Greatheart, Ethel May Dell [children's books read aloud TXT] 📗

possessed in the world would she have had him know what had passed in that far corner of the rink so short a time before.

She chattered inconsequently upon ordinary topics as they ascended the stairs together, but when they reached the door of Isabel's sitting-room she became suddenly shy again.

"Hadn't I better run and take off my things?" she whispered. "I feel so untidy."

He looked at her. She was clad in the white woollen cap and coat that she had worn in the day. Her eyes were alight and sparkling, her brown face flushed. She looked the very incarnation of youth.

"I think she will like to see you as you are," said Scott.

He knocked upon the door three times as before, and in a moment opened it.

"Go in, won't you?" he said, standing back.

Dinah entered.

"Ah! She has come!" A hollow voice said, and in a moment her shyness was gone.

She moved forward eagerly, saw Isabel seated in a low chair, and impulsively went to her. "How kind you are to ask me to come again!" she said.

And then all in a moment Isabel's arms came out to her, and she slipped down upon her knees beside her into their close embrace.

"How kind of you to come, dear child!" Isabel murmured. "I am afraid it is a visit to the desert for you."

"But I love to come!" Dinah told her with warm lips raised. "I can't tell you how much. I was never so happy before. Each day seems lovelier than the last."

Isabel kissed her lingeringly, tenderly. "My dear, you have a happy heart," she said. "Tell me what you have been doing since I saw you last!"

She would have let her go, but Dinah clung to her still, her cheek against her shoulder. "I have been very frivolous, dear Mrs. Everard," she said. "I have done lots of things. This afternoon we were luging, and now I have just come from the carnival, I wish you could have been there. Some people are wearing the most horrible masks. Billy—my brother—has a beauty. He made it himself. I rather wanted it to wear, but he wouldn't part with it."

"You could never wear a mask, sweetheart," Isabel said, clasping the small brown hand in hers. "Your face is too sweet a thing to hide."

Dinah hugged her in naïve delight. "I always thought I was ugly before," she said.

Isabel's face wore a wan smile. She stroked the girl's soft cheek. "My dear, no one with a heart like yours could have an ugly face. How did you enjoy your dance with Eustace last night?"

Dinah bent her head a little, wishing earnestly that Scott were not in the room. "I loved it," she said in a low voice.

"And afterwards?" questioned Isabel. "No one was vexed with you, I hope?"

Dinah hesitated. "Colonel de Vigne wasn't best pleased, I'm afraid," she said, after a moment.

"He scolded you!" said Isabel, swift regret in her voice. "I am so sorry, dear child. I ought to have gone to look after you. I was selfish."

"Oh no—indeed!" Dinah protested. "It was entirely my own fault. He would have been cross in any case. They are like that."

Isabel uttered a sigh. "I shall have to try to meet them. Naturally they will not let you come to total strangers. Stumpy, remind me in the morning! I must manage somehow to meet this child's guardians."

"Of course, dear," said Scott.

Dinah, glancing towards him, saw him exchange a swift look with the old nurse in the background, but his voice held neither surprise nor gratification. He took out a cigarette and began to smoke.

Isabel leaned back in her chair with abrupt weariness as if in reaction from the strain of a sudden unwonted exertion. "Let me see! Do I know your Christian name? Ah yes,—Dinah! What a pretty gipsy name! I think you are a little gipsy, are you not? You have the charm of the woods about you. Won't you sit in that chair, dear? You can't be comfortable on the floor."

But Dinah preferred to sit down against her knee, still holding the slender, inert hand.

"Tell me about your home!" Isabel said, closing languid eyes. "I can't talk much more, but I can listen. It does not tire me to listen."

Dinah hesitated somewhat. "I don't think you would find it very interesting," she said.

"But I am interested," Isabel said. "You live in the country, I think you said."

"At a place called Perrythorpe," Dinah said. "It's a great hunting country. My father hunts a lot and shoots too."

"Do you hunt?" asked Isabel.

"Oh no, never! There's never any time. I go for rambles sometimes on Sundays. Other days I am always busy. Fancy me hunting!" said Dinah, with a little laugh.

"I used to," said Isabel. "They always said I should end with a broken neck. But I never did."

"Are you very fond of riding?" asked Dinah.

"Not now, dear. I am not fond of anything now. Tell me some more, won't you? What makes you so busy that you never have time for any fun?"

Again Dinah hesitated. "You see, we're poor," she said. "My mother and I do all the work of the house and garden too."

"And your father is able to hunt?" Isabel's eyes opened. Her hand closed upon Dinah's caressingly.

"Oh yes, he has always hunted," Dinah said. "I don't think he could do without it. He would find it so dull."

"I see," said Isabel. "But he can't afford pleasures for you."

There was no perceptible sarcasm in her voice, but Dinah coloured a little and went at once to her father's defence.

"He sends Billy to a public school. Of course I—being only a girl—don't count. And he has sent us out here, which was very good of him—the sweetest thing he has ever done. He had a lucky speculation the other day, and he has spent it nearly all on us. Wasn't that kind of him?"

"Very kind, dear," said Isabel gently. "How long are you to have out here?"

"Only three weeks, and half the time is gone already," sighed Dinah. "The de Vignes are not staying longer. The Colonel is a J.P., and much too important to stay away for long. And they are going to have a large house-party. There isn't much more than a week left now." She sighed again.

"And then you will have no more fun at all?" asked Isabel.

"Not a scrap—nothing but work." Dinah's voice quivered a little. "I don't suppose it has been very good for me coming out here," she said. "I—I believe I'm much too fond of gaiety really."

Isabel's hand touched her cheek. "Poor little girl!" she said. "But you wouldn't like to leave your mother to do all the drudgery alone."

"Oh yes, I should," said Dinah, with a touch of recklessness. "I'd never go back if I could help it. I love Dad of course; but—" She paused.

"You don't love your mother?" supplemented Isabel.

Dinah leaned her face suddenly against the caressing hand. "Not much, I'm afraid," she whispered.

"Poor little girl!" Isabel murmured again compassionately.

CHAPTER XIV THE PURPLE EMPRESS

Colonel De Vigne once more wore his most magisterial air when after breakfast on the following morning he drew Dinah aside.

She looked at him with swift apprehension, even with a tinge of guilt. His lecture of the previous morning was still fresh in her mind. Could he have seen her on the ice with Sir Eustace on the previous night, she asked herself? Surely, surely not!

Apparently he had, however; for his first words were admonitory.

"Look here, young lady, you're making yourself conspicuous with that three-volume-novel baronet: You don't want to be conspicuous, I suppose?"

Her face burned crimson at the question. Then he had seen, or at least he must know, something! She stood before him, too overwhelmed for speech.

"You don't, eh?" he insisted, surveying her confusion with grim relentlessness.

"Of course not!" she whispered at last.

He put a hand on her shoulder. "Very well then! Don't let there be any more of it! You've been a good girl up till now but the last two days seem to have turned your head. I shan't be able to give a good report to your mother when we get home if this sort of thing goes on."

Dinah's heart sank still lower. The thought of the return home had begun to dog her like an evil dream.

With a great effort she met the Colonel's stern gaze. "I am very sorry," she faltered. "But—but Lady Grace did say I might go and see Mrs. Everard—the invalid sister—yesterday."

"I know she did. She thought you had been flirting with Sir Eustace long enough."

Dinah's sky began to clear a little. "Then you don't mind my going to see her?" she said.

"So long as you are not there too often," conceded the Colonel. "The younger brother is a nice little chap. There is no danger of your getting up to mischief with him."

Dinah's face burned afresh at the suggestion. He evidently did not actually know; but he suspected very strongly. Still it was a great relief to know that all intercourse with these wonderful new friends of hers was not to be barred.

"There was some talk of a sleigh-drive this afternoon," she ventured, after a moment. "Mr. Studley is taking his sister and she asked me to go too. May I?"

"You accepted, I suppose?" demanded the Colonel.

"I said I thought I might," Dinah admitted. And then very suddenly she caught a kindly gleam in his eyes, and summoned courage for entreaty. "Do please—please—let me go!" she begged, clasping his arm. "I shan't ever have any fun again when this is over."

"How do you know that?" said the Colonel gruffly. "Yes, you can go—you can go. But behave yourself soberly, there's a good girl. And remember—no running after the other fellow to-night! I won't have it. Is that understood?"

Dinah, too rejoiced over this concession to trouble about future prohibitions, gave cheerful acquiescence to the fiat. Perhaps she was beginning to realize that she would see quite as much of Sir Eustace as was at all advisable or even to be desired, without running after him. In fact, so shy had the previous night's flight with him made her, that she did not feel the slightest wish to encounter him again at present. To go out sleigh-driving with Scott and his sister was all that she asked of life that day.

It was a glorious morning despite all prophecies of a coming change, and she spent it joyously luging with Billy. Sir Eustace had gone ski-ing with Captain Brent, and the only glimpse she had of him was a very far one, so far that she knew him only by the magnificence of his physique as he descended the mountain-side as one borne upon wings.

She recalled the brief conversation that the brothers had held in her hearing the night before, and marvelled at the memory of Scott's attitude towards him.

"He isn't a bit afraid of him," she reflected. "In fact he behaves exactly as if he were the bigger of the two."

This phenomenon puzzled her very considerably, for Scott was wholly lacking in the pomposity that characterizes many little men. She wondered what had been the subject of their discussion. It had been connected with Isabel, she felt sure. She was glad to think that she had Scott to protect her, for there was something of tyranny about the elder brother from which she shrank instinctively, his magnetism notwithstanding, and the thought of poor, tragic Isabel being coerced by it was intolerable.

The memory of the latter's resolution to make the acquaintance of the de Vignes recurred to her as she and Billy returned for luncheon. Would she carry it out? She wondered. The look that Scott had flung at the old nurse dwelt in her mind. It would evidently be an extraordinary move if she did.

They reached the hotel, Rose and another girl had just come up from the rink together. A little knot of people were gathered on the verandah. Dinah and Billy kept behind Rose and her companion; but in a moment Dinah heard her name.

The group parted, and she saw Isabel Everard, very tall and stately in a deep purple coat, standing with Lady Grace de Vigne.

Billy gave her a push. "Go on! They're calling you."

And Dinah