White Turrets

"It is to be hoped he will come to see it in that light himself," said Mrs Balderson. "Not that I agree with you about Winifred. I like and admire her extremely, and I can understand her feeling that poor Lennox is not enough for her. With her talents and strength of character she may aspire higher, not to speak of her--well--material advantages."

Eric gave a little grunt.

Mrs Balderson sometimes found her son's grunts irritating.

"Celia, of course, is a sweet little thing," she proceeded; "but nothing in her."

Mrs Balderson was _not_ a worldly mother. Still she did not much want Eric to fall in love with Celia.

He grunted again.

"You are very uncivil, Eric," she said, with a touch of asperity. "Can't you say out what you mean? When you are like that, you make me feel you are influenced by nothing but commonplace, masculine contradiction."

"Perhaps so," he replied.

CHAPTER FOUR.

A FIRST STEP.

"Winifred," said Mrs Balderson, the next morning but one, at the breakfast-table, "here is something that will please you, I think," and she held out to Miss Maryon a letter she had just opened.

It was from Lady Campion, asking them--the sisters and their hostess, or, if Mrs Balderson were otherwise engaged, the Maryon girls by themselves--to tea that same day, to meet Miss Norreys!

Winifred's eyes sparkled.

"Oh, how delightful!" she said. "How kind of her to have remembered about it!"

But Mrs Balderson's face had clouded over with an expression of perplexity.

"It is unlucky," she said. "I had forgotten for the moment that we were engaged to go with my cousins, the Nestertons, to the Exhibition of Embroidery in Street, and to tea with them afterwards. It _is_ a pity. Mrs Nesterton took some trouble to arrange it, and it is the last day of the Exhibition."

"Oh, but it really doesn't matter," said Miss Maryon, and on Mrs Balderson's looking up with some surprise--for she had supposed that Winifred was exceedingly anxious to meet the woman she had so admired--"I mean," she went on calmly, "I don't at all mind missing the Exhibition, and I really don't know the Nestertons, you see, dear Mrs Balderson."

Mrs Balderson did not feel very "dear" at that moment.

"There are other things to be considered," she said, stiffly. "You _were_ very eager to see the Exhibition, and I cannot be rude to my cousins, whether you know them or not, my dear Winifred. Besides, there is your sister as well as yourself. What do you say, Celia?"

It was new for Winifred to take in that Celia could have a voice of her own apart from hers; it was new for Celia to realise the fact. But she saw that Mrs Balderson was annoyed; she had infinitely greater power of putting herself in another's place than was possessed by her elder sister.

"I should be very sorry not to see the embroidery," she replied, quickly, her face flushing a little, "besides it would never do to be so rude to Mrs Nesterton."

"I think Lady Campion deserves some consideration too," said Winifred, unyieldingly. "She is a very busy person, and she has evidently planned this on purpose to please m--us. And Miss Norreys must be a still busier person. I don't see that Mrs Nesterton _could_ be offended if it were all explained to her."

There was something in what she said as regarded Lady Campion and Miss Norreys. But Mrs Balderson, for once, was really vexed.

"Engagements are engagements," she said, in a dry tone not usual with her.

Celia's face was still flushed. If only she could give Winifred a hint to be more deferential! She was so used to taking the lead at home, thought Celia, she could not help that authoritative manner.

Eric Balderson had watched the breakfast-table drama with slightly cynical interest. It gratified him to see Miss Maryon showing herself to disadvantage. He did not like her. But he loved his mother, and he liked Celia. He did not wish them to be worried. And he was of a kindlier nature than he allowed to himself. So he came to the rescue.

"Can't you make a compromise?" he said. "Supposing Miss Maryon goes to Lady Campion's, and you, mother, and Miss Celia Maryon keep to the Nesterton engagement? You might call for Miss Maryon on your way back, which would give Ce--Miss Celia Maryon," with a slight twinkle of amusement in his eyes at his own involuntary freedom, "a good chance of seeing Miss Norreys too. And,"--with an obtrusively ponderous sigh--"if it would smooth down Cousin Barbara, I certainly haven't called there for an immense time. I might--there's no saying to what lengths the spirit of self-sacrifice won't carry me--I _might_ meet you myself at the Exhibition, and go back to the Nestertons' with you."

Mrs Balderson's face cleared. She hated being vexed with anybody; it was quite against her nature, if not her principles; she was already regretting her cold words to Winifred, and was pleased to find a consistent way out of the difficulty.

"That would be _very_ nice," she said, heartily. "The Nestertons would be so pleased to have you, Eric, that I daresay they would scarcely regret even Winifred."

It was hardly in human nature to have refrained from this little hit.

"Exactly," said Winifred, coolly. "They can't miss me when they don't know me. Very likely they will not even notice I am not there."

Her coolness struck Celia as it had never done before. She would have given worlds to hint to her sister that something in the way of thanks for falling in with her wishes, to both her hostess and her son, would not have been unbecoming. But the suggestion would have been thrown away upon Miss Maryon, who was a striking example of the possibility of not seeing what she did not want to see. A word timidly hazarded by Celia on the subject, when they found themselves alone for a moment a short time afterwards, showed the younger sister that any such effort was better unmade.

The afternoon's programme was adhered to, Celia setting off with Mrs Balderson to the "rendezvous" at the Exhibition, in apparently great content, for, if she were secretly disappointed at the small chance of her having more than a glimpse of Hertha Norreys, she was too unselfish and too sensible of what was due to her kind old friend to show it.

And at about a quarter to five, Winifred, in happy independence, and blissfully unconscious of having in any way fallen short in consideration of others or deference to their wishes, found herself making her way into Lady Campion's drawing-room.

Her heart--for she was a girlish creature after all--beat considerably faster than usual: much faster, in all probability, than if she had been about to be introduced to some personage of exalted rank or social position. Her short-sightedness added somewhat also to her unusual embarrassment. For the room was fitfully, rather than dimly, lighted, after the fashion of drawing-rooms of the present day; and Winifred was used to old-fashioned lamps and white-panelled wainscoting, reflecting the clear, generally diffused radiance. And there seemed to her to be a whole crowd of people sitting or standing about, as somewhat awkwardly, only just avoiding a catastrophe of some kind, she threaded her way through the too abundant pretty things on every side to the lady of the house.

She was not annoyed or ashamed of herself, however. She was too much in earnest about meeting Miss Norreys to think about herself. So there was real simplicity in her bearing, though, for once in her life, she looked decidedly timid. And the look added wonderfully to her charm--in some eyes at least.

It is to be doubted if Hertha would ever have "taken to" the girl as she did, but for the gentleness and appeal about her, this first time they met.

For Lady Campion had found time to whisper a word or two to her friend when Miss Maryon's name was announced.

"This is one of the little country girls--_the_ one," she said, "who fell so desperately in love with you the other day, as I was telling you. Be nice to her, poor dear, won't you? Don't be stuck-up and stand-off."

For both these dreadful things Miss Norreys _could_ be, said rumour--and rumour sometimes speaks truly, on occasion. But not when she was sorry for any one, not when her large, pitiful heart was touched; then no woman could be sweeter and gentler and less alarming than Hertha.

And her first glance at Winifred made her sorry for her. Lady Campion's "poor dear" had misled Miss Norreys. She had no idea that the girl was one of the prosperous of the earth, and Winifred was plainly dressed. She was neat, but that was about all. Her morning attire left more to be desired than her evening toilettes, which, though a trifle heavy, perhaps, and on the outside of simplicity, were yet, as I said, of rich material, whereas her country ideas had not risen far as regarded the tailor-made tweeds and black or blue serges which were her usual winter garments.

And the room was imperfectly lighted. All that Miss Norreys saw was a girl of not more than average height and slightly square build, standing with perplexed eyes and an unmistakable air of strangeness, looking about for Lady Campion.

The face was a good one, good in form and pleasant in colouring; the eyes, despite their bewilderment, were clear and sweet; the whole was sweeter than Winifred's face was wont to be, thanks to the passing touch of wistfulness and perplexity.

In a moment Lady Campion was greeting her, exerting the charm of manner on which she not unjustly prided herself, to make the girl feel at her ease.

And soon Winifred found herself replying, with her usual readiness, to her hostess's inquiries as to what had become of Mrs Balderson and "your sister."

"They are coming later," said Miss Maryon. "They have gone first to the Lace Exhibition, in Street, and then to the Nestertons. It was an old engagement, but Mrs Balderson will certainly call here on her way home."

"It was very good of _you_ to come," said Lady Campion. "It would have been too bad if you had all failed us."

"I was only too delighted," said Winifred. "I am so glad to see you again, and,"--with a not unbecoming hesitation and rising colour, as she glanced towards where she had, by this time, discovered Hertha--"you know I am _so_ grateful to you for giving me the chance of meeting Miss Norreys. It was so very good of you to remember my wish."

That Lady Campion was _still_ remembering it she felt doubtful, as other guests came crowding round her, and she showed signs of moving away.

"I must say it right out, or she will forget to introduce me," thought Winifred, with her customary determination.

But Lady Campion was not quite so flighty and unreliable as she got the credit of being. And she was really good-natured; she rather liked Winifred's downrightness. With a hand on her arm, she gently drew the girl forward towards the couch where sat Miss Norreys, a not uninterested spectator of the little drama.

"Lady Campion _is_ a kind woman," she said to herself. For there had been times when she was inclined to judge the lady in question too severely. With all her gifts, Hertha did not possess the capricious power so often found where one could least expect it, so even more frequently absent where one would have made sure of it--of correct, almost unfailing discernment of character. She was often mistaken, and being by nature much more enthusiastic than she allowed to appear, she had often been disappointed. And this had resulted in a certain hardening of her sympathies, which one felt to be perplexing. _Sometimes_, too, she had found herself obliged to reverse an unfavourable impression--a demand of honesty which brings with it some sting of mortification, interfering with the softening effect of what should be a gratifying discovery.

But hers was a character to mellow as she grew older. And with her a spark of pity was at all times, enough to ensure a glow of kindly interest.

This was what happened just now. She rose from her seat as Lady Campion and Winifred approached, and held out her hand with ready graciousness to the--as she imagined--somewhat shrinking girl, who was feeling herself, no doubt, strange and out of her element.

"It would have been kinder to have asked her by herself--or at least not among quite such a crowd," she thought.

And to any one knowing Winifred, there would have been something almost amusing in the half-protecting tone with which Miss Norreys at once addressed her. But if love is blind, so is youthful enthusiasm, and Winifred was truly enthusiastic about the young singer. More than this, that any one could by any possibility look upon _her_ as an object of protection or pity had never dawned upon the girl, whose self-confidence and matter-of-fact preoccupation with her own ideas often dulled her perceptions. If she noticed any special warmth in Miss Norreys' greeting, she put it down, though perhaps scarcely in so many words, to the favourable impression she herself made on her new acquaintance.

"We took to each other from the first moment," she said to Celia afterwards in describing the meeting.

"Will you come and sit down by me for a little--there is plenty of room on the sofa?" said Hertha, and Winifred delightedly obeyed. "Lady Campion tells me," she went on, "that this is, practically, almost your first visit to London. I think I envy you."

"Do you?" said Winifred, not quite sure of her meaning. "I--I really don't know. We live quite, _quite_ in the country, you see. It is, of course, very interesting to see London for the first time when one is old enough to take it in better, but--"

"That is what I meant," interrupted Miss Norreys, pleased at being understood. "I did not mean--at least I was not just then thinking of the other side--the delights of true country life, of `quite, _quite_ in the country' life," with a little smile.

"Oh!" said Winifred with a sigh. "If you knew what it was--all the year round--so monotonous, so _narrow_. I feel, since coming here, as if all my time hitherto had been wasted."

"Poor child!" thought Miss Norreys, "a country parson's daughter, I think Helena Campion said and, _of course_, poor. I can fancy the life must be rather terrible--grinding away to make both ends meet. Probably a lot of younger brothers and sisters. And she is evidently a clever girl--a girl of ideas."

"It is never too late to mend," she said, cheerfully. "You will go home enriched by a store of new thoughts and knowledge. I doubt if you would have benefited in the same way had you seen more of this wonderful--yes, it is wonderful--modern London life when you were younger. Though you are very young still."

"No," said Winifred, quaintly, with a little shake of her head, "I am not very young. And--I have come up to London with an object. I have waited so long, and I have tried to be patient! But now, at last, I do trust I am to find an opening. I _must_ get something to do--a career. It was surely a good omen that I should have seen you, Miss Norreys, the very first day, for I feel you will sympathise with me--you who have risen above the stupid old-fashioned trammels so grandly. Of course I know there can be no comparison--you are a genius, _I_ have only very ordinary powers very imperfectly trained. But I have determination and courage. I feel it is in me to do _something_--not to be condemned to the terribly narrow life, which is all I have to look to unless I succeed."

She spoke so rapidly, and yet so earnestly, that Hertha could not attempt to stop her. Yet it was hardly the place or time for a personal discussion of the kind. Miss Norreys felt touched, and yet a trifle annoyed. It was scarcely fair of Lady Campion, who must have known all about this girl, to have encouraged her to thus appeal to her, a stranger, for advice and assistance. For, in plain English, these, no doubt, were what she was in want of.

"And what can I do for her?" thought Hertha. "My world is the musical world. She does not speak of any special gifts in that direction. Yet, poor girl, evidently she is in the right about doing _something_. I do sympathise with that. If I had had no music in me, no voice, or no distinct talent, still I could have done _something_, rather than drag on, striving to make both ends meet, with no energy left for better things, as some poor women do."

These reflections passed through her mind, softening her momentary irritation. But for a few minutes she sat silent.

Winifred watched her intently.

"You will advise me?" she said at last, in a half-whisper. "You do sympathise with me?"

Miss Norreys roused herself.

"My dear Miss Maryon," she said, "of course I sympathise with you; I understand the position only too well, and I feel for you very much. But what can I do? You have no marked musical talent, I suppose; the only advice of mine really worth anything, for it is backed by my own experience, would refer to a musical career."

Winifred shook her head.

"No," she said. "I am not musical. I wish I were--at least--no, I am not sure that that is the gift I covet most. Yet, do not misunderstand me," she added hastily; "I _love_ music. When listening to some music, when listening to your voice, I feel as if my soul were awakening, as if it had found itself."

She was in earnest--her eyes glowed, her really fine features seemed full of emotion; yet, was it her extreme, though unconscious, egotism that slightly repelled Miss Norreys?

"I wish she were not so high-flown," she thought. "Still, she is not affected: she does not mean to be so, at any rate. And she is candid. But I do love simplicity. I don't think she would ever do to be a governess, but probably she has no thought of so commonplace a career."

"Then what--in what direction do you mean to turn?" she asked aloud. "You have thought too much about it not to have some definite ideas?"

"I have several," Winifred replied eagerly. "I ask nothing better than to tell you all. And what I thought you would advise me about was as to living in London: I must arrange that almost first of anything. Don't you think I am quite old enough to live alone?"

"Certainly not," Miss Norreys replied, with a smile. "Besides, you would find it very expensive if you care about any sort of comfort."

"I don't," said Winifred, confidently. "But--well, yes, I suppose I must consider it to some extent, for the sake of my people, you see-- and--if you really think I can't live alone--"

But at that moment Hertha saw approaching her a great friend of hers--a man to whom she was bound by long-standing ties of affection and gratitude, but whom, owing to his and her own busy lives, she met less frequently than she would have wished. She turned to Winifred--

"I must speak to Mr--to the man who had just come in," she said, half-rising from her seat.

"Some other time, perhaps, Miss Maryon--"

"How tiresome!" said Winifred. "Just when we were getting into a really nice talk. Cannot you just say a word or two to him, and come back again, Miss Norreys?"

But Hertha was on her feet by this time.

"We must arrange some other day. I will write to you," she said, hurriedly, eager not to miss the pleasant chance before her.

And Winifred remained alone on the sofa. She was satisfied on the whole; she had made a beginning. Miss Norreys was appreciative, and she felt sure of her ground with her.

"If such a thing could be as my living with _her_!" thought Winifred. "That would be ideal. Whatever work I take up, I could manage to fit it in to such an arrangement. And if I decide on writing as my principal occupation, of course I shall be very independent--pen and ink can do their work anywhere."

She watched Miss Norreys and the tall stranger--a man of forty or thereabouts--slightly grey, and with a somewhat peculiar stoop.