to him as he darted forward to open the door. It was Nan who always dispensed the hospitalities of the house, whose decision was unalterable. Dick had learned what it was to be sent about his business; only once had he dared to remain without her sovereign permission, and on that occasion he had been treated by her with such dignified politeness that he would rather have been sent to Coventry. This evening the fates were propitious, and Dick understood that the scepter of favor was to be ex- tended to him. When the girls had flitted into the 10 NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS. little dusky hall he closed the door and sat down happily beside Mrs. Challoner, to whom he decanted eloquently of the beauties of Hilberry and the vir- tues of Ned Trevanion. Mrs. Challoner listened placidly as the knitting- needles flashed between her long white fingers. She was very fond of Dick, after her temperate fashion; she had known him from a child, and seen him grow up among them until he had become like a son of the house. Dick, who had no. brothers and sisters of his own, and whose parents had not mar- ried until they were long past youth, had adopted brotherly airs with the Challoner girls ; they called one another by their Christian names, and he re- posed in them the confidences that young men are wont to give to their belongings. With Nan this easy familiarity had of late merged into something different: a reserve, a tim- idity, a subtile suspicion of change had crept into their intimacy. Nan felt that Dick's manner had altered, but somehow she liked it better; his was always a sweet, bountiful nature, but now it seemed to have deepened into greater manliness. Dick was growing older; Oxford training was polishing hinx After each one of his brief absences Nan saw a greater change, a more marked deference, and secretly hoped that no one else noticed it. When the young undergraduate wrote dutiful letters home the longest messages were always for Nan ; when he carried little offerings of flowers to his neigh- bors, Nan's bouquet was always the choicest; he distinguished her, too, on all occasions by those small, nameless attentions which never fail to please. Nan kept her own counsel, and never spoke of those things. She said openly that Dick was ver)' nice and very much improved, and that they always missed him sadly during Oxford terms; but she never breathed a syllable that might make people suspect that this ordinary young man with sandy NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS. 11 hair was more to her than other young men. Nevertheless, Phillis and Dulce knew that such was the case, and Mrs. Challoner understood that the most dangerous enemy to her peace was this lively spoken Dick. Dick was very amusing, for he was an eloquent young fellow : nevertheless, Mrs. Challoner sighed more than once, and her attention visibly wan- dered; seeing which, Dick good-humoredly left off talking, and began inspecting the different articles in Nan's work-basket. <4 I am afraid I have given your mother a head- ache," he said, when they were sitting round the circular table in the low-oddly shaped dining-room. There was a corner cut off, and the windows were in unexpected places, which made it unlike other rooms; but Dick loved it better than the great din- ing-room at Longmead; and somehow it had never looked cozier to him than it did this evening. It was somewhat dark, owing to the shade of the ver- anda; so the lamp was lighted, and the pleasant scent of roses and lilies came through the open win- dows, A belated wasp hovered round the specimen glasses that Nan had filled; Dick tried to make havoc . of the enemy with his table-napkin. The girls* white dresses suited their fresh young faces. Nan had fastened a crimson rose in her gown ; Phil- lis and Dulce had knots of blue ribbon. "Trevanion does not know what he lost by his obstinacy," thought Dick as he glanced round the table. 4 'What were you and the mother discussing?" asked Dulce, curiously. 44 Dick was telling me about his friend. He seemed a very superior young man," returned Mrs. Challoner. "I suppose you have asked him for your party next week/ Dick turned very red at this question. "Mater asked him; you may trust her for that. If it were not for father, I think she would turn the whole 12 NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS. house out of the windows: every day some one fresh is invited." 44 How delightful! and all in your honor/' ex- claimed Dulce, mischievously. "That spoils the whole thing," grumbled the heir of the Maynes: 44 it is a perfect shame that a fellow can not come of age quietly, without his people making this fuss. I begin to think I was a fool for my pains to refuse the ball." / "Yes, indeed; just because you were afraid of the supper speeches," laughed Dulce, * 4 when we all wanted it so." 4 'Never mind," returned Dick, sturdily; "the mater shall give us one in the winter, and we will have Godfrey's Band, and I will get all our fellows to come." 4 'That will be delightful/* observed Nan, and her eyes sparkled already she saw herself led out for the first dance by the son of the house but Dulce interrupted her: 4 'But all the same, I wish Dick had not been so stupid about it. No one knows what may happen before the winter. I hate put-off things." 41 *A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush* eh, Miss Dulce?" 4 'Yes, indeed; that proverb is truer than people think," she replied, with a wise nod of her head. "Don't you remember, Nan, when the Parkers' dance was put off, and then old Mr. Parker died ; and nearly the same thing happened with the Nor- mantons, only it was an uncle in that case." 4 'Moral: never put off a dance, in case somebody dies." "Oh, hush, please!" groaned Nan, in a shocked voice; "I don't like to hear you talk about such dreadful things. After all, it is such delicious weather than I am not sure a garden-party will not be more enjoyable; and you know, Dulce, that we are to dance on the lawn if we like/' "And supposing it should rain/' put in that ex- NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS. 13 tremely troublesome young person, at which sug- gestion Dick looked very gloomy. "In that case I think we must persuade Mrs. Mayne to clear a room for us," returned Nan, cheerfully. "If your mother consults me," she continued, addressing Dick, who visibly brightened at this, "I shall recommend her to empty the front drawing-room as much as possible. There is the grand piano, or the band might come in-doors; there will be plenty of room for the young people, and the non-dancers can be drafted off into the inner drawing-room and conservatory. ' ' "What a head you have!" exclaimed Dick, ad- miringly; and Phillis, who had not joined in the argument, was pleased to observe that she was quite of Nan's opinion: dancing was imperative, and if the lawns were wet they must manage in- doors somehow. "It would never do for people to be bored and listless," finished the young lady, sententiously, and such was Phillis's cleverness that it was understood at once that the oracle had spoken ; but then it was never known for Nan and Phillis to differ. Things being thus amicably arranged, the rest of the conversation flowed evenly on every other point, such as the arrangements of the tennis-matches in the large meadow, and the exact position of the mar- quees; but just as they were leaving the table Dick said another word to Nan in a somewhat low voice: "It is all very well, but this sort of thing does make a fellow such a conceited fool. " "If I were you I would not think about it at all," she returned in her sensible way. "The neighbor- hood will expect something of the kind, and we owe a little to the other people ; then it pleases your mother to make a fuss, as you call it, and it would be too ungrateful to disappoint her." **Well, perhaps you are right," he returned, in a slightly mollified tone, for he was a modest young fellow, and the whole business had occasioned 14 NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS. some soreness of spirit. "Take it all in all, one has an awful lot to go through in life; there are the measles, you know, and whooping-cough, and the dentist, and one's examination, and no end of un- pleasant things, but to be made by one's own mother to feel like an idiot for a whole afternoon! Never mind; it can be got through somehow," fin- ished the young philosopher, with a sigh that sent Nan into a fit of laughter. CHAPTER II. DICK OBJECTS TO THE MOUNTAINS. "Shall we have our usual stroll?" asked Phillis, as Nan and Dick joined her at the window. This was one of the customs at Glen Cottage. When any such fitting escort offered itself, the three girls would put on their hats, and, regardless of the evening dews and their crisp white dresses, would saunter, under Dick's guidance, through the quiet village, or down and up the country roads 41 just for a breath of air," as they would say* It is only fair to Mrs. Challoner's views of propri- ety to say that she would have trusted her three pretty daughters to no other young man but Dick ; and of late certain prudential doubts had crossed her mind. It was all very well for Phillis to say Dick was Dick, and there was an end of it. After all, he belonged to the phalanx of her enemies, those shadowy invaders of her hearth that threat- ened her maternal peace. Dick was not a boy any longer, he had outgrown his hobbledehoy ways; the slight sandy mustache that he so proudly caressed was not a greater proof of his manhood than the un- definable change that had passed over his manners. Mrs. Challoner began to distrust these evening strolls, and to turn over in her own mind various wary pretexts for detaining Nan on the next occa- sion. NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS. 15 4 'Just this once, perhaps it does not matter," she murmured to herself, as she composed herself to her usual nap. 44 We shall not be long, little mother; so you must not be dull," Dulce had said, kissing her lightly over her eyes. This was just one of the pleasant fictions at the cottage one of those graceful little deceptions that are so harmless in families. Dulce knew of those placid after-dinner naps. She knew her mother's eyes would only unclose when Dorothy brought in the tea-tray ;but she was also con- scious that nothing would displease her mother more than to notice this habit. When they lingered in-doors, and talked in whispers so as not to disturb her, Mrs. Challoner had an extraordinary facility for striking into the conversation in a way that was somewhat confusing. 44 I don't agree with you at all/' she would say, in a drowsy voice. 44 Is it not time for Dorothy to bring in the tea? I wish you would all talk louder. I must be getting a little deaf, I think, for I don't hear half you say. ' ' 44 Oh, it was only nonsense talk, mammie," Dulce would answer; and the sisterly chit-chat would re- commence, and her mother's head nid-nodded on the cushions until the next interruption. 44 We shall not have many more of these strolls, 1 ' observed Dick, regretfully, as they walked together through the village, and then branched off into a long country road, where the air blew freshly in their faces and low mists hung over the meadow- land. Though it was not quite dark, there was a tiny moon, and the glimmer of a star or two; and there was a pleasant fragrance as of new-mown grass. They were all walking abreast, and keeping step, and Dick was in the middle with Nan beside him. Dulce was hanging on to her arm, and every now and then breaking into little snatches of song. . 4 *How I envy- you!" exclaimenly I wish Dick could sometimes enter a room without making people jump;*' by which Dick knew that his father was in one of his contrary moods, when he could be very cross very cross indeed ! CHAPTER IIL MR. MAYNE MAKES HIMSELF DISAGREEABLE. The library at Longmead was a very pleasant room, and it was the custom of the family to retire thither on occasions when guests were not forth- coming, and Mr. Mayne could indulge in his favor- ite nap without fear of interruption. A certain simplicity, not to say homeliness, of manners prevailed in the house. It was understood among them that the dining-room was far too gor- geous for anything but occasions of ceremony. Mrs. Mayne, indeed, had had the good taste to cover the satin couches with pretty, fresh-looking cretonne, and had had arranged hanging cupboards of old china until it had been transformed into a charming apartment, notwithstanding which the library was declared to be the family-room, where the usual masculine assortment of litter could be regarded with indulgent eyes, and where papers and pamphlets lay in delightful confusion. Longmead was not a pretentious house ; it was a 26 NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS. moderate-sized residence, adapted to a gentleman of moderate means; but in summer no place could be more charming. The broad gravel walk before the house had a background of roses; hundreds of roses climbed up the railings or twined themselves about the steps; a tiny miniature lake, garnished with water-lilies, lay in the center of the lawn; a group of old elm- trees were beside it; behind the house lay another lawn, and beyond were meadows where a few sheep were quietly grazing. Mr. Mayne, who found time hang a little heavily on his hands, prided himself a good deal on his poultry- yard and kitchen-garden. A great deal of his spare time was spent among his favorite Bantams and Dorkings, and in superintending his opinionated old gardener; on summer mornings he would be out among the dews in his old coat and planter's hat, weeding among the gooseberry bushes. "It is the early bird that finds the worm," he would say, when Dick sauntered into the breakfast- room later on; for, in common with the youth of this generation, he had a wholesome horror of early rising, which he averred was one of the barbarous usages of the dark ages in which his elders had been bred. "I never took any interest in worms, sir," returned Dick, helping himself to a tempting rasher that had just been brought in hot for the pampered youth. "By the bye, have you seen Darwin's work on 'The Formation of Vegetable Mold?' He declared that 'worms have played a more important part in the history of the world than most people would at first suppose;' they were our earliest plow- men." "Oh, ah! indeed, very interesting!" observed his father, dryly; "but all the same, I beg to observe, no one succeeded in life who was not an early riser." "A sweeping assertion, and one I might be tempted to argue, if it were not for taking tip your NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS. 21 valuable time," retorted Dick, lazily, but with a twinkle in his eye. "I know my constitution bet- ter than to trust myself out before the world is properly aired and dried. I am thinking it is less a case of worms than of rheumatism some early birds will be catching ;" to which Mr. Mayne merely returned an ungracious "Pshaw!" and marched off, leaving his son to enjoy his breakfast in peace. When Dick entered the library on the evening in question, Mr. Mayne's querulous observation as to the noisiness of his entrance convinced him at once that his father was in a very bad humor indeed, and that on this account it behooved him to be exceed- ingly cool. So he kissed his mother, who looked at him a little anxiously, and then sat down and turned out her work-basket, as he had done Nan's cwo or three hours ago. "You are late, after all, Dick," she said, with a little reproach in her voice. It was hardly a safe observation, to judge by her husband's cloudy coun- tenance; but the poor thing sometimes felt her evenings a trifle dull when Dick was away. Mr. Mayne would take up his paper, but his eyes soon closed over it ; that habit of seeking for the early worm rather disposed him to somnolent evenings, during which his wife knitted and felt herself nod- ding off out of sheer ennui and dullness. These were not the hours she had planned during those years of waiting; she had told herself that Richard would read to her or talk to her as she sat over her work, that they would have so much to say to each other; but now, as she regarded his sleeping coun- tenance evening after evening, it may be doubted whether matrimony was quite what she expected, since its bliss was so temperate and so strongly infused with drowsiness. Dick looked up innocently. "Am I late, mother?' ' 44 Oh, of course not," returned his father, with a sneer; *'it is not quite titrfe to ring for Nicholson to- 28 NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS. bring our candles. Bessie, I think I should like some hot water to-night; I feel a little chilly." And Bessie rang the bell obediently, and without any surprise in her manner. Mr. Mayne often woke up chilly from his long nap. "Are you going to have a 4 drap of the cratur?"' asked his son, with alacrity. "Well, 1 don't mind joining you, and that's the truth, for we have been dawdling about, and I am a trifle chilly myself." "You know I object to spirits for young men," returned Mr. Mayne, severely; nevertheless, he pushed the whisky to Dick as soon as he had mixed his own glass, and his son followed his example. "I am quite of your opinion, father," he observed, as he regarded the handsome cut-glass decanter somewhat critically; "but there are exceptions to every rule, and when one is chilly " "I wish you would make an exception and stay away from the cottage sometimes," returned Mr. Mayne, with ill-suppressed impatience. "It was all very well when you were all young things together, but it is high time matters should be dif- ferent." Dick executed a low whistle of surprise and dis- may. He had no idea his father's irritability had arisen fro:_i any definite cause. What a fool he had been to be so late! it might lead to some unpleasant discussion. Well, after all, if his father chose to be so disagreeable it was not his fault; and he was no longer a boy, to be chidden, or made to do this or that against his own will. Mr. Mayne was sufficiently shrewd to see that his son was somewhat taken aback by this sudden onslaught, and he was not slow to press his advant- age. He had wanted to give Dick a bit of his mind for some time, and after all there is no time like the present. "Yes, it was all very well when you were a lot of children together," he continued. *"Of course, it fe hard on you, Dick, having no brothers and sisters NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS 29 to keep yon company: your mother and I were always sorry about that for your sake." "Oh, don't mention it," interrupted Dick; ff on the whole, I am best pleased as it is." "But it would have been better for you/' re- turned his father, sharply ; "we should not have had all this fooling and humbug if you had had sisters of your own. 9 ' "Fooling and humbug!' repeated Dick, hotly; "I confess, sir, I don't quite understand to what you are referring. " He was growing very angry, but his mother flung herself between the combatants. "Don't my boy, don't; you must not answer your father in that way. Richard, what makes you so hard on him to-night? It must be the gout, Dick we had better send for Doctor Weatherby in ths morning," continued the anxious woman, with tears in her eyes, "for your dear father would never be so cross to you as this unless he were going to be ill." "Stuff and nonsense! Doctor Weatherby indeed!" but his voice was less wrathful. "What is it but fooling, I should like to know, for Dick to be daun- dering his time away with a parcel of girls as he does with these Challoners!" "I suppose you were never a young man your- self, sir." "Oh, yes, I was, my boy," and the corners of Mr. Mayne's mouth relaxed in spite of his efforts to keep serious. "I fell in love with your mother, and stuck to her for seven or eight years ; but I did not make believe that I was brother to a lot of pretty girls, and waste all my time dancing attend- ance on them and running about on their errands." "You ought to have taken a lesson out of my book," returned his son, readily. "No; I ought to have done no such thing, sir!" shouted back Mr. Mayne, waxing irate again. It could not be denied that Dick could be excessively provoking when he liked. "Don't I tell you it is SO NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS, time this sort of thing was stopped? Why, people will begin to talk, and say you are making up to one of them; it is not right, Dick; it is not, indeed," with an attempted pathos. "I don't care that for what people say/' returned the young fellow, snapping his finger. "Is it not a pity you are saying all this to me just when I am going away and am not likely to see any of them for the next six months? You are very hard on me to-night, father; and I can't think what it is all about." Mr. Mayne was silent a moment, revolving his son's pathetic speech. It was true he had been cross, and had said more than he had meant to say. He had not wished to hinder Dick's innocent enjoy- ments; but if he were unknowingly picking flowers at the edge of a precipice, was it not his duty as a father to warn him? "I think I have been a little hard, my lad," he said, candidly; "but there, you and your mother know my bark is worse than my bite. I only wanted to warn you; that's all, Dick," 44 Warn me! against what, sir?" asked the young man, quickly. "Against falling in love, really, with one of the Challoner girls!" returned Mr. Mayne, trying to evade the fire of Dick's eyes, and blustering a little in consequence. "Why, they have not a penny, one of them ; and, if report be true, Mrs. Challoner's money is very shakily invested. Paine told me so the other day. He said he should never wonder if a sudden crash came any minute. " "Is this true, Richard?" "Paine declares it is; and think of Dick saddling himself with the support of a whole family!" "It strikes me you are taking things very much for granted," returned his son, trying to speak coolly, but flushing like a girl over his words. "I think you might wait, father, until I proposed bringing you home a daughter-in-law." HOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS. SI "I am only warning you, Dick, that the Challoner connection would be distasteful to me," replied Mr. Mayne, feeling that he had gone a little too far. 44 If you had brothers and sisters it would not matter half so much ; but it would be too hard if my only son were to cross my wishes, " 44 Should you disinherit me, father?* 1 observed Dick, cheerfully. He had recovered his coolness and pluck, and began to feel more equal to the occasion. 44 We should see about that; but I hardly think it would be for your advantage to oppose me too much," returned his father, with an ominous pucker of his eyebrows, which warned Dick that it was hardly safe to chaff the old ooy too much to-night 44 1 think I- will go to bed, Richard,'* put in poor Mrs. Mayne. She had wisely forborne to mix in the discussion, fearing that it would bring upon her the vials of her husband's wrath. Mr. Mayne was as choleric as a Welshman, and had a reserve force of sharp cynical sayings that were somewhat hard to bear. He was disposed to turn upon her on such occasions, and to accuse her of spoiling Dick and taking his part against his father; between the two Richards she sometimes had a very bad time indeed. Dick lighted his mother's candle, and bade her good-night; but all the same she knew she had not seen the last of him. A few minutes afterward there was a hasty tap at the bedroom door, and Dick thrust in his head. 44 Come in, my dear; I have been expecting you," she said, with a pleased smile. He always came to her when he was ruffled or put out, and brought her all his grievances; surely this was the very meaning and essence of her motherhood this heal- ing and comfort that lay in her power of sympathy. When he was a little fellow, had she not extracted many a thorn and bound up many a cut finger? and now he was a man, would she be less helpful to him when he wanted a different kind of comfort? 38 NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS, "Come in, my son," she said, beckoning him to the low chair beside her, into which Dick threw himself with a petulant yawn. "Mother, what made the pater so hard on me to-night? He cut up as rough as though I had committed some crime." "1 don't think he is quite himself to-night," returned Mrs. Mayne, in her soft, motherly voice. *'I fancy he misses you, Dick, and is half jealous of the Challoners for monopolizing you. You are all we have, that's where it is," she finished; strok- ing the sandy head with her plump hand; but Dick jerked away from her with a little impatience. "I think it rather hard that a fellow is to be bullied for doing nothing at all," replied Dick, with a touch of sullenness. "When the pater is in this humor it is no use saying anything to him ; but you may as well tell him, mother, that I mean to choose my wife for myself. ' ' **Oh, my dear, I dare not tell him anything of the kind," returned Mrs. Mayne, in an alarmed voic^ and then, as she glanced at her son, her terror merged into amusement. There was somethin absurdly boyish in Dick's appearance, sucr ludicrous contrast between the manliness o+ speech and his smooth cheek; the little friu hirsute ornament, of which Dick was so prouv hardly visible in the dim light; his youthful fi$. more clumsy than graceful, had an unfledged about it; nevertheless, the boldness of his tfsw took away her breath. "Every man has a right to his own choict a matter," continued Dick, loftily. "Yo well tell him, mother, that I intend to own wife." "My dear, I dare not for worlds " and then she stopped, and laid her h<* shoulder. "Why do you say this to me plenty of time," she went on, hastily; your father says, and I think he is rig* t. NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS. 33 too young for this sort ot thing yet. You must see the world, you must look about you; you must have plenty of choice, 1 * continued the anxious mother. 4 1 shall be hard to please, Dick, for I shall think no one good enough for my boy; that is the worst of having only one, and he the best son that ever lived,' finished Mrs, Mayne, with maternal pride in her voice. Dick took this effusion very coolly. He was quite used to all this sort of worship, he did not think badly of himself; he was not particularly humble- minded or given to troublesome introspection ; on the whole, he though himself a good fellow, and was not at all surprised that people appreciated him. ** There are such a lot of cads in the world, one is always glad to fall in with a different sort," ho would say to himself. He was quite of his mother's opiuion, that an honest, Godfearing young fellow, who spoke the truth and shamed the devil, who had no special vices but a dislike for early rising, who bad tolerable brains, and more than his share of muscle, who was in the Oxford eleven, and who had _^^ned his blue ribbon that such a one might be B risidered to set an example to his generation. Then his mother told him she would be hard to ;e, Dick looked a little wicked, and thought of v .but the name was not mentioned between '.if. Nevertheless, Mrs, Mayne felt with uner- .ag maternal instinct that, in spite of his youth, ' s choice was made, and sighed to herself at the bt of the evil days that were to come. woman, she was to have little peace that .j&.\, ,i irHardly had Dick finished his grumble and ^feefi-v away, before her husband's step was .is dressing room. ' t /' he called out to her, "why do you allow vto keep you up so late at night? Do you c it is eleven, and you are still fully i*te, Richard?* 1 34 NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS. "Yes, of course," he snapped; "but that is the care you take of your health; and the way you cosset and spoil that boy is dreadful." "I don't think Dick is easily spoiled," plucking up a little spirit to answer him. "That shows how little you understand boys," returned her husband. Evidently the whisky, though it was the best Glenlivet, had failed to mollify him. It might be dangerous to go too far with Dick, for he had a way of turning around and defending himself that somewhat embarrassed Mr. Mayne, but with his wife there would be no such danger. He would dominate her bv his sharp speeches, and reduce her to abject submission in a moment, for Bessie was the meekest of wives. "Take care how you side with him," he continued, in a threatening voice. "He thinks that I am not serious in what I said just now, and is for carrying it off with a high hand; but I tell you, and you had better tell him, that I was never more in earnest in my life. I won't have one of those Challoner girls for a daughter-in-law!" "Oh, Richard! and Nan is such a sweet girl!" returned his wife, with tears in her eyes. She was awfully jealous of Nan, at times she almost dreaded her; but for her boy's sake she would have taken her now to her heart and defied even her formidable husband. "She is such a pretty creature, too; no one can help loving her, " "Pshaw!" returned her husband; "pretty crea- ture indeed! that is just your soft-hearted nonsense. Phillis is ten times prettier, and has heaps more sense. Why couldn't Dick have taken a fancy to her?" "Because I am afraid he cares for the other one," returned Mrs. Mayne, sadly. She had no wish to deceive her husband, and she knew that th& golden apple had rolled to Nan's feet. "Stuff and rubbish!" he responded, wrathfully. "What is a boy of his age to know about such NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS. 35 things? Tell him from me to put this nonsense out of his head for the next year or two; there is plenty of time to look out for a wife after that. But I won't have him making up his mind until he has left Oxford.'* And Mrs. Mayne, knowing that her husband had spoken his last word, thankfully with- drew, feeling that in her heart she secretly agreed with him. CHAPTER IV. DICK'S FETE. As Mr. Mayne's wrath soon evaporated, and Dick was a sweet-tempered fellow and bore no malice, this slight altercation produced no lasting effect, except that Dick, for the next few days, hurried home to his dinner; talked a good deal about Swit- zerland, and never mentioned a Challoner in his father's hearing. 44 We must keep him in a good temper for the 25th," he said to his mother, with a touch of the Mayne shrewdness. That day was rapidly approaching, and all sorts of festive preparations were going on at Long- mead. Dick himself gravely superintended the rolling of the tennis-ground in the large meadow, and daubed himself plentifully with lime in marking out the courts, while Mr. Mayne stood with his hands in the pockets of his shooting-coat watching him. The two were a great deal together just then. Dick rather stuck to his father during one or two mornings; the wily young fellow knew that Nan was closeted with his mother, helping her with all sorts of feminine arrangements, and he was de- termined to keep them apart. Nan wondered a great deal why Dick did not come to interrupt or tease them as 'usual, and grew a little absent over Mrs. Mayne's rambling 1 explanations. When the 36 N01 LIKE OTHER GIRLS. gong sounded no one asked her to stay to luncheon. Mrs. Mayne saw her put on her hat without uttering a single protest. 44 It is so good of you to help me, dear," she said, Diking the girl into her embrace. "You are quite sure people won't expect a sit-down supper?" ''Oh, no; the buffet system is best," returned Nan, decidedly. "Half the people will not stay, and you need not make a fuss about the rest. It is an afternoon party, you must remember that; only people who are very intimate will remain for the fun of the thing. Tell Nicholson to have plenty of ices going; people care most for that sort of re- freshment." 44 Yes, dear; I will be sure to remember," re- turned her friend, meekly. She was very grateful to Nan for these hints, and was quite willing to follow her guidance in all such matters; but when Nan proposed once sending for Dick to ask his opinion on some knotty point that baffled their women's wits, Mrs. Mayne demurred. 4 'It is a pity to disturb him; he is with his father; and we can settle these things by our- selves," she replied, not venturing to mar the pres- ent tranquillity by sending such a message to Dick. Mr. Mayne would have accompanied his son, and the consultation would hardly have ended peace- ably. <4 Men have their hobbies. We had better settle all this together, you and I," she said, hurri- edly. Nan merely nodded, and cut the Gordian knot through somewhat ruthlessly; but on that occasion she put on her hat before the gong sounded. 44 You must be very busy, for one never has a glimpse of you in the morning," she could not help saying to Dick, as he came in that afternoon to escort them to Fitzroy Lodge. "Well, yes, I am tolerably busy," he drawled. 44 1 am never free to do things in the afternoon" a fact that Nan felt was unanswerable. NOT LIKE OTHR GIRLS. 37 When Nan and her sisters woke on the morning of the memorable day, the bright sunshine of a cloudless June day set all their fears at rest. If the sun smiled on Dick's fete, all would be well. If Nan's devotions were longer than usual that morn- ing, no one was the wiser; if she added a little clause, calling down a blessing on a certain head, no one would be the poorer for such pure prayers; indeed, it were well if many such were uttered for the young men who go forth morning after morning into the temptations of life. Such prayers might stretch like an invisible shield before the countless foes that environ such a one; fiery darts may be caught upon it; a deadly thrust may be turned away. What if the blessing would never reach the ear of the loved one, who goes out unconscious of sympathy? His guardian angel has heard it, and perchance it has reached the very gate of heaven. Nan came down, smiling and radiant, to find Dick waiting for her in the veranda and chattering to Phillis and Dulce. 44 Why, Dick!*' she cried, blushing with surprise and pleasure, "to think of your being here on your birthday morning!" "I only came to thank you and the girls for your lovely presents/' returned Dick, becoming rather incoherent and red at the sight of Nan's blush. "It was so awfully good of you all to work all those things for me;" for Nan had taken secret measure- ments in Dick's room, and had embroidered a most exquisite mantel-piece valance, and Phillis and Dulce had worked the corners of a green cloth with wonderful daffodils and bulrushes to cover Dick's shabby table; and Dick's soul had been filled with ravishment at the sight of these gifts. Nan would not let him go on, but all the same his happy face delighted her. "No; don't thank us, we liked doing it," she re turned, rather coolly. "You know we owed you 38 NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS. something after all your splendid hospitality, and work is never any trouble to us." "But I never saw anything I liked better," blurted out Dick. "All the fellows will be jealous of me. I am sure I don't know what Hamilton will say. It was awfully good of you, Nan, and so it was of the others; and if I don't make it up to you somehow, my name is not Dick;" and he smiled round at them as he spoke. "Fancy putting in all those stitches for me!" he thought to himself. "We are so glad you are pleased," returned Nan, with one of her sweet, straightforward looks; "that is what w r e wanted to give you a little sur- prise on your birthday. Now you must tell us about your other presents." And Dick, nothing loath, launched into eloquent descriptions of the silver-fitted dressing-case from his mother, and the gun and thoroughbred colly that had been his father's gifts. "He is such a fine fellow; I must show him to you this afternoon," went on Dick, eagerly. "His name is Vigo, and he has such a superb head. Was it not good of the pater? He knew I had a fancy for a colly, and he has been in treaty for one ever so long. Is he not a dear old boy?" cried Dick, rapturously. But he did not tell his friends of the crisp bundle of bank-notes with which Mr. Mayne had enriched his son; only, as Dick fingered them lovingly, he wondered what pretty foreign thing he could buy for Nan, and whether her mother would allow her to accept it. After this Nan dismissed him somewhat perempt- orily; he must go back to his breakfast, and allow them to do the same. "Mind you come early," were Dick's last words, as he waved his straw hat to them. How often the memory of that morning recurred to him as he stood solitary and thoughtful, contemplating some grand stretch of Alpine scenery! The snow-peaks and blue glaciers melted away NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS. 39 before his eyes; in their place rose unbidden a pict- ure framed in green trellis-work, over which roses were climbing. Fresh girlish faces smiled back at him; the bright- est and kindest of glances met his. "Good-bye, Dick; a thousand good wishes from us all.'* A slim white hand had gathered a rosebud for him ; how proudly he had worn it all that day! Stop, he had it still; it lay all crushed and withered in his pocket- book He had written the date under it; one day he meant to show it to her. Oh, foolish days of youth, so prodigal of minor memories and small deeds of gifts, when a withered flower can hold the rarest scent, and in a crumpled rose leaf there is a whole volume of ecstatic meaning! Oh, golden days of youth, never to be surpassed! Never in the memory of Oldfield had there been a more delicious day. The sky was cloudless, long purple shadows lay tinder the elm-trees; a concert of bird-music sounded from the shrubbery; in the green meadows flags were waving, tent draperies fluttering; the house doors stood open, showing a flower-decked hall and vista of cool shadowy rooms. Dick, looking bright and trim, wandered rest- lessl} over the place, and Mr. Mayne fidgeted after him; while Mrs. Mayne sat fanning herself under the elm-trees and hoping the band would not be late. No, there it was turning in now at the stable en- trance, and playing- "The girl I left behind me," and there at the same moment was Nan coming up the lawn in her white gown, closely followed by her mother and sisters. "Are we the first?" she asked, as Dick darted across the grass to meet her. "That is nice; we shall see all the people arrive. How inspiriting that music is and how beautiful everything looks!" "It is awfully jolly of you to be the first," whispered Dick; *" and how nice you look, Nan! \ou 40 NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS. always do, you know, but to-day you are firsi-rate. Is this a new gown?" casting an approving look over Nan's costume, which was certainly very fresh and pretty. 44 Oh, yes; we have all new dresses in your honor, and we made them ourselves," returned Nan, care- lessly. 4< Mother has got her old silk, but for her it does not so much matter; at least that is what she says." "And she is quite right. 'She is always real splendid, as the Yankees say, whatever she wears," returned Dick, wishing secretly that his mother in her new satin dress looked half so well as Mrs. Challoner in her old one. But it was no use. Mrs. Mayne never set off her handsome dresses; with her flushed, good-natured face and homely ways, sLe showed to marked disadvantage beside Mrs. Chal- loner's faded beauty. Mrs. Challoner's gown might be antique, but nothing could surpass the quiet grace of her carriage, or the low pleasant modula- tions of her voice. Her figure was almost as slim as her daughters', and she could easily have passed for their elder sister. Lady Fitzroy, who was a Burgoyne by birth and every one knows that for haughtiness and a certain exclusive intoleration none could match the Bur- goynes always distinguished Mrs. Challoner by the marked attention she paid her. 44 A very lady-like woman, Percival. Certainly the most lady-like person in the neighborhood," she would say to her husband, who was not quite so exclusive, and always made himself pleasant to his neighbors; and she would ask very graciously after her brother-in-law, Sir Francis Challoner. 44 He is still in India, I suppose?" 4 'Oh, yes; he is still in India," Mrs. Challoner would reply, rather curtly. She had not the faintest interest in her husband's brother, whom she had never seen more than twice in her life, and who was understoodto.be small credit to his family. The NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS. 41 aforesaid Sir Francis Challoner had been the poor- est of English baronets. His property had dwindled down until it consisted simply of a half-ruined resi- dence in the north of England. In his young days Sir Francis had been a prodi- gal, and, liks the prodigal in the parable, he had betaken himself into far countries, not to waste his substance, for he had none, but if possible to glean some of the Eastern riches. Whether he had been successful or not, Mrs. Challoner hardly knew. That he had married and settled in Calcutta that he had a son named Harry who had once written to her in round-hand and sub- scribed himself as her affectionate nephew, Henry Ford Challoner this she knew; but what manner of person Lady Challoner might be, or what sort of home her brother-in-law had made for himself, those points were enveloped in mystery. * 4 I suppose she is so civil to me because of your uncle Francis," she used to say to her girls, which was attributing to Lady Fitzroy a degree of snob- biness that was quite undeserved. Lady Fitzroy really liked Mrs. Challoner, and found intercourse with her very pleasant and refreshing. When one is perfectly well-bred there is a subtile charm in harmony of voice and manner. Mrs. Challoner might have dressed in rags if she liked, and the young countess would still have aired her choicest smiles for her. It was lucky Nan had those few words from Dick, for they fell apart after this, and were separated the greater portion of the afternoon. Carriages began to drive in at the gates; groups of well-dressed people thronged the lawn, and were drafted off to the field where the band was playing. Nan and her sisters had their work cut out for them; they knew everybody, and they were free of the house. It was they who helped Dick arrange the tennis-matches, who pointed out to the young men of the party which was the tea-tent, and where 42 NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS, the ices and claret-cup were to be found. They marshaled the elder ladies into pleasant nooks, where they could be sheltered from the sun and see all that was going on. "No, thank you; I shall not play tennis this afternoon, there are too many of us, and I am so busy," Nan said, dismissing one after another who came up to her. "If you want a partner, there is Canie Paine, who is dying for a game. ' Dick, who was passing with Lady Fitzroy on his arm, whom he was hurrying somewhat unceremoni- ously across the field, threw Her a grateful glance as she went by. "What a sweet-looking girl that is!" said Lady Fitzroy, graciously, as she panted a little over her exertion. "Who? Nan? Yes; isn't she a brick? and the others, too?" for Phillis and Dulce were just as self- denying in their labo:s. As Mr. Mayne said after- ward, "They were just everywhere, those Challcn- ers, like a hive of swarming bees," which, as it was said in a grumbling tone, was ungrateful, to say the least of it Dick worked like a horse, too; he looked all the afternoon as tnough he had a tough job in hand that required the utmost gravity and dispatch. He was forever hurrying elderly ladies across the field toward the refreshment tent, where he deposited them, panting and heated, in all sorts of corners. "Are you quite comfortable? May I leave you now? or shall I wait and take you back again?" asked Dick, who was eager for a fresh convoy "No, no: I would rather stay here a little," returned Mrs. Paine, who was not desirous of another promenade with the hero of the day. "Go and fetch some one else, Dick; 1 am very well off where I am,' exchanging an amused glance with one of her friends, as Dick, hot and breathless, started off on another voyage of discovery. Dick's behavior had been simply perfect all the NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS, 43 afternoon in his father's eyes, but later on, when the band struck up a set of quadrilles, he committed his first solecism in manners; instead of asking Lady Fitzroy to dance with him, he hurried after Nan. "This is our dance; come along," he said, taking her unwilling hand; but she held back a moment. 44 Are you sure? Is there not some one else you ought to choose? Lady Fitzroy, for example?' 1 questioned Nan, with admirable forethought. 44 Bother Lady Fitzroy!" exclaimed Dick, under his breath; he had had quite enough of that lady. "Why are you holding back, Nan, in this fashion?" a cloud coming over his face. " Haven't you prom- ised weeks ago to give me the first dance?" And Nan, seeing the cloud on his face, yielded without another word. Dick always managed to have his own way somehow. 44 Dick, Dick!" cried his father in a voice of agony, as they passed him. 44 All in good time; coining presently," returned the scapegrace, cheerfully. "Now, Nan, this is our place. We will have Hamilton and Dulce for our vis-a-vis. What a jolly day! and isn't this first-rate?" exclaimed Dick, rubbing his hands, and feeling as though he were only just beginning to enjoy himself. Nan was not quite so easy in her mind. "Your father does not look very pleased. lam afraid, after all, you ought to have asked Lady Fitzroy," she said, in a low voice, but Dick turned a deaf ear. He showed her the rose in his button- hole, and when Nan told him it was withered, and wanted him to take it out, he gave her a reproachful look that made her blush. They were very happy after this; and, when the dance was over, Dick gave her his arm, and carried her off to see Vigo, who was howling a deep, mournful bass at the back of the gardener's cottage. Nan made friends with him, and stroked his black 44 NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS. curly head, and looked lovingly into his deep, melancholy eyes; and then, as her flowers were fading, they strolled off into the conservatory, where Dick gathered her a fresh bouquet and then sat down and watched her arrange it. 4 'What clever fingers you have got!" he said, looking at them admiringly, as Nan sorted the flowers in her lap; and at this unlucky moment they were discovered by Mr. Mayne, who was bringing Lady Fitzroy to see a favorite orchid. He shot an angry, suspicious glance at his son. "Dick, your mother is asking for you," he said, rather abruptly ; but Dick growled something in an undertone, and did not move. Nan gave him a frightened nudge. Why was he so imprudent? 44 1 cannot move, because of my flowers, do go, Dick. You must indeed, if your mother wants you;" and she looked at him in such a pleading way that Dick dared not refuse. It was just like his father to come and disturb his first happy moments and to order him off to go and do something disa- greeable. He had almost a mind to brave it out, and remain in spite of him ; but there was Nan look- ing at him in a frightened, imploring way. 4i Oh, do go, Dick," giving him a little impatient push in her agitation; * 4 if your mother wants you, you must not keep her waiting. " But Nan in her heart knew, as Dick did in his, that the message was only a subterfuge to separate them. CHAPTER V. "l AM QUITE SURE OF HIM." Nan would willingly have effected her escape, too, but she was detained by the flowers that Dick had tossed so lightly into her lap She was rather dismayed at her position, and her fingers trembled a little "over their work. There was a breath a NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS, 45 sudden entering current of antagonism and preju- dice that daunted her. Lady Fitzroy cast an admiring look at the girl as she sat there with glow- ing cheeks and downcast lids. "How pretty she is!" she said, in a low voice, as Mr. Mayne pointed out his favorite orchid. "She is like her mother, there is just the same quiet style, only I suspect Mrs. Challoner was even better look- ing in her time." "Humph! yes, I suppose so," returned her host, in a dissatisfied tone. He had not brought Lady Fitzroy there to talk of the Challoners, but to admire his orchids. Then he shot another glance at Nan between his half-closed eyes, and a little spice of malice flavored his next words. "Shall we sit here a moment? Let me see; you were asking me, Lady Fitzroy, about Dick's pros- pects. I was talking to his mother about them the other day. I said to her then Dick must settle in life well; he must marry money." "Indeed?" replied Lady Fitzroy, somewhat ab- sently; she even indulged in a slight yawn behind her fan. She liked Dick well enough, as every one else did, but she was not partial to his father. How tiresome it was of Fitzroy to insist so much on their neighborly duties! Mr. Mayne was not "one of them," as she would have phrased it; he did not speak their language or lead their life; their manners and customs, their lit tie tricks and turns of thought, were hieroglyphics to him. A man who had never had a grandfather at least a grandfather worth knowing whose father's hands had dabbled in trade actually tradesuch a one might be a very worthy man, an excellent citizen,., an exemplary husband and father,but it behooved a>: woman in her position not to descend too freely to", his level "Percival is such a sad Radical," she. wp&ld.say to herself; 4 he does not make ' 3tr5ciet distinction 46 NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS. between people. I should wish to be neighborly, but I can not bring myself to be familiar with these Maynes;" which was perhaps the reason why Lady Fitzroy was* not as popular at Longmead and in other places as her good natured husband. 4 *Oh, indeed!" she said, with difficulty repressing another slight yawn behind her fan, but speaking in a fatigued voice: but Mr. Mayne was too intent on his purpose to notice it. 44 If Dick had brothers and sisters it would not matter so much; but when one has only a single hope eh, Lady Fitzroy? things must be a little different then." 44 He will have plenty of choice," she returned, with an effort at graciousness. 44 Oldfield is rich in pretty girls" and she cast another approving glance at poor Nan; but Mr. Mayne interrupted her almost rudely. 44 Ah, as to that," he returned, with a sneer, 44 we want no such nonsense for Dick. Here are the facts of the case. Here is an honest, good-tempered young fellow, but with no particular push in him; he has money, you say yes, but not enough to give him the standing I want him to have. I am ambi- tious for Dick. I want him to settle in life well. Why, he might be called to the bar; he might enter Parliament; there is no limit to a man's career nowadays; I will do what I can for him, but he must meet me half-way." * 4 You mean," observed Lady Fizroy, with a little perplexity in her tone, * 4 that he must look out for an heiress." She was not in the secret, and could not understand why her host was treating her to this outburst of confidence. 44 It was so disagreeable to be mixed up with this sort of thing," as she told her husband afterward. I4 I never knew him quite so odious before; and there was that pretty Miss Challoner sitting near us, and he never let me ad- dress a word to her." began to feel sfce bad bad enough of it Sb* NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS, 47 started up hastily as Lady Fitzroy said the last words, but the entrance of some more young people compelled her to stand inside for a moment, and she heard Mr. Mayne's answer distinctly: "Well, not an heiress exactly; but the girl I have in view for him has a pretty little sum of money, and the connection is all that could be wished; she is nice looking, too, and is a bright, taking little body " But here Nan made such a resolute effort to pass, that the rest of the sentence was lost upon her. Dick, who was strolling up and down the lawn rather discontentedly, hurried up to her as she came out. "They are playing a waltz; come, Nan," he said, holding out his hand to her with his usual eager- ness ; but she shook her head. 44 1 can not dance; I am too tired: there are others you ought to ask. " She spoke a little ungraciously, and Dick's face wore a look of dismay as * he walked away from him with quick even footsteps. Tired! Nan tired! he had never heard of such a thing. What had put her out? The sweet bright- ness had died out of her eyes, and her cheeks were flaming. Should he follow her and have it out with her, there and then? But, as he hesitated, young Hamilton came over the grass and linked his arm in his. "Come and introduce me to that girl in blue gauze, or whatever you call that flimsy manufac- ture. Come along, there's a good fellow," he said coaxingly; and Dick's opportunity was lost. But he was wrong; tor once in her life Nan was tired; the poor girl felt a sudden quenching of her bright elasticity that amounted to absolute fatigue. She had spoken to Dick sharply; but that was to get rid of him and to recall him to a sense of Ins duty Not for worlds would she be seen dancing with him, or even talking to him, again! She sat down on a stump of a tree in the shrub- bery^ aud wondered wearily what bad taken it out 48 NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS. of her so much. And then she recalled, sentence by sentence, everything that had passed in the con- servatory. She had found out quite lately that Mr. Mayne did not approve of her intimacy with Dick. His manner had somewhat changed to her, and several times he had spoken to her in a carping, fault- finding way little cut-and-dried sentences of elderly wisdom that she had not understood at the time. She had not pleased him of late, somehow, and all her little efforts and overtures had been lost upon him. Nan had been quite aware of this, but r't had not troubled her much: it was away he had, and he meant nothing by it. Most men had humors that must be respected, and Dick's father had his. So she bore herself very sweetly towar'd him, treating his caustic remarks as jokes, and laughing pleas- antly at them, never taking his hints in earnest; he would know better some day, that was all; but she had no idea of any deeply laid plan against their happiness. She felt as though some one had struck her hard; she had received a blow that set all her nerves tingling. It was very funny, what he said; it was so droll that it almost made her laugh; and yet her eyes smarted, and her cheeks felt on fire. 44 'Dick must marry money.' Why must he? that was so droll. * Well, not an heiress exactly, but a pretty little sum of money, and a bright, taking little body. ' Who was this mysterious person whom he had in view, whose connection, were so desir- able, who was to be Dick's future wife? Dick's future wife!" repeated Nan, with an odd little quiver- of her lip. "And was it not droll, settling it all for him like that?" Nan fell into a brown study, and then woke up with a little gasp. It was all clear to her now, all those little cut-and-dried sentences all those veiled sneers and innuendoes. They were poor poor as church mice and Dick NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS. 19 must marry money. Mr. Mayne had laid his plans for his son, and was watching their growing inti- macy with disapproving eyes. Perhaps "the bright taking little body" might accompany them to Swit- zerland; perhaps among the mountains Dick would forget her, and lend a ready acquiescence to his father's plans. Who was she.'' Had Nan ever seen her? Could she be here this afternoon, this future rival and enemy of her peace? 44 Ah, what nonsense I am thinking!" she ex- claimed to herself, starting up with a little shame and impatience at her own thoughts. "What has all this got to do with me? Let them settle it be- tween them money-bags and all. Dick is Dick, and, after all, I am not afraid!" And Nan marched back to the company, with her head higher, and a great assumption of cheerfulness, and a little gnaw- ing feeling of discomfort at her heart, to which she would not have owned for worlds. Nan was the gayest of the day that evening, but she would not dance again with Dick; she sent the poor boy away from her with a decision and per- emptoriness that struck him with fresh dismay. "You are not tired now, Nan; you have been waltzing ever so long with Cathcart and Hamilton." **Never mind about me to-night ; you must go and ask Lady Fitzroy. No, I am not cross. Do you think I would be cross to you on your birthday? But all the same I will not have you neglect your duties. Go and ask her this moment, sir!" And Nan smiled in his face in the most bewitching way, and gave a little flutter to her fan. She accepted Mr. Hamilton's invitation to a waltz under Dick's very eyes, and whirled away on his arm, while Dick stood looking at her ruefully. Just at the very last moment Nan's heart re- lented. "Walk down to the gate with us," she whispered, as she passed him on her way to the cloak-room. Dick, who was by this time in a somewhat surly 00 NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS. humor, made no sort of response; nevertheless, Nan found him out on the gravel path waiting for them, in company with Cathcart and Hamilton. Nan shook off the latter rather cleverly, and took Dick's arm, in cheerful unconsciousness ot his ill humor. 44 It is so good of you to come with us. I wanted to get you a moment to myself, -to congratulate you on the success of the evening. It was admirably managed; every one says so: even Lady Fitzroy was pleased, and her ladyship is a trifle fastidious. Have the band in-doors, and set them to dancing that is what I said , and it has turned out a complete success," finished Nan, with a little gush of enthu- siasm; but she did not find Dick responsive. "Oh, bother the success and all that 1 " returned that very misguided young man; 44 it was the slowest affair to me, I assure you, and lam thankful it is over You have spoiled the evening to me. and that is what you have done," grumbled Dick, in his most ominous voice. 44 1 spoiled your evening, you ungrateful boy!" replied Nan, innocently; but she smiled to herself in the darkness, and the re proach was sweet to her. They had entered the garden of Glen Cottage by this time, and Dick was fiercely marching her down a side path that led to the kitchen. The hall door stood open. Cathcart and Hamilton were chatting with the girls in the porch, while Mrs. Challoner went inside. They peered curiously into the sum- rm r dusk, as Dick's impatient footsteps grated on the gravel path. "I spoiled your evening!" repeated Nan, lifting her bright eyes with the gleam of fun still in them. 4 *Yes," blurted out Dick. "Why have you kept me at such a distance all the evening? Why would you not dance with me? and you gave Hamilton three waltzes. It was not like you, Nan, to treat me so and on my birthday, too," went on the poor NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS. 51 fellow, with a pathos that brought another sort of gleam to Nan's eyes, only she still laughed. "Ah, you foolish boy!" she said, and gave his coat sleeve a coaxing little pat. "I would rather have danced with you than Mr Hamilton, though he does reverse beautifully, and I never knew any one who waltzed more perfectly." "Oh, I do not presume to rival Hamilton," began i-ick, hotly, but she silenced him. "Listen to me, you foolish Dick. I would have danced with you willingly, but I knew my duty bet- ter, or rather I knew yours. You were a public man to day; the eyes of the county were upon you. You had to pay court to the big ladies, and to take no notice of p >or liitle me I sent you away for your own good, and because I valued )our duty above my pleasure," continued this heroic >oung person in a perfectly satisfied tone. "And you wanted to dance with me, Nan, and not witli that goose of a Hamilton? ' in a wheedling voice. 14 Yes, Dick; but he is not a goose for all that: he is more of a swan in my opinion." **He is a conceited ass," was the very unexpected reply, which was a little hard on Dick's chum, who was in maiiy ways a most estimable young man and vastly his superior "Why are you laughing, when you know I hate prigs? and Hamilton is about the biggest I ever knew." But this did not mend matters, and Nan's laugh still rang merrily in the darkness. 4 'What are these two doing?" asked Phillis, try- ing to peep between the lilac bushes, but failing to discover more than the white glimmer of Nan's shawl. Nan's laugh, though it was full of sweet triumph, only irritated Dick; the lord of the evening was still too sore and humiliated by all these rebuffs and repulses to take the fun in good part "What is it that amuses you so?" he asked, rather 52 NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS. crossly. "That is the worst of you girls; you are always so ready to make merry at a fellow's ex- pense. You are taking Hamilton's part against me, Nan I, who am your oldest friend, who have always been faithful to you ever since you were a child/' continued the young man, with a growing sense of aggravation. 44 Oh, Dick!" and Nan's voice faltered a little, she was rather touched at this. Dick took instant note of the change of key, and went on in the same injured voice: "Why should I look after all the big people and take no notice of you? Have I not made it my first duty to look after you as long as I can remember? Though the whole world were about us, would you not be the first and the principal to me?" "Don't Dick," she said, faintly, trying to repress him; "you must not talk in that way, and I must not listen to you, your father would not like it." The words were sweet to her precious beyond everything but she must not have him speak them. But Dick, in his angry excitement, was not to be repressed. "What does it matter what he likes? This is be- tween you and me, Nan; no one shall meddle be- tween us two. " But what imprudent speech Dick was about to add was suddenly quenched in light pealing laughter. At this critical moment they were met and surrounded ; before them was the red glow of Cathcart's cigar, the whiteness of Phillis's gown; behind were two more advancing figures. In another second the young people had joined hands: a dusky ring formed round the startled pair. "Fairly caught!" cried Dulce's sunshiny voice; the mischievous little monkey had no idea of the sport she was spoiling None of the young people thought of anything but fun; Dick was just Diet, hte 4nd Nan were always together. NOT LIKE OTHER G1RXS. 53 Dick muttered something inaudible under his breath; but Nan was quite equal to the occasion; she was still palpitating a little with the pleasure Dick's words had given her, but she confronted her tormentors boldly. "You absurd creatures," she said, "to steal a march on us like that! Dick and I were having a quarrel; we were fighting so hard that we did nut hear you." "I enjoy a good fight above everything," ex- claimed Cathcart, throwing away his cigar. He was a handsome dark-eyed boy, with no special in- dividuality, except an overweening sense of fun. "What's the odds, Mayne? and who is likely to be the winner?" "Oh, Nan, of course," returned Dick, trying to recover himself. "I am the captive of her spear and of her bow; she is in possession of everything, myself included." The rest laughed at Dick's jest, as they thought it; and Mr. Hamilton said, "Bravo, Miss Challoner! we will help to drag him at your chariot wheels. " But Nan changed color in the darkness. They went in after this, and the young men took their leave in the porch. Dick's strong grip of the hand conveyed his meaning fully to Nan. "Re- member, I meant it all," it seemed to say to her. "What did it matter? I am quite sure of him. Dick is Dick," thought Nan, as she laid her head happily on the pillow. As for Dick, he had a long ordeal before him ere he could make his escape to the smoking-room, where his friends awaited him. Mr Mayne had a grt-at deal to say to him about the day, and Dick had to listen and try to look interested. "I am sure Dick behaved beautifully, observed Mrs. Mayne, when her son and heir had at last lounged off to his companions. "Well, yes; he did very well on the whole," wag the grudging response; '"but I must say those *4 NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS. Challoner girls made themselves far too conspicuous for my taste;" but to this his wife prudently made no reply. CHAPTER VI. MR. TRINDER'S VISIT. The next few days passed far too quickly for Nan's pleasure, and Dick's last morning arrived, The very next day the Maynes were to start foi Switzerland, and Longmead was to stand empty for the remainder of the summer. It was a dreary prospect for Nan, and in spite of her high spirits her courage grew somewhat low. Six months! who could know what might happen before they met again? Nan was not the least bit superstitious, neither was it her wont to indulge in useless specu- lations or forebodings: but she could not shake off this morning a strange uncanny feeling that haunted her in spite of herself a presentment that things were not going to be just as she would have them that Dick and she would not meet again in exactly the same manner. "How silly I am!" she thought, for the twentieth time, as she brushed out her glossy brown hair and arranged it in her usual simple fashion. Nan and her sisters were a little behind the times in some ways; they had never thought fit to cur) their hair en garcon. or to mount a pyramid of tan- gled curls in imitation of a poodle; no pruriing-scis- sors had touched the light-springing locks that grew so prettily about their temples; in this, as in much else, they were unlike other girls, for they dared to put individuality before fashion, and good taste and a sense of beauty against the specious arguments of the multitude. "How silly I am!" again repeated Nan. "What can happen, what should happen, except that I shall have a dull summer, and shall be very glad when NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS. 65 Christmas and Dick come together;" and then she shook her little basket of housekeeping keys until they jingled merrily, and ran down-stairs with a countenance she meant to keep bright for the rest of the day. They were to play tennis at the Paines' that after- noon, and afterward the three girls were to dine at Longmead. Mrs. Challoner had been invited also; but she had made some excuse, and pleaded for a quiet evening. She was never very ready to accept these invitations; there was nothing in common be- tween her and Mrs. Mayne; and in her h^art she agreed with Lady Fitzroy in thinking the master of Longmead odious. It was Mr. Mayne who had tendered this parting hospitality to his neighbors, and he chose to be much offended at Mrs. Challoners refusal. "I think it is very unfriendly of your mother, when we are such old neighbors, and on our last evening, too," he said to Nan, as she entered the drawing-room that evening, bringing her mother's excuses wrapped up in the prettiest words she could find. "Mother is not quite well; she does not feel up to the exertion of dining out to-night," returned Nan, trying to put a good face on it, but feeling as though things were too much for her this evening. It was bad enough for Mr. Mayne to insist on them all coming up to a long formal dinner, and spoiling their chances of a twilight stroll; but it was still worse for her mother to abandon them after this fashion. The new novel must have had something to do with this sudden indisposition; but when Mrs. Chal- loner had wrapped herself up in her white shawl, always a bad sign with her, and had declared herself unfit for any exertion, what could a dutiful daughter do but deliver her excuses as gracefully as she could? Nevertheless, Mr. Mayne frowned and expressed himself ill pleased. 56 NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS, "I should have thought an effort could have been made on such an occasion," was his final thrust, as he gave his arm ungraciously to Nan, and con- ducted her with ominous solemnity to the table. It was not a festive meal, in spite of all Mrs. Mayne's efforts. Dick looked glum. He was sep- arated from Nan by a vast silver epergne, that fully screened her from view. Another time she would have peeped merrily at him and given him a sprightly nod or two; but how was she to do it when Mr Mayne never relaxed his gloomy muscles, and when he insisted on keeping up a ceremonious flow of conversation with her on the subjects of the day? When Dick tried to strike into their talk, he got so visibly snubbed that he was obliged to take refuge with Phillis. "You young fellows never know what you are talking about," observed Mr. Mayne, sharply, when Dick had hazarded a remark about the premier's policy; "you are a Radical one day and a Conserva- tive another. That comes of your debating soci- eties You take contrary sides, and mix up a balderdash of ideas, until you don't know whether you are standing on your head or your heels;" and it was after this that Dick found his refuge with Phillis. It was a little better when they were all in the drawing-room together. If Mr. Mayne had invited them there for the purpose of keeping them all under his own eyes and making them uncomfortable, he could not have managed better. When Dick suggested a stroll in the garden he said: "Pshaw! what nonsense proposing such a thing, when the dews are heavy and the girls will catch their deaths of cold!" "We do it every evening of our lives," observed Nan, hardily; but even she dared not persevere in the face of this protest, though she exchanged a rebellious look with Dick that did him good and put him in a better humor. JSTOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS. 57 They found their way into the conservatory after that, but were hunted out on pretence of having a little music; at least Nan would have it that it was pretence. 4 'Your father does not care much for music, I know," she whispered, as she placed herself at the grand piano, while Dick leaned against it and watched her. It was naughty of Nan, but there was no denying that she found Mr. Mayne more aggravating than usual this evening. "Come, come, Miss Nancy!" he called out he always called her that when he wished to annoy her, for Nan had a special dislike to her quaint, old-fashioned name; it had been her mother's and grandmother's name; in every generation there had been a Nancy Challoner "come, come. Miss Nancy! we can not have you playing at hide-and- seek in this fashion. We want some music. Give us something rousing, to keep us all awake. " And Nan had reluctantly placed herself at the piano. She did her little best according to orders, for she dared not offend Dick's father. None of the Challo- ners were accomplished girls. Dulce sung a little, and so did Nan, but Phyllis could not play the simplest piece without bungling; and her uncertain little warblings, which were sweet but hardly true, were reserved for church. . Dulce sung very prettily, but she could only manage her own accompaniments or a sprightly waltz. Nan, who did most of the execution of the family, was a very fair performer from a young lady's point of view, and that is not saying much. She always had her piece ready if people wanted her to play. She sat down without nervousness and rose without haste. She had a choice little repertory of old songs and ballads, that she could produce without hesitation from memory "My mother bids me bind my hair," or "Did your faith- ful Ariel fly," and such-tike songs, in which there is more melody than in a hundred new mes, and 58 NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS. which she sung in a simple, artless fashion that pleased the elder people greatly. Dulce could do more than this, but her voict had never been prop- erly tutored, and she sung her bird-music in bird- fashion, rather wildly and shrilly, with small respect to rule and art, nevertheless making a pleading noise, as a young foreigner once told her. When Nan had exhausted her little stock, Mr. Mayne peremptorily invited them to a round game; and the rest of the evening was spent in trying to master the mysteries of a new game, over the in- volved rules of which Mr. Mayne, as usual, wrangled fiercely with everybody, while Dick shrugged his shoulders and shuffled his cards with such evident ill- humor that Nan hurried her sisters away half an hour before the usual time, in terror ot an out- break. It was an utterly disappointing evening; and, to make matters worse, Mr. Mayne actually lighted his cigar and strolled down the garden paths, keep- ing quite close to Nan, and showing such obvious intention of accompanying them to the very gate of the cottage that there could be no thought of any sweet lingering in the dusk "I will be even with him," growled Dick, who was in a state of suppressed irritation under this* unexpected surveillance; and in the darkest part of the road he twitched Nan's sleeve to attract her attention, and whispered, in so low a voice that his father could not hear him, "This is not good-bye F will be round at the cottage to-morrow morning;" and Nan nodded hurriedly, and tlv n turned her head to answer Mr. Mayne's last qu si ion If Dick had put all his feelings in his hand-shake, it could not have spoken to Nan more eloquently of the young man's wrath and chagrin and con- cealed tenderness. Nan shot him one of her swift, straightforward looks in answer. "Never mind," it seemed to say; "we shall have NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS. 69 to-morrow;" and then she bade them cheerfully good- night. Dorothy met her in the hall, and put down her chambei candle stick. "Has the mother gone to bed yet, Dorothy?" questioned the young mistress, speaking still with that enforced cheerfulness. "No, Miss Nan; she is still there/' jerking her head in the direction of the drawing-room. "Mr. Trindler called, and was with her a long time I thought she seemed a bit poorly when I took in the lamp." "Mamsie is never fit for anything when that old ogre has been," broke in Dulce, impatiently. "He always comes and tells her some nightmare tale or other to prevent her sleeping. Now we shall not have the new gowns we set our hearts on, Nan." "Oh, never mind the gowns," returned Nan, rather wearily. What did it matter if they had to wear their old ones when Dick would not be there to see them? And Dorothy, who was contemplating her favorite nursling with the privileged tenderness of an old servant, chimed in with the utmost cheerfulness: "It does not matter what she wears; does it, Miss Nan? She looks just as nice in an old gown as a new one; that is what I say of all my young ladies; dress does not matter a bit to them." "How long are you all going to stand chattering with Dorothy?' 5 interrupted Phyllis, in her clear decided voice. "Mother will wonder what con- spiracy we are hatching, and why we leave her so long alone." And then Dorothy took up her candle-stick, grumbling a little, as she often did ? over Miss Phillis's masterful ways, and the girls went laughingly into their mother's presence. Though it was summer time, Mrs. Challoner's 3asy-ch;iir was drawn up in front of the rug, and she sat wrapped in her white shawl, with her eyes fixed on the pretty painted fire screen that hid the 60 NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS. blackness of the coals. She did not turn her head or move as hei daughters entered; indeed, so motionless was her attitude that Duice thought she was asleep, and went on tiptoe round her chair to steal a kiss. But Nan, who had caught sight of her mother's face, put her quickly aside. "Don't, Dulce: mother is not well. What is the matter, mammie darling? 1 ' kneeling down and bringing her bright face on a level with her mother's. She would have taken her into her vigorous young arms, but Mrs. Calloner almost pushed her away. 4 * Hush, children! Do be quiet, Nan; I can not talk to you. I can not answer questions to-night." And then she shivered, and drew her shawl closer round her, and put away Nan's caressing hands, and looked at them all with a face that seemed to have grown pinched and old all at once, and eyes full of misery. " Mammie, you must speak to us," returned Nan, not a whit daunted by this rebuff, but horribly frightened all the time. "Of course, Dorothy told us that Mr. Trinder has been here, and of course we know that it is some trouble about money." Then, at the mention of Mr. Trinder's name, Mrs. Challoner shivered again. Nan waited a moment for an answer; but, as none came, she went on in a coaxing voice: "Don't be afraid to tell us, mother darling; we can all bear a little trouble, I hope. We have had such happy lives, and we can not go on being happy always," continued the girl, with the painful con- viction coming suddenly into her mind that the brightness of these days was over. "Money is very nice, and one can not do without it, I suppose; but as long as we are together, and love each other " Then Mrs. Challoner fixed her heavy eyes on her daughter, and took up the unfinished sentence: "Ah, if we could only be together if I were not to be separated from my children ! it is that that NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS. 61 is crushing me!" and then she pressed her dry lips together, and folded her hands with a gesture of despair; "but I know that it must be, for Mr. Trinder has told me everything. It is no use shut- ting our eyes and struggling on any longer; for we are ruined ruined!" her voice sinking into indis- tinctness. Nan grew a little pale. If they were ruined, how would it be with her and Dick? And then she thought of Mr. Mayne, and her heart felt faint within her. Nan, who had Dick added to her per- plexnies, was hardly equal to the emergency; but it was Phillis who^ took the domestic helm as it fell from her sister's hand. "If we be ruined, mother," she said, briskly, "it is not half so bad as having you ill. Nan, why don't you rub her hands? she is shivering with cold, or with bad news, or something. I mean to set Dorothy at defiance, and to light a nice little fire, in spite of the clean muslin curtains. When one is ill or unhappy, there is nothing so soothing as a fire," continued Phillis, as she removed the screen and kindled the dry wood, not heeding Mrs. Chal loner's feeble remonstrances. "Don't, Phillis: we shall not be able to afford fires now;" and then she became a little hysterical. But Phillis persisted, and the red glow was soon coaxed into a cheerful blaze. "That looks more comfortable. I feel chilly my- self; these summer nights are sometimes deceptive. I wonder what Dorothy will say to us; I mean to ask her to make us all some tea. No, mammie, you are not to interfere; it will do you good, and we don't mean to have you ill if we can help it." And then she looked meaningly at Nan, and with- drew. There was no boiling water, of course, and the kitchen fire was raked out; and Dorothy was sit- ting in solitary state, looking very grim. "It is time for folks to be in their beds, Miss 62 NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS. Phillis, " she said, very crossly. <4 I don't hold with tea myself so late: it excites people, and keeps them 'awake. " 44 Mother is not just the thing, and a cup of tea will do her good. Don't let us keep you up, Doro- thy," replied Phyllis, blandly. 44 I have lighted the drawing-room fire, and I can boil the kettle in there. If mother has got a chill, I would not answer for the consequences." Dorothy grew huffy at the mention of the fire, and would not aid or abet her young lady's "fad," as she called it. 44 If you don't want me, I think I will go to bed, Miss Phillis. Susan went off a long time ago." And, as Phillis cheerfully acquiesced in this arrangement, Dorothy decamped with a frown on her brow, and left Phillis mistress of the situation. 4 'There, now, I have got rid of the cross old thing," she observed, in a tone of relief, as she filled the kettle ana arranged the little tea-tray. She carried them both into the room, poising the tray skillfully in her hand. Nan looked up in a relieved way as she entered. Mrs. Challoner was stretching out her chilled hands to the blaze. Her face had lost its pinched unnatural expression; it \vas as though the presence of her girls fenced her in security, and her misfortune grew more shadowy and faded into the background. She drank the tea when it was given to her, and even begged Nan to follow her example. Nan took a little to please her, though she hardly believed its solace would be great; but Phillis and Dulce drank theirs in a busi- ness-like way, as though they needed support and were not ashamed to own it. It was Nan who put down her cup first and leaned her cheek against her mother's hand. 44 Now, mother dear, we want to hear all about it. Does Mr. Trinder say we are really so dreadfully poor?" *'We have been getting poorer for a long time," NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS. 63 returned her mother, mournfully; "but if we only had a little left us I would not complain. You see, your father would persist in these investments in spite of all Mr. Trinder could say, and now his words have come true." But this vague statement did not satisfy Nan; and patiently, and with diffi- culty, she drew from her mother all that the lawyer had told her. Mr Challoner had been called to the bar in early life, but his career had hardly been a successful one. He had held few briefs, and, though he worked hard, and had good capabilities, he had never achieved fortune; and as he lived up to his income, and was rather fond of the good things of this life, he got through most of his wife's money, and, contrary to the advice of older and wiser heads, invested the remainder in the business of a con- nection who only wanted capital to make his for- tune, and Mr. Challoner's too. It was a grievous error; and yet, if Mr. Challoner had lived, those few thousands would hardly have been so sorely missed. He was young in his profession, and if he had been spared, success would have come to him as to other men; but he was cutoff unexpectedly m the prime of life, and Mrs. Challoner gave up her large house at Kensington, and settled at Glen Cottage with her three daughters, understanding that life was changed for her, and that they should have to be content with small means and few wanes. Hitherto they had had sufficient; but of late years there had been dark whispers concerning that invested money; things were not quite square and above board; the integrity of the firm was doubted. Mr. Trinder, almost with tears in his eyes, begged Mrs, Challoner to be prudent and spend less. The crash which he had foreseen, and had vainly tried to avert, had come to night. Gardiner & Fowler were bankrupt, and their greatest creditor, Challoner, was ruined. 64 NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS. "We can not get our money. Mr. Trinder says we never shall. They have been paying their div- idends correctly, keeping it up as a sort of blind, he says; but all the capital is eaten away. George Gardiner, too, your father's cousin, the man he trusted above every one he to defraud the widow and the fatherless, to take our money my children's only portion and to leave > us beggared." And Mrs. Challoner, made tragical by this great blow, clasped her hands and looked at her girls with two large tears rolling down her face. 4 'Mother, are you sure? is it quite as bad as that?" asked Nan, and then she kissed away the tears, and said something rather brokenly about having faith, and trying not to lose courage; then her voice failed her, and they all sat quiet together. CHAPTER VII. PHILLIS'S CATECHISM. A veil of silence fell over the little party. After the first few moments of dismay, conjecture, and exclamation, there did not seem to be much that any one could say. Each girl was busy with her own thoughts and private interpretation ot a most sorrowful enigma. What were they to do? How were they to live without separation, and with- out taking a solitary plunge into an unknown and most terrifying world? Nan's frame of mind was slightly monotonous. What would Dick say, and how would this affect certain vague hopes she had lately cherished? Then she thought of Mr. Mayne, and shivered, and a sense of coldness and remote fears stole over her. One could hardly blame her for this sweet dual selfishness that was not selfishness. She was think- ing less of herself than of a certain vigorous young life that was becoming strongly intwined with hers. NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS. 65 It was all very well to say that Dick was Dick; but what could the most obstinate will of even that most obstinate young man avail against such a mis- erable combination of adverse influences "when the stars in their courses fought against Sisera?" And at this juncture of her thoughts she could feel Phillis's hand folding softly over hers with a most sisterly pressure full of understanding and sym- pathy. Phillis had no Dick to stand sentinel over her private thoughts; she was free to be alert and vigilant for others. Nevertheless, her forehead was puckered up with hard thinking, and her silence was so very expressive that Dulce sat and looked at her with grave, unsmiling eyes, the innocent child-like look in them growing very pathetic at the speechlessness that had overtaken them. As for Mrs. Challoner, she still moaned feebly from time to time, as she stretched her numb hands toward the comforting warmth. They were fine delicate hands, with the polished look of old ivory, and there were diamond rings on them that twinkled and shone as she moved them in her restlessness. "They shall all go; I will keep nothing/' she said, regarding them plaintively; for they were heir-looms, and highly valued as relics of a "wealthy past. " "It is not this sort of thing that I mind. I would live on a crust thankfully, if I could only keep my children with me." And she looked round at the blooming faces of her girls with eyes brim- ming over with maternal fondness. Poor Dulce's lips quivered, and she made a hor- rified gesture. "Oh, mainsie, don't talk so! I never could bear crusts, unless they were well buttered. I like every- thing to be nice, and to have plenty of it plenty of sunshine, and fun, and holiday-making, and friends; and and now you are talking as though we must starve, and never have anything to wear, and go nowhere, and be miserable forever." And here Dulce broke into actual sobs; for was she not 5 Other Girls 66 NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS. the petted darling? and had she not had a life sc, gilded by sunshine that she had never seen the dark edges of a single cloud? So that even Nan forgot Dick for a moment, and looked at her young sister pityingly; but Phillis interposed with bracing severity: "Don't talk such nonsense, Dulce. Of course we must eat to live, and of course we must have clothes to wear. Aren't Nan and I thinking our- selves into headaches by trying to contrive how even the crusts you so despise are to be bought?" which was hardly true as far as Nan was concerned for she blushed guiltily over this telling point in Phillis's eloquence. "It only upsets mother to talk like this." And then she touched the coals skil- fully, till they spluttered and blazed into fury. "There is the Friary, you know," she continued, looking calmly round on them, as though she felt herself full of resources. "If Dulce chooses to make herself miserable about the crusts, we have, at least, a roof to shelter us." "I forgot the Friary/' murmured Nan, looking at her sister with admiration; and, though Mrs. Challoner said nothing, she started a little as though she had forgotten it too. But Dulce was not to be comforted. "That horrid, dismal, poky old cottage!" she returned, with a shrill rendering of each adjective. "You would have us go and live in 'that damp, musty, fusty place?" Phillis gave a succession of quick little nods. "I don't think it particularly dismal, or Nan either, " she returned, in her brisk way. Phillis always answered for Nan, and was never contra- licted. "It is not dear Glen Cottage, of course, but we could not begin munching our crusts here," she continued, with a certain grim humor. Things were apparently at their worst; but at least she Phillis the clever one, as she had heard herself called, would do her best to keep the heads of the NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS. 67 little family above water. "It is a nice little place enough, if we were only humble enough to see it; and it is not damp, and it it our own," running up the advantages as well as she could. 44 The Friary!" commented her mother, in some surprise; "to think of that queer old cottage coming into your head! And it so seldom lets. And peo- ple say it is dear at forty pounds a year ; and it is so dull that they do not care to stay. ' y 4 'Never mind all that, mammy, " returned Phillis, with a grave, business-like face. "A cottage, rent free, that will hold us, is not to be despised; and Hadleigh is a nice place, and the sea always suits you. There is the house, and the furniture that belongs to us; and we have plenty of clothes for the present. How much did Mr. Trinder think we should have in hand?" Then her mother told her, but still mournfully, that they might possibly have about a hundred pounds. * 4 But there are my rings and that piece ot point-lace that Lady Fitzroy admired so " but Phillis waved away that proposition with an impa- tient frown. 44 There is plenty of time for that when we have got through all the money. Not that a hundred pounds would last long, with moving, and paying off the servants, and all that sort of thing. ' ' Then Nan, who had worn all along an expression of admiring confidence in Phillis's resources, orig- inated an idea of her own. 4 'The mother might write to uncle Francis, per- haps;" but at this proposition Mrs. Challoner sat upright and looked almost offended. **My dear Nan, what a preposterous idea! Your uncle Francis!" 44 Well, mammy, he is our uncle; and I am sure he would be sorry if his only brother's children were to starve. ' ' 44 You are too young to know any better, " returned Mrs, Challoner, relapsing into alarmed feebleness: 68 NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS. "you are not able to judge. But I never liked my brother-in-law never; he was not a good man. He was not a person whom one could trust," con- tinued the poor lady, trying to soften down certain facts to her innocent young daughters. Sir Francis Challoner had been a black sheep a very black sheep indeed; one who had dyed him- self certainly to a most sable hue; and though, for such prodigals, there may be a late repentance and much killing of fatted calves, still Mrs. Challoner was right in refusing to intrust herself and her children to the uncertain mercies of such a sinner. Now, Nan knew nothing about the sin; but she did think that an uncle who was a baronet threw a certain reflected glory or brightness over them. Sir Francis might be that very suspicious character, a black sheep; he might be landless, with the exception of that ruined tenement in the north; nevertheless, Nan loved to know that he was of their kith and kin. It seemed to settle their claims to respectability, and held Mr. Mayne in some degree of awe ; and he knew that his own progen- itors had not the faintest trace of blue blood, and numbered more aldermen than baronets. It would have surprised and grieved Nan, espe- cially just now, if she had known that no such glory remained to her that Sir Francis Challoner had long filled the cup of his iniquities, and lay in his wife's tomb in some distant cemetery, leaving a certain red-headed Sir Harry to reign in his stead. *'I don't think we had better talk any more/' observed Phillis, somewhat brusquely; and then she exchanged meaning looks with Nan. The t\vo girls were somewhat dismayed at their mother's wan looks: her feebleness and uncertainty of speech, the very vagueness of her lamentations, filled them with sad forebodings for the future. How were they to leave her, when they commenced that little fight with the world? She had leaned on NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS. 69 them so long that her helplessness had become a matter of habit. Nan understood her sister's warning glance, and she made no further allusion to Sir Francis; she only rose with assumed briskness, and took her mother in charge. 44 Now lam going to help you to bed, mammy darling," said she, cheerfully. * 4 Phillis is quite right; we will not talk any more to-night; we shall want all our strength for to-morrow. We will just say our prayers, and try to go to sleep, and hope that things may turn out better than we expect." And, as Mrs. Challoner was too utterly spent to resist this wise counsel, Nan achieved her pious mis- sion with some success. She sat down by the bed- side and leaned her head against her mother's pil- low, and soon had the satisfaction of hearing the even breathing that proved that the sleeper had forgotten her troubles for a little while. 4 'Poor dear mother! how exhausted she must have been!" thought Nan, as she closed the door softly. She was far too anxious and wide awake herself to dream of retiring to rest. She was some- what surprised to find her sisters' room dark and empty as she passed. They must be still down- stairs, talking over things in the fire-light; they were as little inclined for sleep as she was. Phillis's carefully decocted tea must have stimulated them to wakefulness. The room was still bright with fire-light. Dulce was curled up in her mother's chair, and had evi- dently been indulging in what she called 44 a good cry." Phillis, somber and thoughtful, was pacing the room, with her hands clasped behind her head a favorite attitude of hers when she was in any perplexity. She stopped short as Nan regarded her with some astonishment from the threshold. "Oh, come in, Nan; it will be such a relief to talk to a sensible person. Dulce is so silly, she does nothing but cry." 70 NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS. * 4 I can't help it," returned Dulce, with another sob; "everything is so horrible, and Phillis will say such dreadful things." 44 Poor little soul," said Nan, in a sympathetic voice, sitting down on the arm of the chair and stroking Dulce's hair; "it is very hard for her and for us all," with a pent-up sigh. "Of course it is hard," retorted Phillis, confront- ing them rather impatiently from the hearth-rug; "it is bitterly hard. But it is not worse for Dulce than for the rest of us. Crying will not mend matters, and it is a sheer waste of tears. As I tell her, what we have to do now is to make the best of things, and see what is to be done under the circumstances." "Yes, indeed," repeated Nan, meekly; but she put her arm round Dulce, and drew her head against her shoulder. The action comforted Dulce, and her tears soon ceased to flow. "I am thinking about mother," went on Phillis, pondering her words slowly as she spoke; "she does look so ill and weak. I do not see how we are to leave her." Mrs. Challoner's moral helplessness and dread of responsibility were so sacred in her daughters' eyes that they rarely alluded to them except in this vague fashion. For years they had shielded and petted her, and given way to her little fads and fancies, until she had developed into a sort of gentle hypochondriac. "Mother can not bear this; we always keep these little worries from her," Nan had been accustomed to say; and the others had followed her example. The unspoken thought lay heavy upon them now. How were they to prevent the rough winds of ad- versity from blowing too roughly upon their cher- ished charge? The roof, and perhaps the crust, might be theirs; but how were they to contrive that she should not miss ner little comforts? They would gladly work; but how, and after what fashion? NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS. 71 Phillis was the first to plunge into the unwel- come topic, for Nan felt almost as helpless and be- wildered as Dulce. "We must go into the thing thoroughly," began Phillis, drawing a chair opposite to her sisters. She was very pale, but her eyes had a certain bright- ness of determination. She looked too young for that quiet care-worn look that had come so suddenly to her; but one felt she could be equal to any emer- gency. "We are down-hearted, of course; but we have plenty of time for all that sort of thing. The question is, how are we to live?" "Just so, " observed Nan, rather dubiously; and Dulce gave a little gasp. "There is the Friary standing empty; and there is the furniture and there will be about fifty pounds perhaps less, when everything is settled. And we have clothes enough to last some time, and " here Dulce put her hands together pleadingly, but Phil lis looked at her severely, and went on: "Forty or fifty pounds will soon be spent, and then we shall be absolutely penniless; we have no one to help us. Mother will not hear of writing to Uncle Francis ; we must work ourselves, or starve." "Couldn't we let lodgings?" hazarded Dulce, with quivering voice ; but Phillis smiled grimly. "Let lodgings at the Friary! why, it is only big enough to hold us. We might get a -larger house in Hadleigh; but no, it would be ruinous to fail, and perhaps we should not make it answer. I can not fancy mother living in the basement story; she would make herself wretched over it We are too young. I don't think that would answer, Nan; do you?" Nan replied faintly that she did not think it would. The mere proposition took her breath away. What would Mr, Mayne say to that? Then she plucked up spirit and went into the question vigorously. There were too many lodging-houses in Hadleigh 72 NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS. now, it would be a hazardous speculation, and one likely to fail; they had not sufficient furniture for such a purpose, and they dare not use up their little capital too quickly. They were too young, too, to carry out such a thing. Nan did not add "and too pretty," though she colored and hesitated here. Their mother could not help them; she was not strong enough for house-work or cooking. She thought that plan must be given up. "We might be daily governesses, and live at home/' suggested Dulce, who found a sort of relief in throwing out feelers in every direction. Nan brightened up visibly at this, but Phillis's moody brow did not relax for a moment. "That would be nice," acquiesced Nan, "and then mother would not find the day so long if we came home in the evening; and she could busy herself about the house, and we could leave her little things to do, and she would not find the hours so heavy. I like that idea of yours, Dulce; and we are all so fond of children. " "The idea is as nice as possible," replied Phillis, with an ominous stress on the noun, "if we could only make it practicable/' "Phil is going to find fault," pouted Dulce, who knew every inflection of Phillis's voice. "Oh, dear, no, nothing of the kind! "she retorted, briskly. "Nan is quite right; we all dote on chil- dren. I should dearly like to be a governess myself; it would be more play than work ; but I am only wondering who would engage us." "Who? oh, anybody!" returned Nan, feeling puzzled by the smothered satire of Phillis's speech "Of course we are not certificated, and 1 for one could only teach young children; but " here Phil- lis interrupted her. "Don't think me horrid if I ask you and Dulce some questions, but do do answer me just as though I were going through the catechism; we are only girls, but we must sift the whole thing NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS, 18 thoroughly. Are we fit for governesses? what can you and I and Dulce teach?" 41 Oh, anything!" returned Nan, still more vaguely. "My dear Nanny, anything won't do. Come, I am really in earnest; I mean to catechise you both thorc ughly. " "Very well," returned Nan, in a resigned voice; but Dulce looked a little frightened. As for Phillis, she sat erect, with her finger pointed at them in a severely ominous fashion. "How about history, Nan? I thought you could never remember dates; you used to jumble facts in the most marvelous manner. I remember you insist- ing that Anne of Cleves was Louis XII. 's second wife; and you shocked Miss Martin dreadfully by declaring that one of Marlborough's victories was fought at Cressy." "I never could remember historical facts," re- turned Nan, humbly. "Dulce always did better than I; and so did you, Phillis. When I teach the children I can have the book before me." But Phillis only shook her head at this, and went on. "Dulce was a shade better, but I don't believe she could tell me the names of the English sover- eigns in proper sequence:" but Dulce disdained to answer. "You were better at arithmetic, Nan. Dulce never got through her rule of three; but you were not very advanced even at that. You write a pretty hand, and you used to talk French, very flu- ently." "Oh, I've forgotten my French!" exclaimed Nan, in a panic-stricken voice. "Dulce, don't you re- member we quite settled to talk in French over our work three times a week, and we have always for- gotten it; and we were reading Madame de Sev- igne's Letters' together, and I found the book the other day quite covered with dust " "I hate French," returnee? Dulce, rebelliously. 74 NOT LIKE 6f HER GIRLS. "I began German with Philiis and like it much bet- ter." "True, but we are only beginners, "returned the remorseless Philiis; "it was very nice, of course, and the 'Taugenichts' was delicious, but think how many words in every sentence you had to hunt out in the dictionary I am glad you feel so competent, Dulce; but I could not teach German myself, or French either. I don't remember enough of the grammar; and 1 do not believe Nan does either, though she used to chatter so to Miss Martin." "Did I not say she would pick our idea to pieces? returned Dulce, with tears in her eyes. "My dear little sister, don't look so dreadfully pathetic. I am quite as disheartened and disap- pointed as you are. Nan says she has forgotten her French, and she will have to teach history with an open book before her; we none of us draw no, Dulce, please let me finish our scanty stock of ac- complishments. I only know my notes for no one cares to hear me lumber through my pieces and I sing at church. You have the sweetest voice, Dulce, but it is not trained ; and I can not compliment you on your playing. Nan sings and plays very nicely, and it is a pleasure to listen to her; but I am afraid she knows little about the theory of music, har- mony, and thorough bass; you never did know anything in that way, did you, Nan?" Nan shook her heads adly. She was too dis- comfited for speech. Philiis looked at them both thoughtfully; her trouble was very real, but she could not help a triumphant inflection in her voice. "Dear Nan, please do not look so unhappy. Dulce, you shall not begin to cry again. Don't you remember what mother was reading to us the other day about the country being flooded with incompe- tent governesses half educated girls turned loose on the world to earn their living? I can remember one sentence of that writer, word for word: 'The standard of education is so high at the present day, NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS. 75 and the number of certificated reliable teachers so much increased, that we can afford to discourage the crude efforts to teach, or un-teach our chil- dren. 1 And then he goes on to ask, What has become of womanly conscientiousness, when such ignorance presses forward to assume such sacred responsibilities? Better the competent nurse than the incompetent governess.' 'Why do these girls/ he asks, 'who, through their own fault or the fault of circumstances, are not sufficiently advanced to educate others why do they not rather discharge the exquisitely feminine duties of the nursery? What an advantage to parents to have their little ones brought into the earliest contact with refined speech and cultivated manners their infant ears not inoculated by barbarous English?'" but here Phillis was arrested in her torrent of reflected wisdom by an impatient exclamation from Dulce. 14 Oh, Nan, do ask her to be quiet! She never stops when she once begins. How can we listen : such rubbish, when we are so wretched? You may talk for hours, Phil, but 1 never, never will be a nurse!" And Dulce hid her face on Nan's shoul- der in such undisguised distress that her sisters had much ado to comfort her. CHAPTER VIII. it was hard work to tranquilize Dulce. 44 I never, never will be a nurse!" she sobbed out at intervals. "You little goose, who ever thought of such a thing? Why will you misunderstand me so?" sighed Phillis, almost in despair at her sister's impractica- bility. "I am only trying to prove to you and Nan that you are not fit for governesses. M 14 No, indeed; I fear you are right there," replied 76 NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS, 1 poor Nan, who had never realized her deficiencies before. They were all bright, taking girls, with plenty to say for themselves, lady-like and well bred. Who would have thought that, when weighed in the balance, they would have been found so wanting? 44 I always knew I was a very stupid person; but you are different you are so clever, Phil!" *' Nonsense, Nanny! it is a sort of cleverness for which there is no market. I am fond of reading. 1 remember things, and do a great deal of think- ing; but I am destitute of accomplishments; my knowledge of languages is purely superficial. We are equal to other girls just young ladies, and nothing more; but when it comes to earning our bread and butter " Here Phillis paused, and threw out her hands with a little gesture of despair. 44 But you work so beautifully : and so does Nan," interrupted Dulce, who was a little comforted, now she knew Phillis had no prospective nurse-maid theory in view. 4 *I am good at it myself," she con- tinued, modestly, feeling that, in this case, self- praise was allowable. 4 *We might be companions some nice old lady who wants her caps made, and requires some one to read to her," faltered Dulce, with her child-like pleading look. Nan gave her a little hug; but she left the answer to Phillis, who went at once into a brown study, and only woke up after a long interval. 44 I am looking at it all around," she said, when Nan at last pressed for her opinion; <4 it is not a bad idea. I think it very possible that either you or I, Nan or both, perhaps might find something in that line to suit us. There are old ladies every- where, and some of them are rich and lonely and want companions." 4< You have forgotten me!" exclaimed Dulce, with natural jealousy, and a dislike to be overlooked, inherent in most young people. " And it is I who NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS 77 have always made mammy's caps; and you know how Lady Fitzroy praised the last one." 44 Yes, yes; we know all that/' returned Phillis, impatiently. "You are as clever as possible with your fingers; but one of us must stop with mother, and you are the youngest, Dulce ; that is what I meant by looking at it all round. If Nan and I were away, it would never do for you and mothei to live at the Friary. We could not afford a servant, and we should want the forty pounds a year to pay for bare necessaries ; for our salary would not be very great You would have to live in lodgings- two little rooms, that is all; and even then I am afraid you and mother would be dreadfully pinched, for we should have to dress ourselves properly in other people's houses." "Oh, Phillis, that would not do at all!" exclaimed Nan, in a voice of despair. She was very pale by this time, full realization of all this trouble was coming to her, as it had come to Phillis. "What shall we do? Who will help us to any decision? How are you and I to go away and live luxuriously in other people's houses, and leave mother and Dulce pining in two shabby little rooms, with noth- ing to do, and perhaps not enough to eat, and mother fretting herself ill, and Dulce losing her bloom? I could not rest; I could not sleep for thinking of it. I would rather take in plain needle- work, and live on dry bread, if we could only be together, and help each other." "So would I," returned Phillis, in an odd, muffled voice. "And I too," rather hesitatingly from Dulce. "If we could only live at the Friary, and have Dorothy to do all the rough work, " sighed Nan, with a sudden yearning toward even that very shabby ark of refuge; "if we could only be to- gether, and see each other every day, things would not be quite so dreadful." "I am quite of your ogijuon,'' was Phillies curt- 7& NOT L.KE OTHER GIRLS. observation; but there was a sudden gleam in her eyes. "I have heard of ladies working for fancy shops; do you think we could do something of that kind?" asked Nan, anxiously, **Even mother could help us in that; and Dulce does work so beautifully. It is all very well to say we have no accomplishments, ' ' went on Nan, with a pathetic little laugh, "but you know that no other girls work as we do. We have always made our own dresses. And Lady Fitzro) r asked me once who was our dress-maker, because she fitted us so exquisitely ; and I was so proud of telling her that we always did our own, with Doro- thy to help" "Nan," interrupted Phillis, eagerly, and there was a great softness in her whole mien, and her eyes were glistening "dear Nan, do you love us ?11 so that you could give up the whole world for our sakes for the sake of living together, I mean?" Nan hesitated. Did the whole world involve Dick, and could even her love for her sister induce her voluntarily to give him up? Phillis, who was quickwitted, read the doubt in a moment, and hastened to qualify her words: "The outside world, I mean mere conventional acquaintances, not friends. Do you think you could bear to set society at defiance, to submit to be sent to Coventry for our sakes; to do without it, in fact to live in a little world of our own and make our- selves happy in it?" "Ah, Phillis, you are so clever, and I don't un- derstand you," faltered Nan. It was not Dick she was to give up, but what could Phillis mean? "We are all fond of society ; we are like other girls, I suppose. But if we are to be poor and work for our living, I dare say people will give us up." " I am not meaning that," returned her sister, earnestly; 'Mt is something far harder, something far more difficult, something that will be a great sacrifice a$d cost us all tremendous efforts. But if NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS. 79 we are to keep a roof over our heads, if we are to live together in anything like comfort, 1 don't see what else we can do, unless we go out as com- panions and leave mother and Dulce in lodg- ings. "Oh, no, no; pray don't leave us!" implored Dulce, feeling that all her strength and comfort lay near Nan. "I will not leave you, dear, if I can possibly help it," returned Nan, gently. "Tell us what you mean, Phillis, for I see you have some sort of plan in your head. There is nothing nothing," she continued, more firmly, "that I would not do to make mother and Dulce happy. Speak out; you are half afraid that I shall prove a coward, but you shall see." "Dear Nan, no; you are as brave as possible. I am rather a coward myself. Yes; I have a plan; but you have yourself put it into my head by saying what you did about Lady Fitzroy." "About Lady Fitzroy?" "Yes; your telling her about our making our own dresses. Nan, you are right; needle- work is our forte ; nothing is a trouble to us. Few girls have such clever fingers, I believe; and then you and Dulce have such taste. Mrs. Paine once told me that we were the best-dressed girls in the neighbor- hood, and she wished Carrie looked half as well, am telling you this, not from vanity, but because I do believe we can turn our one talent to account. We should be miserable governesses; we do not want to separate and seek situations as lady helps or companions; we do not mean to fail letting lodg- ings; but if we do not succeed as good dressmakers never believe me again." "Dressmakers!" almost shrieked Dulce. But Natt, who had expressed herself willing to take in plaiu needle- work, only looked at her sister with mute gravity; her little world was turned so com- pletely upside down, everything was so unreal, that SO NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS. nothing at this moment could have surprised her. 4 'Dressmakers!" she repeated, vaguely. "Yes, yes," replied Phillis, still more eagerly. The inspiration had come to her in a moment, full-fledged and grown up, like Minerva from the head of Jupiter. Just from those chance words of Nan's she had grasped the whole thing in a mo- ment. Now, indeed, she felt that she was clever; here at least was something striking and original; she took no notice of Dulce's shocked exclamation; she fixed her eyes solemnly on Nan. "Yes, yes; what does it matter what the outside world says? We are not like other girls; we never were; people always said we were so original. Necessity strikes out strange paths sometimes. We could not do such a thing here ; no, no, I never could submit to that myself," as Nan involuntarily shuddered; "but at Hadleigh, where no one knows us, where we shall be among strangers. And then, you see, Miss Monks is dead." "Oh, dear! oh, dear! what does she mean?" cried Dulce, despairingly; "and what do we care about Miss Monks, if the creature be dead, or about Miss Anybody, if we have got to do such dreadful things?" "My dear," returned Phillis, with compassionate irony, "if we had to depend upon you for ideas " and here she made an eloquent pause. "Our last tenant for the Friary was Miss Monks, and Miss Monks was a dressmaker; and, though perhaps I ought not to say it, it does seem a direct leading of Providence, putting such a thought into my head." "I am afraid Dulce and 1 are very slow and stupid," returned Nan, putting her hair rather wearily from her face ; her pretty color had quite faded during the last half hour. "I think if you should tell us plainly exactly what you mean, Phil- lis, we should be able to understand everything better/ 1 NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS. 81 "My notion is this," began Phillis slowly, re- member, I have not thought it quite out, but 1 will give you my ideas just as they occur to me. We will not say anything to mother just yet, until we have thoroughly digested our plan. You and I, Nan, will run down to the Friary and reconnoiter the place, judge of its capabilities, and so forth; and when we come back we will hold a family council.'* 44 That will be best," agreed Nan, who remem- bered, with sudden feelings of relief that Dick and his belongings would be safe in the Engadine by that time. "But, Phillis. do you really and truly believe that we could carry out such a scheme?" "Why not?" was the bold answer. "If we can work for ourselves, we can for other people. I have a presentiment that we shall achieve a striking success. We will make the old Friary as comfort- able as possible," she continued, cheerfully. "The good folk of Hadleigh will be rather surprised when they see our pretty rooms. No horse-hair sofa; no crochet antimacassars or hideo us waxflowers ; none of the usual stock-in-trade. Dorothy will manage the house with us; and we will all sit and work to- gether, and mother will help us, and read to us. Aren't you glad, Nan, that we all saved up that splendid sewing-machine?" "I do believe there is something, after all, in what you say," was Nan's response; but Dulce was not so easily won over. "Do you mean to say that we shall put up a brass plate on the door, with 'Challoner, Dressmaker/ on it?" she observed, indignantly. And a red glow mounted to Nan's forehead; and even Phillis looked disconcerted. "1 never thought of that; well, perhaps not. We might advertise at the Library, or put cards in the shops. I do not think mother would ever cross the threshold if she saw a brass plate." "No, no; I could not bear that," said Nan, faintly. A dim vision of Disk standing at the 8 Otfce? Qirls 82 NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS. gate, ruefully contemplating their name her name in juxtaposition with "dressmaker," crossed her mind directly. 44 But we should have to carry parcels, and stand in people's halls, and perhaps fit Mrs. Squails, the grocer's wife that fat old thing, you know. How would you like to make a dress for Mrs. Squails, Phil?" asked Dulce, with the malevolent desire of making Phillis as uncomfortable as possible; but Phillis. who had rallied from her momentary dis- comfiture, was not to be again worsted. "Dulce, J 7 ou talk like a child; you are really a very silly little thing. Do you think any work can degrade us, or that we shall not be as much gen- tlewomen at Hadleigh as we are here?" 44 But the parcels?" persisted Dulce. 44 1 do not intend to carry any," was the impeturb- able reply. "Dorothy will do that; or we will hire a boy. As for waiting in halls, I don't think any one will ask me to do that, as I should desire to be shown into a room at once; and as for Mrs. Squails, if the poor woman honors me with her cus- tom, I will turn her out a gown that shall be the envy of Hadleigh. " Dulce did not answer this, but the droop of her lip was piteous; it melted Phillis at once. 4 'Oh, do cheer up, you silly girl!" she said, with a coaxing face. "What is the good of making our- selves more miserable than we need? If you prefer the two little rooms with mother, say so, and Nan and ! will look out for old ladies at once." Oh no: Oh, pray, don't leave me!" still more piteously. "Well, what will you have us to do? we can not starve, and we don't mean to beg. Pluck up a little spirit, Dulce; see how good Nan is! You have no idea how comfortable we should be!" she went on, with judicious word-painting. 4< We should all be together that is the great thing. Then we could talk over our work ; and in the after- NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS. 83 noon, when we felt dreary, mother could read some interesting novel to us," a tremendous sigh from Nan at this point. What a contrast to the afternoons at Glen Cottage tennis and five-o'clock tea, and the company of their young friends! Phillis understood the sigh, and hurried on. "It will be not always work. We will have long country walks in the evening; and then there will be the garden and the sea-shore. Of course we must have exercise and recreation. 1 am afraid we shall have to do without society, for no one will visit ladies under such circumstances; but I would rather do without people than without each other, and so would Nan." "Yes, indeed!" broke in Nan; and now the tears were in her eyes. Dulce grew suddenly ashamed of herself. She got up in a little flurry, and kissed them both. "I was very naughty; but I did not mean to be unkind. I would rather carry parcels and stand in halls yes, and even make gowns for Mrs. Squails than lose you both. I will be good. I will not worry you any more, Phill, with my nonsense; and I will work; you will see how I will work," finished Dulce, breathlessly. "There's a darling! 1 ' said Nan; and then she added, in a tired voice: "But it is two o'clock; and Dick is coming this morning to say good-bye; and I want to ask you both particularly not to say a word to him about this. Let him go away and en- joy himself, and think we are going on as usual; it would spoil his holiday; and there is always time enough for bad news," went on Nan, with a little tremble of her lip. "Dear Nan, we understand," returned Phillis, gently; "and you are right, as you always are. And now to bed to bed," she continued, in a voice of enforced cheerfulness; and then they kissed each Si NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS. other very quietly and solemnly, and crept up as noiselessly as possible to their rooms. Phillis and Dulce shared the same room; but Nan had a little chamber to herself very near her mother's; a door connected the two rooms. Nan closed this carefully when she had ascertained that Mrs. Challoner was still sleeping, and then sat down by the window and looked out into the gray glimmering light that preceded the dawn. Sleep! How could she sleep with all these thoughts surging through her mind, and knowing that in a few hours Dick would come and say good- bye? And here Nan broke down, and had such a fit of crying as she had not had since her father died - nervous, uncontrollable tears, that it was useless to stem in her tired, overwrought state. They exhausted her, and disposed her for sleep She was so chilled and weary that she was glad to lie down in bed at last and close her eyes; and she had scarcely done so before drowsiness crept over her, and she knew no more until she found the sun- shine flooding her little room, and Dorothy standing by her bed, asking rather crossly why no one seemed disposed to wake this beautiful morning. 44 Am I late? Oh, I hope 1 am not late!" ex- claimed Nan, springing up in a moment. She dressed herself in quite a flurry, for fear that she should keep any one waiting. It was only at the last moment she remembered the outburst of the previous night, and wondered with some dismay what Dick would think of her pale cheeks and the reddened lines round her eyes, and only hoped that he would not attribute them to his going away. Nan was only just in time, for as she entered the breakfast-room Dick came through the veranda and put in his head at the window. 44 Not at breakfast yet! and where are the others? he asked in some surprise, for the Challoners were early people, and very regular in their habits. "We sat up rather late last night, talking, " re* NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS. S5 turned Nan, giving him her hand without looking at him, and yet Dick showed to advantage this morning in his new tweed traveling-suit. 44 Well, I have only got ten minutes. I managed to give the pater the slip; he will be coming after me, I believe, if I stay longer. This is first-rate, having you all to myself this last morning. But what's up, Nan? you don't seem quite up to the mark. You are palish, you know, and " here Dick paused in pained embarrassment. Were those traces of tears? had Nan really been crying? was she sorry about his going away? And now there was an odd lump in Dick's throat. .Nan understood the pause, and got frightened. "It is nothing. I have a slight headache; there was a little domestic worry that wanted putting to rights," stammered Nan; "it worried me, for 1 am stupid at such things, you know." She was explaining herself somewhat lamely, and to no purpose, for Dick did not believe her in the least. "Domestic worry!" as though she cared for such rubbish as that ; as though any amount could make her cry her, his bright, high-spirited Nan ! No; she had been fretting about their long separa- tion, and his father's unkindness, and the difficul- ties ahead of them. "I want you to give me a rose," he said, sud- denly, apropos of nothing, as it seemed; but, look- ing up, Nan caught a wistful gleam in his eyes, and hesitated. Was it not Dick who had told her that anecdote about the queen, or was it Lothair? and did not a certain meaning attach to this gift? Dick was forever picking roses for her; but he had never given her one, except with that meaning look on his face. "You are hesitating," he said, reproachfully; "and on my last morning, when we shall not see each other for months. " And Nan moved toward the veranda slowly, and gathered a crimson one without a word, and put it in his hand. 86 NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS. "Thank you," he said, quite quietly; but he de- tained the hand as well as the rose for a moment. **One day I will show you this again, and tell you what it means if you do not know; and then we shall see, ah, Nan, my " He paused as Phillis's steps entered the room, and said, hurriedly, in a low voice, "Good-bye; I will not go in again. I don't want to see any of them, only you only you. Good-bye; take care of yourself for my sake, Nan/' And Dick looked at her wistfully, and dropped her hand. **Has he gone?" asked Phillis, looking up in sur- prise as her sister came through the open window; *'has he gone without finding anything out?" 44 Yes, he has gone, and he does not know any- thing " replied Nan, in a subdued voice, as she seated herself behind the urn. It was over now, and she was ready for anything. 44 Take care of yourself for my sake, Nan!" that was ringing in her ears; but she had not said a word in reply. Only the rose lay in his hand her parting gift, and perhaps her parting pledge. CHAPTER IX. A LONG DAY. Nan never recalled the memory of that "long gray day/' as she inwardly termed it, without a shiver of discomfort. Never but once in her bright young life had *he known such a day, and that was when her dead father lay in the darkened house, and her widowed mother had crept weeping into her arms as to her only remaining refuge; but that stretched so far back into the past that it had grown into a vague remembrance. It was not only Dick that was gone, though the pain of that separation was far greater than she would have believed possible, but a moral earth- NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS* a* quake had shattered their little world, involving them in utter chaos. It was only yesterday that she was singing ballads in the Longmead drawing-room only yesterday; but to-day everything was changed. The sun shone, the birds sung, every one ate and drank and moved about as usual. Nan talked and smiled, and no stranger would have guessed that much was amiss; nevertheless, a weight lay heavy on her spirits, and Nan knew in her secret heart that she could never be again the same light-hearted, easy- going creature that she was yesterday. Later on the sisters confessed to each other that the day had been perfectly interminable ; the hours dragged on slowly, the sun seemed as though it never meant to set; and to add to their trouble, their mother looked so ill when she came down- stairs, wrapped in her soft white shawl in spite of the heat, that Nan thought of sending for a doctor, and only refrained at the remembrance that they had no right to such luxuries now except in cases of necessity. Then Dorothy was in one of her impracticable moods, throwing cold water on all her young mis- tress's suggestions, and doing her best to disarrange the domestic machinery. Dorothy suspected a mystery somewhere; her young ladies had sat up half the night, and looked pale and owlish in the morning. If they choose to keep her in the dark and not take her into their confidence, it was their affair; but she meant to show them what she thought of their conduct. So she contradicted and snapped, until Nan told her wearily that she was a disagreeable old thing, and left her and Susan to do as they liked. She knew Mr. Trinder was wait- ing for her in the dining-room, and, as Mrs. Chal- loner was not well enough to see him. she and Phil- lis must entertain him. He had slept at a friend's house a few miles from 88 NOT LIKE OTHER GlRtS. Oldfield, and was to lunch at Glen Cottage and tak