Domestic fiction; Girls -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction
"But I do mind," said Mabel in cold, awe-struck tones. "That’s the
awful part. And it’s nothing but the smallness of Robin that has taught
me, Mr. Symington is the only man worth knowing in the whole earth."
She clasped her hands in a hopeless way.
"And he has been sent away, banished, by the very man who should have
made it impossible for me to see any good quality in any one else except
himself."
"Who will play Mr. Meredith’s accompaniments now?" Elma asked. "Why
they can’t get on without you, dear." She still believed that just as
plays were arranged, so should the affairs of Mabel come back to their
original placidity.
"I shall never play another note for Robin Meredith," said Mabel.
Elma could not yet doubt but that Robin would come directly he knew how
satisfactorily he had disposed of his rival. One hoped that Mr.
Symington had only explained so far to Mabel. That afternoon they were
to meet Isobel, so that every one was more or less occupied, and always
on this same evening of the week, Friday, the Merediths were at an open
"at home" which the friends of the Leightons attended at the White
House. The question was, would the Merediths come?
Mabel did not seem to care whether they came or not. She sat, crushing
the letter and not looking at Elma.
"Elma dear," she said at last, "I can’t stand this. I shall tell papa.
Mamma will only say ’I told you so’ for our having been such friends
with the Merediths. But I can’t bear that she shouldn’t know I’m not
ashamed of anything," she caught her breath with a slight sob. "But I’m
done with Robin."
It seemed magnificent to Elma that for her own honour she should
jeopardize so much. Men like Mr. Meredith were so rare in Ridgetown.
Yet when she asked her, couldn’t she still admire Robin, Mabel said very
truthfully then "No."
Elma would have liked to say that it didn’t matter about Mr. Symington.
"Robin will never enter this house again," Mabel said with quivering
lip.
But he came--several times.
CHAPTER XV
The Arrival
The 4.50 train hammered and pounded in a jerkily driven manner to
Ridgetown. It was hot, and most of the windows lay open in the
endeavour to catch any air that had escaped being stifled in smoke and
the dust of iron. Miss Meredith occupied a first-class carriage
together with two people. One, an old gentleman who travelled daily and
who did not count, the other a dark-eyed girl of pale complexion. She
wore irreproachably fitting tweeds, and as though to contradict the
severity of their trim appearance, a very flamboyant red hat. It was
tip-tilted in a smart way over her nose, and had an air of seeming to
make every other hat within eyeshot scream dejectedly, "I come from the
country."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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