Part 21 (2/2)

Still writing songs and giving story-telling entertainments, are you?

Oh, I heard all about it. I was bothered to death to find engagements for you.” Truda lay back in her chair and looked curiously into the fair, troubled face. ”Seen anything of Ralph Merrilies lately?”

Hope's embarra.s.sment was swallowed up in surprise at so casual a reference to a future husband. ”No,” she said emphatically--”not for nearly six months. I never meet him except at my aunt's house, and I go there very seldom. He does not call on us in our flat.”

”I wonder why not. He was awfully smitten with you; and wasn't. I furious about it? He had been quite attentive to me before you came, and then he had eyes for no one else. I believe I was quite jealous of you, dear.”

”You had no reason to be. You feel that now, don't you?” said Hope gently, and Truda gave a complacent little laugh.

”Oh, I don't mind now. He may care as much as he likes. Reggie is a good little soul; I'm quite satisfied with him.”

”_Reggie_!”

”Reggie, of course--Charles Reginald Blake. Who else should it be?

Hope Charrington, you _don't_ mean to tell me that you imagined--”

”Of course I did! It's your own fault. You told me--don't you remember?--you told me yourself that you liked him, and warned me--”

For once Truda had the grace to blush and look discomfited.

”Oh well, of course, there was always _some one_. I was rather smitten, but I could not go on caring for a man who had the bad taste to prefer another girl. And Reggie has been so faithful! He used to send me chocolates when I was at school in Brighton.”

”He is a dear little man--so amiable and cheery. There will be quite a compet.i.tion between you as to who shall play off a trick first. I hope you will ask me down some day. You _will_ be a merry couple,” cried Hope, with such a heart-whole laugh as had not been heard from her for many a long day.

Miss Bennett regarded her curiously.

”How pleased you seem! Oh yes, I'll ask you. But perhaps you may be”-- her eyes twinkled--”previously engaged.”

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.

One dark December morning Theo found a letter lying on her plate on the breakfast-table; not the long, white envelope addressed in her own writing, which her soul abhorred, but a business-looking epistle, stamped on which was the magic name of _The Casket Magazine_. She gulped, tore open the envelope, and read the golden news: ”I have read with much interest your original little story, and have pleasure in accepting it for the magazine.” ”Your original little story--have pleasure in accepting it.” Theo gulped again, and laughed with the tears in her eyes. Oh, how often she had dreamt of this moment! How she had longed for it, and sickened with dread lest it should never come! She turned a radiant face upon her sisters, and waved her letter in the air.

”Hurrah! At last! From Mr Hammond! He has accepted my story, and calls it very original. A story in the _Casket_! Girls, do you realise it? Do you realise how you are honoured by sitting at the same table with _me_!” She laughed again, in tremulous fas.h.i.+on, and Madge bowed elaborately, coffee-cup in hand.

”Your health, my dear! I look towards you! You have done it this time.

To be a contributor to the _Casket_ is like being hung on the line in the Academy. Sha'n't I brag about you at the Slade?”

”It is simply splendid, dear. I do hope they will put your name to it.

It will be so disappointing if they don't,” said Philippa the tactless.

She was overflowing with sympathy with Theo in her success, and yet, poor dear! she must needs call attention to the one existing drawback; for the _Casket_ was as conservative as it was high-cla.s.s--scorned to invite popularity by ill.u.s.trations or artistic cover, and more often than not left a blank opposite the t.i.tles of stories and articles. It was at such moments as these that Theo felt that she could endure with resignation Philippa's speedy marriage and departure from the home circle. Only five minutes since she had heard the wonderful news, and already a little cloud came floating across the brightness of the sky; for it was little use appearing in the best magazine of the day if no one knew of it but yourself, and an admiring public remained in ignorance of your name.

”How _horrid_ of you to suggest such a thing! You might let me enjoy myself when I can,” she cried irritably. ”You are a perfect wet blanket, Philippa--always sitting on us, and depreciating what we do.

It is too bad--spoiling my pleasure when I have waited so long.”

”I! _I_ spoil your pleasure--_I_ depreciate you!” Philippa was fairly gasping with surprise and wounded feeling. ”When I slave for you all day long! When I take everything off your hands, so that you may give your time to your work! When it is through me you are here at all! You cruel, ungrateful girl, how can you have the heart to speak to me in such a way?”

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