Lynette had a little black velvet1 frock that had been put away in a drawer, because it was somewhat tarnished2 and out of fashion. Moreover, Lynette had grown three or four inches since the black frock had been made, and even a Queen of the Fairies’ legs will lengthen3. Over this dress rose a contest in which Lynette engaged both her mother and Miss Vance, and showed some of that tranquil4 and wise obstinacy5 that characterised her father.
Lynette appeared for lessons, clad in this same black frock, and Miss Vance, being a matter-of-fact and good-naturedly dictatorial6 adult, proceeded to raise objections.
“Lynette, what have you been doing?”
“What do you mean, Vancie?”
“Miss Vance, if you please. Who told you to put on that dress?”
“I told myself to do it.”
“Then please tell yourself to go and change it. It is not at all suitable.”
“But it is.”
“My dear, don’t argue! You are quite two years too old for that frock.”
“Mary can let it out.”
“Go and change it!”
Lynette had her moments of dignity, and this was an occasion for stateliness.
“Vancie, don’t dare to speak to me like that! I’m in mourning.”
“In mourning! For whom?”
“Miss Eve’s mother, of course! Miss Eve is in mourning, and I know father puts on a black tie.”
“My dear, don’t be——”
“Vancie, I am going to wear this frock. You’re not a great friend of Miss Eve’s, like me. She’s the dearest friend in the world.”
The governess felt that the dress was eccentric, and yet that Lynette had a sentimental7 conviction that carried her cause through. Miss Vance happened to be in a tactless mood, and appealed to Gertrude Canterton, and to Gertrude the idea of Lynette going into mourning because a certain young woman had lost her mother was whimsical and absurd.
“Lynette, go and change that dress immediately!”
It was then that Canterton came out in his child. She was serenely8 and demurely9 determined10.
“I must wear it, mother!”
“You will do nothing of the kind. The skirt is perfectly11 indecent.”
“Why?”
“Your—your knees are showing.”
“I am not ashamed of my knees.”
“Lynette, don’t argue! Understand that I will be obeyed. Go and change that dress!”
“I am very sorry, mother, but I can’t. You don’t know what great deep friends me and Miss Eve are.”
Neither ridicule12 nor fussy13 attempts at intimidation14 had any effect. There was something in the child’s eyes and manner that forbade physical coercion15. She was sure in her sentiment, standing16 out for some ideal of sympathy that was fine and convincing to herself. Lynette appealed to her father, and to her father the case was carried.
He sided with Lynette, but not in Lynette’s hearing.
“What on earth is there to object to, Gertrude?”
“It is quite absurd, the child wanting to go into mourning because old Mrs. Carfax is dead.”
“Children have a way of being absurd, and very often the gods are absurd with them. The child shall have a black frock.”
Gertrude twitched17 her shoulders, and refused to be responsible for Canterton’s methods.
“You are spoiling that child. I know it is quite useless for me to suggest anything.”
“You are not much of a child yourself, Gertrude. I am. That makes a difference.”
Canterton had his car out that afternoon and drove twenty miles to Reading, with Lynette on the seat beside him. He knew, better than any woman, what suited the child, so Lynette had a black frock and a little Quaker bonnet18 to wear for that other child, Mrs. Carfax, who was dead.
Within a week Eve was back at Fernhill, painting masses of hollyhocks and sweet peas, with giant sunflowers and purple-spiked buddlea for a background. Perhaps nothing had touched her more than Lynette’s black frock and the impulsive19 sympathy that had suggested it.
“I’m so sorry, Miss Eve, dear. I do love you ever so much more now.”
And Eve had never been nearer tears, with Lynette snuggling up to her, one arm round her neck, and her warm breath on Eve’s cheek.
It was holiday time, and Miss Vance’s authority was reduced to the supervision20 of country walks, and the giving of a daily piano lesson. Punch, the terrier, accompanied them on their walks, and Miss Vance hated the dog, feeling herself responsible for Punch’s improprieties. Her month’s holiday began in a few days, and Lynette had her eyes on five weeks of unblemished liberty.
“Vancie goes on Friday. Isn’t it grand!”
“But you ought not to be so glad, dear.”
“But I am glad. Aren’t you? I can paint all day like you, and we’ll have picnics, and make daddy take us on the river.”
“Of course, I’m glad you’ll be with me.”
“Vancie can’t play. You see she’s so very old and grown up.”
“I don’t think she is much older than I am.”
“Oh, Miss Eve, years and years! Besides, you’re so beautiful.”
“You wicked flatterer.”
“I’m not a flatterer. I’m sure daddy thinks so. I know he does.”
Eve felt herself flushing, and her heart misgave21 her, for the lips of the child made her thrill and feel afraid. She had accepted the new life tentatively yet recklessly, trying to shut her eyes to the possible complexities22, and to carry things forward with a candour that could not be questioned. She was painting the full opulence23 of one of the August borders, with Lynette beside her on a stool, Lynette who pretended to dabble24 in colours, but loved to make Eve talk. It was a day without wind; all sunlight, blue sky, and white clouds, with haze25 on the hills, and somnolence26 e............