Part 8 (1/2)
”Cedric has got quant.i.ties of prizes: the headmaster wrote and told father that he was a 'boy of marked abilities and remarkable power of concentration,' and father is going to give him a whole sovereign, but that's because he made his century.”
”When will he be here?”
”Next week. His holidays begin on Tuesday and he's got a whole fortnight longer than we have.”
”We?” asked Alex coldly. ”How can _you_ have holidays? You're not at school.”
”I have lessons,” cried Barbara angrily. ”You know I have, and Ma'moiselle is going to give me a prize for writing, and a prize for history, and a prize for application. So there!”
”Prizes!” said Alex scornfully. ”When you're all by yourself! I never heard such nonsense.”
She no longer felt wretched and subdued, but full of irritation at Barbara's conceit and absorption in herself.
”It's not nonsense!”
”It is. If you'd been at school you'd know it was.”
”One word more of this and you'll go to bed, the pair of you,” declared old Nurse, the autocrat whom Alex had for the moment forgotten. ”It's argle-bargle the minute you set foot in the place, Miss Alex. Now you just come along and be made fit to be seen before your poor mamma and papa set eyes on you looking like a charity-school child, as hasn't seen a brush or a bit of soap for a month of Sundays.”
Useless to protest even at this trenchant description of herself.
Useless to attempt resistance during the long process of undressing, dressing again, brus.h.i.+ng and combing, inspection of finger-nails and general, dissatisfied scrutiny that ensued. Alex, in a stiff, clean frock, the counterpart, to her secret vexation, of Barbara's, open-work stockings, and new shoes that hurt her feet, was enjoined ”to hold back her shoulders and not poke” and dispatched to the drawing-room with Barbara and Archie as soon as the schoolroom tea was over.
She felt as though she had never been away.
No one had asked her anything about the convent, and all through tea Barbara and Archie had talked about the coming holidays, or had made allusions to events of which Alex knew nothing, but which had evidently been absorbing their attention for the last few weeks.
They seemed to Alex futile in the extreme.
Downstairs, Lady Isabel kissed her, and said, ”Well, my darling, I'm very glad to have you at home again. Have you been a good girl this term, and brought back a report that will please papa?” and then had turned to speak to some one without waiting for an answer.
Alex sat beside her mother while she talked to the one remaining visitor, and felt discontented and awkward.
Barbara and Archie were looking at pictures together in the corner of the room, very quiet and well behaved. The caller stayed late, and just as she had gone Sir Francis came in from his Club, the faint, familiar smell of tobacco, and Russia leather, and expensive eau-de-Cologne that seemed to pervade him, striking Alex with a fresh sense of recognition as she rose to receive his kiss. He greeted her very kindly, but Alex was quite aware of a dissatisfaction as intense as, though less outspoken than, that of old Nurse as he put up his double eye-gla.s.ses and gazed at his eldest daughter.
”We must see if the country or the seaside will bring back some roses to your cheeks,” he said in characteristic phraseology.
But when the children were dismissed from the drawing-room, Sir Francis straightened his own broad back, and tapped Alex' rounded shoulder-blades.
”Hold yourself up, my child,” he said very decidedly. ”I want to see a nice flat, and straight back.”
He made no other criticism, and none was needed.
Alex had gauged the extent of his dismay.
IV
Holidays