Chapter XI: Isabel's Questioning

"DOLLY, you have not practised once for a whole week."

"O, no more I have!"

"And there are four pairs of your stockings that want darning."

"Now, Issy,—you dear creature—"

"Yes, you can always coax when you want something done. But mother particularly wishes you to get into the way of mending your own clothes."

"I don't mind patches. It's that horrible darning that I hate."

"Only, if mother wishes—"

"Yes, of course—" rather fretfully. "But I've got such a lot to do this week. Won't you, won't you,—just for once, Issy?"

Isabel stood looking down with puzzled eyes on the small "kitten-like" creature, lounging in the bow-window. As Mervyn had told Dorothea Tracy, Dolly Erskine was "sure to be admired." She was so slight, and her skin was so fair, her big eyes were so blue and her little hands were so graceful, while the masses of golden hair which fell down her back and over her shoulders were so abundant, that despite the possession of a "real undeniable snub nose," Dolly could not but be counted "pretty." At this moment, however, the fair brow was puckered, and the rosy lips had a distinct pout.

"So much to do! Dolly!"

"Well, I have. Tennis every single afternoon this week; and—"

"But tennis is only an amusement."

"It takes a lot of time. Dear me, I can't live by rote and rule, Issy. I can't do it. I'm not you or Emmeline,—don't want to be either," Dolly added voicelessly. "And we're almost in October now, and this is our very last spell of anything like summer weather. Most likely I shan't get any tennis after this week."

"Where do you play to-day? I forget."

"At the Park." A quick blush dyed Dolly's cheek, and she turned her head away, playing with the window-curtain. "I've promised to be there at half-past three, and it's past two now."

"Time enough for a little darning first. You are not going to waste a whole hour in doing nothing?"

"Reading isn't doing nothing. Not that I was reading really," added Dolly, who was truthful, at all events. "Issy, how you do plague!" Then she jumped up, and flung her arms round the elder sister. "Dear good Issy, do be kind this once. I can't darn just now,—I really really can't. I'm too excited. Please do be kind."

"What are you so excited about?" asked Isabel, smoothing down a stray wisp of the fair hair.

"O,—why,—going to the Park—" And again there was a tell-tale blush.

"I didn't know you were so devoted to Emmeline."

"Dear old Em! Of course I like her—immensely. She's a personification of all the virtues."

"And Mervyn and Edred are both there to-day, are they not? That makes it more exciting."

"Of course it does!" Dolly gave her head a little toss. "Tennis always wants a man or two, and we don't abound in men down here."

"But Edred doesn't play tennis."

"O yes, he does,—when he's out on a holiday. He never has time in London, so of course it's awfully bad play. Mervyn's is first-rate."

"But you don't care for Mervyn more than Edred?" said Isabel, deluding herself with the belief that she was putting these questions to "the child" in so careless a manner as to make no impression.

"Care for Mervyn more than Edred!" repeated "the child," with wide-open blue eyes. "Why, of course I like them both,—immensely. They are Emmeline's brothers."

"And you only like them—just for her sake?" inquired innocent Isabel.

Dolly shook her head. "Well, no,—I like Mervyn for the way he serves at tennis. It is so deliciously baffling. But the best fun of all is to see Edred's face when he misses a ball,—and he always does miss, nine times in ten. He can't laugh, you know, and he always takes everything solemnly. You'd think from the corners of his mouth that the Westminster Tower had tumbled down."

"Ah, it is all right," thought Isabel. "She could not laugh at them if she really cared for either. That is a relief, for certainly they mean nothing." Dolly's blue eyes, watching, read Isabel's conclusion, at least in part; and the rosy lips twitched mischievously.

"Well, just to-day,—just this once," Isabel said aloud, "I'll see to your mending. But not next week."

"No, not next week. Thank you awfully, you dear old thing!"

"It is no kindness to spoil you, Dolly."

"O no,—but I don't mean to be spoilt. Isn't Margot going out to-day?"

"I don't think she can. Her back is bad. That is why I don't like to go with you to the Park."

"There's no need. I don't want any chaperon there, happily."

Dolly danced away, and Isabel went slowly to the breakfast-room, where Margot was lying on the couch.

"I have just been having a little talk with Dolly," she said.

"Yes?" Margot's peculiar whiteness of complexion and hands gave her a very delicate look; but the features were small and regular, and the expression was so sweet, that many counted her beautiful.

"She was in such a state of excitement about going to the Park. Of course,—Mervyn and Edred being there—"

"Yes?"

"I am always so afraid of any one-sided attachment. Poor little Dolly, it would be dreadfully sad. I am afraid she is susceptible. But I had an opportunity to put a question or two—quite simply—and I assure you, she declared she did not know which she liked best."

"Ah!" Margot said.

"Indeed, she laughed at them both in the most amusing way. On the whole, she seemed to think she preferred Mervyn, because of his good playing. But that means nothing."

"No,—of course. Issy, I would not ask Dolly any more questions."

"I don't think I need. My mind is at rest now."

"Anyhow, it will be wiser not. You see, you might make a slip, and suggest to Dolly just what you don't want her to think about."

"Yes; but I have not done so this time. I was most careful. It all came most naturally and easily," said Isabel, her narrow forehead puckering a little. "I assure you it is all right."

"Only as you have found out what you wanted, I would let things alone now."

"Yes,—to be sure. There is no need to say any more. Are you quite comfortable, Margot? I ought to go to mother."

"And you don't mean to be at the Park?"

"I don't care to go, and really I am too busy. As Dolly says, she needs no chaperon there."

"Not generally, of course. I should have thought—just to-day—"

But Isabel was gone. Margot lay considering the matter, and the result of her cogitations was, that she presently rose, and went upstairs. Soon after three o'clock, a little white figure, with golden hair and bright cheeks, came into the breakfast-room, to find Margot no longer on the sofa, but dressed in pale grey silk, with hat to match.

"Margot!—you don't mean to say you are going too! Margot, you do look lovely! But I thought—your back—"

"Yes, it is aching rather; still, I think I can manage this. Don't protest before mother. The pony-carriage will take us there, and if I like to leave before you, I can. I don't want you to go alone."

The tone was not particularly expressive, but Dolly's cheeks made a quick response.

"It's much nicer having you too," the younger girl said demurely.

"Yes,—I thought silver-grey would be suitable for your chaperon."

"Chaperon! Nonsense! A girl of twenty-seven!"

"Ten years out,—and you barely 'out' yet. I'm very nearly on the shelf, Dolly."

"Nonsense!" cried Dolly. "There isn't a girl for twenty miles round half as pretty as you."

"Of course you expect me to return the compliment," laughed Margot.

"Now, Margot!"

"But it wouldn't be good for you, even if I could. People's heads are easily turned at your age. Isn't that the chaise?"

"Well I shan't look to you for compliments," retorted Dolly, "or to Mrs. Claughton. She is perfectly sure to give me another lecture on having my hair put up. I hope I shall not be cross. It isn't really her business. My father likes this way best,—and—" after a pause, "other people too."

"What other people?" Margot asked the question involuntarily.

"Mervyn and Edred." Dolly's colour went up, and her lips parted into a smile. "Good old Issy has just been trying to find out which of them I like best."

"Yes?" Margot said calmly.

"As if one couldn't like them both in different ways! Come along, Margot."