Read Ebook: The doings of Doris by Giberne Agnes

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Ebook has 2481 lines and 75909 words, and 50 pages

Mr. Stirling's attention was arrested.

"Does Miss Winton work too hard?"

"Pray don't count me meddlesome." Mrs. Brutt put on a deprecating smile. "As a stranger, I have no right to speak. But sometimes--don't you think--sometimes strangers see more than friends? I can't help being abominably clear-sighted. It isn't my fault. I suppose I'm made so. And--I'm speaking now in strict confidence--" she lowered her voice to a mysterious murmur,--"I do feel sorry for the girl."

"For Doris Winton!" His manner showed surprise.

"Oh, you men!--you see nothing. You never do. She is bright enough in a general way. She doesn't give in. A brave spirit, you know-- that's what it is. She makes the best of things, and people don't notice. Not that she meant to betray anything to me,--poor little dear. Oh, she is thoroughly loyal,--never dreams of complaining. But one cannot help seeing; that's all. I always do see--somehow. And I confess, I positively ache to get that dear child right away out of the treadmill, if only for a few weeks. To take her abroad, I mean, and to give her a really good time. It would mean everything to her-- to health and character and--everything. However, at present I don't see my way. What with building and settling in, I have run to the utmost extent of my tether. Poor dear little Doris. It must wait. But it would mean fresh life to her."

Mr. Stirling said good-bye, and departed thoughtfully. Mrs. Brutt felt that she had scored a point. He would not forget.

She went back to her peregrinations about the room, indulging in dreams. Switzerland offered itself in tempting colours. She did not care to go without a companion. But a young bright girl, such as Doris--pleasant, and also submissive--would be the very thing. More especially if she could bring it about that somebody else should undertake all Doris's expenses; and perhaps not Doris's only!

Doris Rebels

MR. STIRLING had many miles to ride before turning homeward, but he showed no signs of haste, walking slowly from Clover Cottage. His face fell into a somewhat severe set, till a slight bend in the lane brought him almost within touch of Mrs. Brutt's "dearest of girls," the Rector's daughter.

She stood just within the back gate of the Rectory garden, the centre of a flock of pigeons. One white-plumed beauty was perched on her shoulder; another sat on her wrist. She was of good height, slender and supple in make, with long lissom arms and fingers. Small dainty ears, a pear-shaped outline of cheek, pencilled dark brows over deep-set eyes, and a pretty warmth of colouring, made an attractive picture. A broad low brow, with eyes well apart, spoke of intellect.

"Pets as usual!"

The swish of fluttering wings responded. Doris turned with a smile of welcome.

"I'm afraid I have frightened them off."

"It doesn't matter. The dear things are so shy. Won't you come indoors?"

"Not to-day, I think. Your neighbour down the lane has kept me longer than I intended."

"Is your horse in the yard? Shall we go through the garden?" It was a common practice of the Squire to leave his horse in the Rectory stables, when he had business in the village. She walked by his side with lithe free grace, carrying her head like a young princess. "So you've been to the Cottage. Isn't she nice? I like her awfully." Doris's cheeks dimpled. "But father doesn't. He can't forgive her for being there. If he ventures out in his beloved old coat, she is sure to catch him."

Mr. Stirling stooped to pick up a snail, which he flung far over the wall. Then he admitted that he found Mrs. Brutt pleasant--something of an acquisition.

"When are you coming to see Katherine?"

"I did think of this afternoon--but I'm not sure."

He recollected what Mrs. Brutt had said. "Too much to do?"

Her face took a rebellious set.

"I don't like being made to do things."

"Even if you don't mind the things themselves?"

She laughed, but the rebellious note was still audible.

"I'd rather be free to choose for myself. I hate to have my whole life parcelled out for me by--other people!"

This was a new sound in his ears. Subterranean gases of discontent had been at work; but till this moment the imprisoned forces had found no vent in his hearing.

"Spirit of the Age!" he murmured to himself. Aloud he made a slight encouraging sound, and her words came in a rush.

"I don't see why I should have to do it all. I can't help being a Rector's daughter. If I were a clergyman, or a clergyman's wife, it would be by my own choice. Not because I couldn't help myself. Doesn't it seem rather unfair that I should have to spend my time doing things that I detest, and having none for what I love?--well, not very much, at all events. Oh, I didn't mind so much at first. One likes variety, and it was a change from school. But--lately--"

"Yes--lately--?"

"It has begun to seem--horrid. I've felt horrid sometimes. Don't you know--?" appealingly.

"Perhaps I do. What sort of things is it that you want to do?"

"Oh just heaps! I love music, and I could spend hours over it every day. And hours more over Italian and German. I'm rather good at languages. And I want to read--any amount. And then I should like--" and she paused--"more go--for fun!"

"You are asked to a good many tennis-parties, I believe."

"Heaps of them. But that is the same thing, over and over. The same houses, and the same friends. I should like things to be different. I want to go about, and to see fresh people." Her face flashed into brightness. "If only I could go abroad! That would be too delicious. Not keep on always and for ever in the same old ruts."

She sent a quick glance into her companion's face, and was sure that he understood, though he made no remark.

"I don't mean to grumble. But I do so detest handling dirty old library books, and running the Shoe-Club, and going in and out of stuffy cottages, and hearing all about the old women's complaints. I suppose, if I were really good, I should dote on that sort of life. But I'm not!--and I don't! I do love things to be nice and clean and dainty. And--perhaps it is conceited of me--I sometimes think I could really do something with my music, if only--but there is never any time. Mother likes me to practise every day; but as soon as I begin to get into it, and forget the whole world, I'm morally certain to be called off, and sent to take some wretched note somewhere."

"That must be a little trying."

"It's just horribly trying, and it makes me so cross. Ought I to say all this? Of course mother doesn't mean--but you see, she's not musical. And when interruptions come again and again, I get out of heart, and it doesn't seem worth while to go on. Sometimes I feel as if I must chuck it all, and get right away!--as if I couldn't go on!"

Her face flushed. He questioned--had the elder lady acted as suggester to the girl, or the girl to the elder lady? Some collusion of ideas evidently existed.

"But you like to be useful."

The corners of her mouth curled upward in a protesting smile.

"Ye--es--I suppose so. Not always. And I'd rather be useful in my own fashion. Not in other people's fashion."

No more could be said, for on their way to the stable they skirted the glass door which opened from the Rector's study upon a side-lawn. There stood the Rector himself, in an attitude of bored endurance. There also was the rectorinn,--so named, and not inappropriately, by Mrs. Brutt,--large and comfortable in figure, calm and positive in manner. Though she never spoke loudly, her voice had a penetrative quality.

"Really, Sylvester, with that woman always about you must be more careful. Only last week you promised me never to be seen in this coat. I shall have to give it away."

"Drastic measure!" muttered the Rector.

"I don't see what else can be done. You never remember to change it; and positively I cannot have you going about in rags. She will gossip about you all over the place. If the husband goes shabby, it is always the wife who is blamed."

"Well, well, my dear, I'll be careful."

"You won't. You never are. When once you get to your tools, everything else goes out of your head--promises included. Nothing will cure you but getting rid of the coat altogether."

"The consent of the owner is generally supposed--"

"Not in the case of husband and wife, I hope."

The Rector wondered what his wife would say, if he proceeded to dispose, without her consent, of her best black silk. But he was not a lover of what the Scots call "argle-bargle."

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