She was looking at plans one day in the following
spring--they had finally decided to go down into Sussex and
build--when Mrs. Charles Wilcox was announced.
"Have you heard the news?" Dolly cried, as soon as she
entered the room. "Charles is so ang--I mean he is sure you
know about it, or rather, that you don't know."
"Why, Dolly!" said Margaret, placidly kissing her.
"Here's a surprise! How are the boys and the baby?"
Boys and the baby were well, and in describing a great
row that there had been at Hilton Tennis Club, Dolly forgot
her news. The wrong people had tried to get in. The
rector, as representing the older inhabitants, had
said--Charles had said--the tax-collector had said--Charles
had regretted not saying--and she closed the description
with, "But lucky you, with four courts of your own at Midhurst."
"It will be very jolly," replied Margaret.
"Are those the plans? Does it matter me seeing them?"
"Of course not."
"Charles has never seen the plans."
"They have only just arrived. Here is the ground
floor--no, that's rather difficult. Try the elevation. We
are to have a good many gables and a picturesque sky-line."
"What makes it smell so funny?" said Dolly, after a
moment's inspection. She was incapable of understanding
plans or maps.
"I suppose the paper."
"And WHICH way up is it?"
"Just the ordinary way up. That's the sky-line, and the
part that smells strongest is the sky."
"Well, ask me another. Margaret--oh--what was I going
to say? How's Helen?"
"Quite well."
"Is she never coming back to England? Every one thinks
it's awfully odd she doesn't."
"So it is," said Margaret, trying to conceal her
vexation. She was getting rather sore on this point.
"Helen is odd, awfully. She has now been away eight months.
"But hasn't she any address?"
"A poste restante somewhere in Bavaria is her address.
Do write her a line. I will look it up for you."
"No, don't bother. That's eight months she has been
away, surely?"
"Exactly. She left just after Evie's wedding. It would
be eight months."
"Just when baby was born, then?"
"Just so."
Dolly sighed, and stared enviously round the
drawing-room. She was beginning to lose her brightness and
good looks. The Charles' were not well off, for Mr. Wilcox,
having brought up his children with expensive tastes,
believed in letting them shift for themselves. After all,
he had not treated them generously. Yet another baby was
expected, she told Margaret, and they would have to give up
the motor. Margaret sympathized, but in a formal fashion,
and Dolly little imagined that the step-mother was urging
Mr. Wilcox to make them a more liberal allowance. She
sighed again, and at last the particular grievance was
remembered. "Oh yes," she cried, "that is it: Miss Avery
has been unpacking your packing-cases."
"Why has she done that? How unnecessary!"
"Ask another. I suppose you ordered her to."
"I gave no such orders. Perhaps she was airing the
things. She did undertake to light an occasional fire."
"It was far more than an air," said Dolly solemnly.
"The floor sounds covered with books. Charles sent me to
know what is to be done, for he feels certain you don't know."
"Books!" cried Margaret, moved by the holy word.
"Dolly, are you serious? Has she been touching our books?"
"Hasn't she, though! What used to be the hall's full of
them. Charles thought for certain you knew of it."
"I am very much obliged to you, Dolly. What can have
come over Miss Avery? I must go down about it at once.
Some of the books are my brother's, and are quite valuable.
She had no right to open any of the cases."
"I say she's dotty. She was the one that never got
married, you know. Oh, I say, perhaps she thinks your books
are wedding-presents to herself. Old maids are taken that
way sometimes. Miss Avery hates us all like poison ever
since her frightful dust-up with Evie."
"I hadn't heard of that," said Margaret. A visit from
Dolly had its compensations.
"Didn't you know she gave Evie a present last August,
and Evie returned it, and then--oh, goloshes! You never
read such a letter as Miss Avery wrote."
"But it was wrong of Evie to return it. It wasn't like
her to do such a heartless thing."
"But the present was so expensive."
"Why does that make any difference, Dolly?"
"Still, when it costs over five pounds--I didn't see it,
but it was a lovely enamel pendant from a Bond Street shop.
You can't very well accept that kind of thing from a farm
woman. Now, can you?"
"You accepted a present from Miss Avery when you were married.
"Oh, mine was old earthenware stuff--not worth a
halfpenny. Evie's was quite different. You'd have to ask
anyone to the wedding who gave you a pendant like that.
Uncle Percy and Albert and father and Charles all said it
was quite impossible, and when four men agree, what is a
girl to do? Evie didn't want to upset the old thing, so
thought a sort of joking letter best, and returned the
pendant straight to the shop to save Miss Avery trouble."
"But Miss Avery said--"
Dolly's eyes grew round. "It was a perfectly awful
letter. Charles said it was the letter of a madman. In the
end she had the pendant back again from the shop and threw
it into the duckpond.
"Did she give any reasons?"
"We think she meant to be invited to Oniton, and so
climb into society."
"She's rather old for that," said Margaret pensively.
"May not she have given the present to Evie in remembrance
of her mother?"
"That's a notion. Give every one their due, eh? Well,
I suppose I ought to be toddling. Come along, Mr. Muff--you
want a new coat, but I don't know who'll give it you, I'm
sure;" and addressing her apparel with mournful humour,
Dolly moved from the room.
Margaret followed her to ask whether Henry knew about
Miss Avery's rudeness.
"Oh yes."
"I wonder, then, why he let me ask her to look after the
house."
"But she's only a farm woman," said Dolly, and her
explanation proved correct. Henry only censured the lower
classes when it suited him. He bore with Miss Avery as with
Crane--because he could get good value out of them. "I have
patience with a man who knows his job," he would say, really
having patience with the job, and not the man. Paradoxical
as it may sound, he had something of the artist about him;
he would pass over an insult to his daughter sooner than
lose a good charwoman for his wife.
Margaret judged it better to settle the little trouble
herself. Parties were evidently ruffled. With Henry's
permission, she wrote a pleasant note to Miss Avery, asking
her to leave the cases untouched. Then, at the first
convenient opportunity, she went down herself, intending to
repack her belongings and store them properly in the local
warehouse: the plan had been amateurish and a failure.
Tibby promised to accompany her, but at the last moment
begged to be excused. So, for the second time in her life,
she entered the house alone.
