Chapter IX: Ada's Friend

WHILE Nellie was spending a happy time at Fairleigh, two girls sat side by side, bending over their respective desks in London. They were intent on their lessons, and it was only when the teacher had shut her book that either of them raised her head.

"Ada," whispered the elder of the two, "we had such a jolly time last night."

"Did you?" answered Ada, leaning towards her, and looking interested.

"Yes; I wish you had been there. I say, Ada, I shall come and see your mamma; shall I?"

"If you like," answered Ada, just a little doubtfully.

"Why, you are a goose, Ada. Of course I shall like, and she will like me, too, I daresay; and I'll persuade her to let you come and see me."

Ada's eyes sparkled.

"No talking," interposed the teacher, and Clara May and Ada hastily opened their exercise-books, and proceeded industriously.

When school was over for that day, Clara followed Ada to the dressing-room, and announced her intention of coming home with her that afternoon.

Ada would have hesitated had she dared, as she would have preferred to ask her mamma's permission; but Clara had already laughed at her in a good-humoured way once or twice about "asking mamma;" and as this could not be anything the least underhand, she let it take its course, though secretly somewhat anxious as to what mamma would think of her friend.

So when they left the school door, they turned Ada's way, and soon arrived at No. 8.

"Here is my friend Clara May, mamma," said Ada, entering the drawing room, where her mamma was at work.

Clara May came forward and shook hands readily. She was quite used to good society, and had but little bashfulness. Nevertheless when she looked into Mrs. Arundel's face, a new feeling came over her, and instead of at once laughingly putting her request, she began to talk of the hot weather, and of how glad she was Ada and she were in the same class.

Mrs. Arundel chatted pleasantly to her, and Clara felt it more and more difficult to say what she wanted. At last she rather hurriedly began—

"Oh, Mrs. Arundel! Would you let Ada come to see us? Mamma said she should be so pleased to know her."

Ada looked anxiously at her mother, and Mrs. Arundel answered—

"If your mamma likes, dear, Ada may come to call on you at home."

"Oh, thank you," said Clara; "then you may, Ada, and I shall take you home to-morrow after school."

Clara soon after took her leave, and Ada and Mrs. Arundel were left alone.

"You have mentioned Clara May often, Ada, but I did not picture her quite what she is."

"How, mamma?"

"I hope she will be a good friend for you, my child."

"Why, yes, mamma, I hope so. She is a very nice girl, and all the others pay her a good deal of attention, and quite envy me her friendship."

"Well, dear, I only want you to be on your guard; she seems pleasant enough."

Mrs. Arundel spoke somewhat grudgingly, and Ada thought her unnecessarily cautious.

The proposed call the next day, however, came to nothing, for Ada was detained at home with a bad cold; but the following week, she received an invitation to spend the evening at her friend's home in Eaton Square.

"May I go, mamma?" asked Ada, while her mother was reading the note.

"What does 'spend the evening' mean?" asked Mrs. Arundel.

"I hardly know, but I should think they would be alone; but I can ask Clara."

When she did ask Clara, she said, "It was just a few friends, nothing much, and you must come early, so that we can have a talk first."

Ada's head was now full of what she should wear. She did not like to ask Clara, and before the eventful day, was quite worried with the subject. At last it was decided that she should put on her best Sunday dress. Her mamma would have advised her white muslin, but Ada thought it would be ridiculous if there were only one or two young ladies, and Mrs. Arundel did not press the matter.

"You must have gloves, Ada," said her mother.

"How horrid!" exclaimed Ada. "I do declare I shall feel so stuck-up."

Arthur, who was doing his lessons at the table, looked up and laughed.

Ada coloured with annoyance.

"How I should like to peep in on you, and see you sitting as fine as possible, clasping your elegant gloves."

"Hush, dear," said his mother. "Do not tease; your turn will come for this sort of thing some day."

"Not I," answered Arthur, who, boy-like, supposed that he would never have to conform to the conventionalities of life.

The day came at last, and Ada went to school as usual; but her mind was filled with thoughts of her coming treat. She met Clara just as she was entering the class-room, and looked into her face with questioning eyes. But Clara seemed exactly as usual, and was pre-occupied with her lessons. She hardly gave Ada a nod, but hurried off to her desk, and Ada followed with a sense of disappointment.

The day's work was unusually heavy, and the two girls had hardly time to exchange a word. Clara did just say, at luncheon time, "You won't forget to-night, Ada?"

"Oh no," answered Ada, wondering that Clara should think it likely.

When Dr. Arundel came home from his afternoon rounds, before the carriage went to the stables, Ada was to be conveyed to Eaton Square.

She came out into the hall at the sound of her father's latch-key, and he kissed her fondly.

"It seems like sending you into the world alone, my dear," he said, as he placed her in the carriage. "It is not like just going to see our own friends."

Ada was pretty well accustomed to the lighted streets, and was much more busy with her own thoughts than with outside things. She almost started when the carriage drew up at her friend's door.

Clara ran down to meet her, and led the way upstairs to her bedroom.

"You are nice and early," she said, "and I have not begun to dress yet."

As they entered the room Ada's eyes fell upon a fresh white dress spread out upon the bed. Her heart sank down, and she felt cold and miserable. Why had she not done as her mamma advised? She took off her cloak in silence; and when her friend turned round, she fancied there was a little surprise in her glance. Ada felt wretched; but though she tried to throw it off, could think of none of their usual topics of conversation.

Clara showed her the little "nick-nacks" of her room, and then told her who was coming; and Ada found that "a few friends" meant to Clara a very different affair from what it did to her.

"I'm afraid it is quite a party," she said at last, as her friend lifted the pretty dress from the bed.

"Oh, no! Not a real party; but we shall have some jolly fun. Don't be frightened, Ada; I gave you credit for more pluck."

"I am afraid I shall not be dressed enough," said Ada, flushing crimson; "I had no idea you expected so many. Do let me go home, Clara; it would be far better."

"Nonsense! But look here, Ada, I've a light silk dress here that would do, I believe, for you. Let me try it on you."

"Oh, no," said Ada, shrinking back. "I should not like to do that, Clara."

"Just as you like," answered Clara, shrugging her shoulders and looking vexed; "it would not have been so very dreadful, Ada."

Clara was too polite to add what was on the tip of her tongue—"I should have liked my friend to look as well as possible."

Ada felt somewhat taken in, and an aggrieved sensation came over her. She felt somehow that Clara had kept back the true nature of the party lest Mrs. Arundel should decline the invitation.

She however tried with all her might to throw off her depression, and busied herself about her friend's toilet with skilful fingers.

"You are ready now, are you not?" she said, looking with admiration at the graceful girl who stood before her.

"Yes; many thanks. Now shall we go down?"

There was no one in the large drawing room when they entered, and they wandered about looking at the pictures and portrait albums. The rooms seemed rather chill and gloomy to Ada, and she could not forbear a slight shiver.

"It is cool to-day, isn't it?" said Clara; "but we are always afraid of having a fire, because the rooms get so very hot with the gas and the people. Let us have some music while we are waiting."

At this moment, Mrs. May entered, and greeted Ada kindly; and then Mr. May came in, with a pretty girl carrying a heap of music.

"Oh, Clara," said she, "do come and help me find that song Captain McArthur wanted me to sing the other night."

"Which?" said Clara, without seeming to care; then suddenly bethinking herself, "This is Ada Arundel, Marion; my friend, you know."

Marion shook hands, and Ada had an impression that she looked her over from head to foot.

Clara went to the other side of the room and turned over the music with her sister; and though Ada was talking to Mrs. May, she could not help watching the girls; nor could she think it was only her fancy, when she saw Clara shrug her shoulders, that she was speaking to her sister about her.

The guests now began to arrive, and Clara was soon taken up with their entertainment. Ada found herself nearly forgotten, and was only introduced to one more person the whole evening. This time Clara did not say "my friend," but rather ungraciously added, "one of our girls."

But for this introduction Ada would have been nearly forsaken.

Mrs. May spoke to her once or twice, but otherwise she was left to herself. After a few songs, dancing was proposed, and everyone brightened up.

Clara came to her, and said, rather carelessly, "Do you dance, Ada?" and on Ada's shake of the head she turned away, and was soon flitting past in her airy dress.

"You don't know these people very well, my dear?" said the lady to whom she had been introduced, who was sitting by her.

"No," said Ada, while tears of vexation gathered in her eyes; "I did not know, ma'am, that it was to be a party."

"Never mind that," said the lady cheerily; "at least if you mean your dress, my dear. We should try and look at things from above."

"From above?" asked Ada, looking up in the placid face, and feeling at once a sense of relief.

"Yes, my dear; these things are not worth all the thought and trouble we give ourselves over them."

"That's like my mamma," said Ada; "but—"

"Yes, I understand. There are a great many 'buts,' Miss Arundel, but the less we think of them, the happier we shall be. So your mamma advises you to look at things from above?"

"Not in those words," said Ada, smiling; "but she tells us to look at things in the light of eternity."

"Ah! And so we should, dear. It will not make much difference then whether we were at a party in Eaton Square, with a dress just a little too heavy. I am staying here with my niece, Mrs. May, and when I came downstairs to-night, rather wishing there were no party, I did not think I should meet a little body who would be glad of my old company."

Ada looked up reassured, and then she and the sweet old lady fell into one of those pleasant talks which rest the spirit, and before Ada knew how time was passing, Clara touched her on the shoulder, and whispered, "Your carriage is come for you, but you needn't go yet."

"Oh, I must!" said Ada, rising quickly.

"Hush, don't make a stir; nobody thinks of moving yet, and it is not even supper-time. You must have some supper."

"I must not keep the carriage. Please, dear Clara, let me go."

"Well then, if you wish it, just slip out by this door; I will bid mamma good-night for you; it will never do to make a commotion. Good-night; you will not mind my not coming up with you, because I am engaged for this dance."

So Ada whispered a good-bye to Miss Dean, and soon found herself stepping into the carriage. What was her surprise to find her father seated in it.

"Oh, dear papa, how kind of you!" she exclaimed.

"I had to be out, dear, and I came round for you myself."

"Is it very late?" asked Ada.

"No; about eleven. Have you had a pleasant evening?"

Ada burst into tears; and then, laying her head on her father's shoulder, she said:

"Oh, papa, I have been so wretched and so stupid."

"What has happened, dear?"

"Nothing at all, papa; and that is the very vexation. It was a dancing party, and I was not well enough dressed, and so Clara rather slighted me, and I thought she left me to myself, and it was very uncomfortable."

"It certainly was unkind if she forsook you for such a reason," said Dr. Arundel indignantly; "but how came you to make a friend who could serve you so, Ada?"

"I didn't know," faltered Ada.

"Had you any idea it was to be such a party?"

"Not the least, papa."

Dr. Arundel was silent for some minutes, and then he said, "It is very important what friends we make, dear. A good friend or a bad friend may influence our whole lives. Did you ever ask God about her, Ada?"

"I don't think I ever did, papa," she answered sorrowfully.

"What made you like her at first?"

"She was always so pleasant and gay, and I do like fun, you know, papa; and she used to tell us about her picnics and parties, and as she liked me, I was rather—you know what I mean, papa—rather proud to be singled out by her."

"I know it all, dear," he answered tenderly.

Ada nestled closer to him. "Dear papa, I feel that I have been so thoughtless and wrong, and I know it is my own fault that has brought me into this trouble."

"Poor little Ada!"

"I know, papa, Clara did not mean beforehand to be unkind; but I can't help thinking that she knew you would not have liked me to go to such a party."

"Very likely, dear; and here we are at home. But one word, dear Ada. I am not sorry this has happened before you got entangled more. Such a friend might have led you into very serious trouble. I thank God we have discovered it thus soon."

They got out, and Ada found her mamma had already gone upstairs, so she only gave her a kiss at her door, and went up to her own room at the top of the house.

All her vexed, disappointed feeling had now vanished, and only sorrow remained that she should have tried in even a small degree to walk, as it were, alone. A line of a hymn they sometimes sang kept running in her head; and when she laid it wearily upon her pillow, she kept on repeating, till sleep overtook her—

"Choose Thou for me my friends,
My sickness or my health;
Choose Thou my cares for me,
My poverty or wealth.

"Not mine, not mine the choice
In things or great or small;
Be Thou my guide, my strength,
My wisdom, and my all."