CINDEBALLA'S SISTERS.

Press, Volume LX, Issue 11510, 17 February 1903, Page 2

CINDEBALLA'S SISTERS.

. ♦— Br E. At»to*. Old Jim Marsden and the three Misses Marsden -ere sitting in the little Bayswater drawing-room, awaiting Joan Elliott's arrival "I expect she'll be awfully dowdy, after being buried in the country all her life," giggled Miss Carrie. "Yes, she'll find us rather gay, —on't she?" tittered Miss Florence, -who was a fainter copy of her elder sister. Miss Mary —as silent. Presently she asked, "Did the man see to the springs of the spare-room mot/tress, mamma?" "Oh, you dreadfully sensible thing P Miss Carrie gave a little shriek "Isn't she quite too dreadfully sensible? You can sit and talk about mattresses when a new cousin, whom -we've none of us ever seen, is coming to stay for a month! Why, Florrie and I are so excited we don't know what' to do. You're really getting into a regular old maid." What Miss Carrie said was quite trueMary was becoming on old maid- The family Bible recorded her age, -which was thirtynine, and a discreet blank after her name indicated her single condition. Had you been curious enough to look farther, you might have seen that Miss Carrie and Miss F.orrie possessed prior claims to the title. At this moment a cab drew up. "Come along girls," cried Miss Carrie, running out into the hall. She opened the front door and saw a tall young figure standing outside. "Oh, my* dear girl," she exclaimed, "you must be half frozen, you poor, dear thing!" Then she embraced Joan impulsively, and, taking hold of her pulled her forward. Joan Elliot looked a trifle dazed as she came into the brightly-lit drawing-room. It may have been the sudden warmth and light, or perhaps she had been rather overwhelmed by the effusiveness of her cousin's welcome. "Her glance was almost obviously surprised as it rested on Carrie and Florrie. She also knew the information contained in the family Bible. "It must be a mistake, they're quite girls/ : ishe thought, and then she saw that their pale eyes had a curiously tired look. Their necks and hands, too, wei-e many years older than their trim little figures and undeveloped conversation. "They're not made up young or anything, but I don't like anaohronisms," Joan feit vaguely. "I'm so glad you've come," Miss Carrie was babbling, "and that the horrid hatchet is buried at last. That's my little joke, you know, and, of course, it wasn't your fault or ours that it hasn't been done before. I always felt that you and your dad would want to make up this horrid quarrel, but it was no good asking you to stay as long as that dreadful old man was alive, though I supposa I oughn't to speak so of mamma's own brother; still, I hadn't seen him since I was quite a child." Joan had flushed uncomfortably, and ssemed to be going to speak, when Miss Mary suggested, softly: "Perhaps Joan was fond of him. He was her grandfather, Carrie-" "Oh, dear, how dreadful of me!" exclaimed Miss Carrie. "I'm always saying dreadful tilings like that. I am such a terrible chatterbox! Just like last night after the mission meeting. Mr Brown— he's our cm ate, and such a sweet man, my dear—now, Florrie, don't pinch me, —well, he asked if he should get us a cab, for he's very attentive—oh, dear! that's another thing I shouldn't have said. So I thanked him, and without thinking I told him that mamma never allows us to go out in the evening alone. Of course, I meant that the maid liadn't fetched us yet; but he must have thought all sorts of dreadful things, perhaps that I was asking him to come with us or something." "But why shouldn't he have seen yr.u home, Cousin Carrie?" asked Joan in puzzled tones. "Oh, my dear girl! one can see you haven't lived in London long. Why, it would have been dreadfuJy wanting in comme il faut. I only hope, as it is, he doesn't think me a sad, forward thing. But don't call me 'cousin,' dear, it sounds so stiff and dreadful, when we're all girls together here." Joan almost laughed, but she caught herself up in time. "Don't you find it rather inconvenient, always being—fetched?" She hesitated over the incongruously childish word. "Of course it's inconvenient, but what can we girls do?" "Oh, I go out alone at any time," Joan began, incautiously. The remark fell like a thunderbolt. "No lady ventures out in the evening unattended, 1 ' announced old Mrs Marsden. The rarity of her remarks was only equalled by their unpleasantness:. Carrie had given a little pcream, which was echoed by Florence. "Oh, I should be frightened to death," she cried; "but then you are so big and strong, almost like a man. Poor little FJorrie and me would ba afraid that some great big ogre would eat us up." "Yes, I am strong," assented Joan, cheerfully. "Feel my biceps." she said, turning to the old lady. "Billy says it's the best biceps he's ever known in a girl." "Who is Billy, if it isn't indiscreet?"' giggled Miss Carrie. "Oh, ne's just one of the boys."' Tho old lady's awful tones again broke into the conversation. "I was not aware you had any brothers," she said. Carrie and Florence tittered and Miss Mary moved uneasily, but Joan went on with undiminished- cheerfulness: "No more I have. They're just 'pals,' j ou know—men who live near my home; I've known most of them Bince I was quite small. A lot liave gone away now, though; it's positively heart-breaking. Billy's at the front. That's not his real name, of course it's William Ernest Hales, but you simply can't call him that—no one could. I'll show you his photo if you like." "I think it's time to get ready for dinner," interposed -niss Mary timidly. If Joan went upstairs under, the ban of Mrs Marsden's disapproval, it darkened heavily on her reappearance in full evening dress. Poor Joan was hardly to blame, for in her own home and at the other houses where she visited they dressed for dinner as a matter of course. On her rare visits to London she had stayed at the -Grand 'Central, and had had, as she expressed it, "perfectly gorgeous times," which had certainly demanded decollete toik-Ues. So she donned a favourite Empire gown with perfect serenity, and was absolutely taken aback to find that, although her cousins %ad changed, it was only to high, much-brimmed pink silk blouses, while Mary wore a black silk dress with a piece of lace ungracefully pinned about the shoulders. "I wish she'd let me fix that fichu ; she'd look quite pretty," thought Joan, but aloud she only said, "Oh, dear, I'm afraid I'm too much dressed." "Too little!" snorted old Mrs Marsden. "I suppose she hasn't the least idea of the proper tilling to wear," whispered Carrie to Florence. "And what a garb! She must jiave made it at home. We really couldn't take her to the annual Guild meeting like that." "May I look at your pretty necklace, my dear.''" a.»ked Cousin Mary. Here the dinner-bell rang, and they made their way down the 6teep stairs into a basement room. The conversation was ohiefly kept up oy Carrie and Florence", who were discussing" the doings of their neighbours ■housemaid with great animation. "I do love to sit at the window and see all that's going on," one of them told Joan. It was not until the end of the meal that the old lady snapped out a remark. "Mr Beezley told me that he intends to pay us a visit this evening," sne said. Joan was surprised at the effect. She was so used to men dropping in at home for a game of billiards', or merely to chat, that she did not know a masculine visitor might form a Great Event. "Oh. mamma!" shrilled Miss Carrie, "why didn't you tell us before; I must run and change my blouse." "Goodness gracious!'' twittered Miss Florence, with an obvious glance at the looking-glass as she patted her hair distractedly, and then fled, probably to curl it. Even Cousin Mary looked disturbed. "I'd better see about the coffee," she «aid to Joan. "Mamma likes a little nap downstairs, but you go into the drawing-room, my dear." j -Tjw»» ntwdw-ntllv i—an* nn*toi—. • »H» —o.

gurgling with suppressed amusement; by then her face saddened. "Ob, it's pitifud! prtafull" she was thinking; "t>b«7 w* starved, not fox food, of course, but for a little aximiratioo, a little love. And I— I have so much." _ " , After all this excitement, Joan looked up curiously when Mr Beezley was announced. "Oh, he's quite old, she tkoogflt, with some disappointment. As Mr Beezlev'e shyness wore off, Joan grew interested.* He was quite a different kind of a man from any she had known, although her "bova" as she called them, were nice young fellows, gentlemanly and athletic, if," perhaps, not very clever. Air Beezley was a botanist, it appeared, and he talked of his work in a way that made Joan wonder why she bad always conejdexed the subject as' hopelessly dull. He was just telling her of some curious plant mimicry when Carrie came running m. "Oh. dear, Mr Beezley, you 11 think it dreadfully rude of us all being out of the room like this. I hope it hasnt seemed a very long time. --Mamma was so naughty, she never told us you were coming. "Your cousin and I have been entertaining each other," said Mr Beezky. "Oh yes, of <»urse; I heard you balking as I came in, and using such dreadfully long difficult words that you quite frightened poor little me. Were you tellin,; her about your lecture next week? I suppose there won't be any ladies present?" she asked a trifle obviously. "Yes,"' he replied. "Would you care to come?'' "Oh, Mr Beezley."—Carrie gave a giggle —"you must talk'to mamma I coulda't go alone, though, could 1?" "I meant that I could take a party.' Beezlev said rather shortly, looking round. "Oh" that would bo delightful, if dear Joan would accompany us,' began Miss Carrie, and then the others appeared and conversation became general. "It's delicious," Joan said to herself, "quite too delicious ; I'm to be the chaperone. I don't believe it ever dawned on her that I'm good-looking." The evening seemed very long after that. Miss Carrie played and sang, as might have been expected- "I suppose a great, strong Thing like you despises my poor little accomplishments," she said, suddenly, to Joan, with a spice of malice; "you only care for playing cricket and football, and that sort of thing, don't you, dear?" Joan laughed unpleasantly. She was about to retort, but she saw Miss Mary looking distressed. "The only accomiishment I ever prided myself on was turning oartwheels," she remarked instead, "and that isn't much use socially after nursery days." "Oh, you dreadful, dreadful girl! Miss Carrie turned away, overcome with blushes. "I think it was rather nice of me not to tell them that I really can sing," Joan was saying to herself—rather hotly, for she was not used to feline amenities. "But I like Cousin Mary; I won't make her uncomfortable; besides, Cousin Carrie is old enough to be treated with, forbaaracce," and Joan felt a little inward ripple of amusement. It may have been the prospect of more music that caused Mr Beezley to take a sudden departure. Miss Carrie immediately abandoned the music-stool. "Oh, I'm so tired," she yawned; "lei's come along to bed." Joan was tired, and welcomed the suggestion. She soon found, however, the going to bed was nominal.- "Florrie and I will brush our hair in your room, dear," said Miss Carrie; "then we can have a good talk. I'm longing to hear ell about you. I'm sure you're a dreadfully naughty girl, too," and she giggled slily. To Joan's relief, however, she found that their longing to hear about her showed itself by taJring comtinuoasiv about themselves." It seemed, indeed, unat they would go on indefiniteLy, and Joan's brain began to reel as she listened to detailed accounts of a long succession of curates. At last an imperious knocking was heard on the wall. "Oh, that's mamma," whispered MisS Carrie; "we must run, or we'd get into a dreadful scrape. There, I said you'd much sooner share our room, then we could have gone on all night, but Mary thought not, as you were almost a eta-anger and that. But I'd be dreadfuEy nervous at sleeping alone—oh, quite terrified. Don't you realxy mind?" "I hate sharing a room," said Joan. She was on the edge of losing her temper. "Oh, oh. oh," she groaned, as at last she was left alone, "a whole month of this, twenty-eight days, billions of hours! Why did I say I'd stop so long!" She pulled back the many curtains and flung open the window. Tho night seemed restful-y huge and cold, and far-away after all this tittle-tattle of flirtations and personalities. "Why haven't they ever learned to grow old?" she reflected, wonderingly. "People ought to be taught it at school. Perhaps, though, they'd choose not to have a single wrinkle, inside or out, and call it 'wearing well-' Oh, it isn't, though! It's putting wigs and rouge on your mind; it's being stunted, deformed—pitiable," and Joan flung out. her firm white arms with a breezy gesture of youth. Suddenly she let her hands fall. "To think that in twenty years I might be like that," she said, slowly; "I've no work either, nothing to give me mental wrinkles. Oh, it's enough to make one get married. It really is—only I'm so dreadfully fond of all tihe dear boys." Her lips curved deliciouslv. n. The weeks passed more bearably than Joan had anticipated. Mr Beezley's frequent visits were certainly an alleviation, although Carrie and Florrie usually monopolised his attention, despite his obvious struggles to join the test of the party at the other side of the room. Occasionally he did manage it, and he and Joan had some delightful conversations. He discovered, to her surprise, quite an unexplored continent in her brain. Even when Miss Carrie's one-sided flirtation proved too detaining, Joan enjoyed the opportunity it fave her of talking to Miss Mary. She ad grown fond of this middle-aged cousin, who was not very original, perhaps, but under whose timidity lay a sweet and kindly graciousness, which only needed a little warmth and sunshine to be revealed. She was more than passively unperfected, she was actively unhappy, Joan discovered, when her stay was nearing its end. It had been such a pleasant evening, too.' Carrie and Florence were at their weekly

Guild meeting, and Mr Beezley had called It was quite a remarkable coincidence how often his visits chanced w fall on this night. As ho was taking off his coat in the hall the •postman's knock had sounded, so he brought in the letter that had come—a letter with the stirring post-mark of "Aotive Service." Joan danced for joy when she saw it, for she had been very anxious about her Billy. She insisted on reading it aloud, and Mary and Mr Beezley listened with interest to the accounts of marches and privations, graphic by their very illtelling. Through it all ran a spirit of joyous adventure and fresh young camaraderie, that was cl«m and bracing as tie wind over the moor.

"Oh, I wish I were there with him," cried Joan, and seizing the never-used brass poker, she mads pretence to shoulder arms, then, dashing to tho piano, she broke out into "The Bonnets of Bonnie Dundee." Her listeners sat there dumb. They had not guessed the presence of this thrilling contralto voice. Presently Mr Beezly got up and stood besids hrr, looking down at the vivid face nnd strong, white throat. She sang 8011$ after song; it was an orgy of youth and life and colour. Only Cousin Mary wit undistinguishable in the dusky background, seeming eTer to grow paler and lees significant. It may have been through very happiness that Joan could not sleep that night, a must unusual circumstance. At last she thought that she would fetch a book, *o she crept downstairs, very softly, for fear old Mrs Marsden might wake and confront her, a terrifying object in an antiquepatterned dressing-gown and large, frilled nightcap. Joan opened the drawing-room door almost noiselessly, and then stopped short in amazement. Stretched on the sofa, her face hidden among the disordered, antimacassars, lay a- black-gowned figure. Could this be the calm, ladylike Miss Mary, thin despairing woman who had flung herself down in a very abandonment of desjla* tion? Joan was just going to hurry forward, thinking that her cousin must be ill, when the sound of a sob caught at h«sr heart. She had often seen people in distress; when Billy went away she had cried a good deal herself, but it had been another sort of weeping. She turned and tiptoed upstairs. It seemed dishonourable to have suddenly divined the reason of this sorrow. "And she hasn't even got a room of her own to cry in, poor, poor Cousin Mary," said Joan. A"nd yet the next day at breakfast it was Joan who looked tired and uncomfortable. Cousin Mary was sitting placidly behind the large silver teapot, filling the cups with her usual sedateness. Joan began to wonder if she had dreamed last night's scene, when she saw her cousin's hand tremb!e slightly. "I'd like to hear what time you came to bed last night," old Mrs Marsden was grumbling, "disturbing me just a* I was dropping off. And goodness known what hours you'd keep if you were left to yourself and didn't sleep in my room." '•I'm so sorry, mamma. I'm afraid I did allow myself to get too interested in the new Mudie books," said Miss Mary. She even smiled. "If Billy gets six V.O.s, he can't beat that," thought Joan. Then she choked ■ over her tea prosaically. Joan was glad that in two flays her visit wouM bo over. She was so unused to concealment that she found it hard not to betray her pity. This wag the real reason that she declined going for a walk with Miss Mary that afternoon while Mrs Marsden and the girls were out calling. So Joan was alone when Mr Beezley was announced. 'Tm sorry the others ore all out," she began trifle nervously, Mr Beezley seemed nervous too. He did not sit down. "I'm glad," he said at last abruptly. 'Tve been waiting to see you j alone, Miss Elliot. There's sometbing I

■ want to ask you. We've been gOodiiSg . " then he hesitated. Ull "It's coming," said Joan to ing rather sea-sick. She generally' ■K'jgj such occasions. She was .very unroissjijt Perhaps she felt worse than this was the first time that she h*&'jtfci uncertain of her own feelings. If^ "I think you must have seen UJaV'l;* that there is someone in this hot~MT|§ whom I entertain a warm regard," Mr's«k ley went on, with an straint. &.s®l "I like that much better than the mm way?." suddenly flashed through ; mind with a curious much more dignified. I wish bV.Mfei powdered hair and knee-breeches." l-.^| "Perhaps I ought Dot to on the subject, Miss Elliott, but yov-lttl see that my position is rather psttft* "He thinks he ought to ask faiajrii leave to pay his court; how delicWto medieval," laughed Joan to herself, can't have proposed to many girls,". i|s thought with a sudden tenderness, f^ "I do not want to speak more defbtyfctyj to tha lady/ Beezley was eaying^, fear of wounding her feelings. I mu&B might then spoil our friendship, 1f\»»1 could not reciprocate my attachment., I thought that you, in your kindness, give me some clue, some hint. NB3*| else could do it." Ovv* "I think you must speak a litilej&e definitely," said Joan softly. The Optf of her mouth were trembling. She-joani? beautiful. .. B&j}< "Sorely, surely, I needn't say tosw was almost whispering; his face wat)jffry| good to took at, glorified as it l4i|y| his emotion—"surely I needn't tell ydjjgapjj I love—Miss Mary." fSj"»*V "What!" cried Joan. She could net-Hf* it. She would have summoned up herptiW but tho shock had been too sudden. ~Jjg tunately Mr Beezley misunderstood mlm "You surely could not imagine tlttlE had any feeling towards Miss Orris,* t» said, blushing boyishly. *-;& "Oh, no, no I" Joan had mastered WK self now. "I just thought you w«3ejw| an old friend-TJike a brother-—to thejtfjKyou know. I—l think you'd better *£ Cousin Mary herself. I don't tbink'Sßjm be wounded—though, of coarse, I 4flg" know what she"!! answer," she hurriedly with a desperate womanly loj»f ty; for, indeed, she knew very welh/ ,-j§| Mr Beezley had taken a sudden rt«P'% wards the door.- "Perhaps M meet,Djft if I go out," he said. Then he taosf back. "How discourteous and .ungraWi; I am," and he held out his hand. V-'M "Good-bye. I love Cousin Mary* td#* she said. *~J£? He did meet Cousin Mary, and hen*"' have acted on Joan's advice, for they«t<| a very long time coming home, and *jjjt: they arrived they looked most ridjcnl«g| ha ppy. Joan hardly recognised her cow|| for the first time she seemed to .mm blossomed out into full womanhood. had at last felt the sunlight. ..j;t|| 'Tm so happy about it," Joan wh *gsSss to her.' She kept repeating the herself all the evening, and when shs-jjjfji upstairs that night she said thmSgßf again. Then, by way of showing b*|Sj| pincas, she began to cry. ,j|||i'' "It's no .good pretending," she wnWRs to herself' "it's no good pret<«dißffSgK any more* Ido care for him—oh, jagg. At least what I liko most is his pretgnp* Cousin Mary. At lest Tve found one-Jgg|; who doesn't only think of looks. But agk if it had been me he'd wanted I B h°Wgg have found him;" and she laughed |*f fully. "Besides," she went 00 with ***£$ lute cheerfulness, "when Billy comes ***&; as a defender of the empire, the amott**; snuboing he'll need will be terrific U W<take up all my time and energy. Ho *•"£■ look nice in khaki though. Dear .*«.- Biur -^