Meade L. T. - The Girls of St. Wode's

The Girls of St. Wode's

CHAPTER I PREPARING FOR THE YOUNG DÉBUTANTES

Two years ago Mrs. Chetwynd, on the death of her husband, a distinguished Indian officer, had returned to England. She was a fashionable, up-to-date-looking lady now. Her widows dress was carefully chosen not too depressing, but all that was correct and proper.

Mrs. Acheson, also the widow of an Indian officer, was not fashionable in the ordinary acceptance of the word. She was plainly, even shabbily, dressed. She wore long weepers to her widows cap, and her hair was brushed smoothly away from her broad forehead. Her face was large and somewhat sunburnt, her hands well shaped, but with a look about them which showed that they were not unacquainted with manual labor.

Yes, said Mrs. Chetwynd, uttering a sigh as she spoke, this is a great day for me. The girls are educated, and are coming home.

For good? said Mrs. Acheson.

Well, yes, my dear; I suppose so. You see, they are all eighteen. It is absurd to keep girls at school after eighteen. They were eighteen the end of last year. In these days, when people grow old so terribly fast, girls ought to have their so-called education finished at eighteen.

My dear Belle would not agree with you, said Mrs. Acheson.

Mrs. Chetwynd threw up her hands and slightly raised her arched brows.

Spare me, dear Emily, she cried. I do not want to hear any of your dear, extraordinary, clever Belles theories at present. I sincerely trust yes, my dear, I must be frank I sincerely trust the wave of her influence will never come into my house.

Mrs. Acheson sighed and sank back in her chair.

On the whole, she said, I have much to be thankful for. I have enough to live on, and the memory of my dear husbands brilliant career will always be a comfort to me. Belle is also in excellent health. She is, of course, one of the great admirations of my life; but I will admit it, dear, in a whisper, that she is also one of my trials. But, dear Helen, I had forgotten that you had three daughters; and how can they be all eighteen at the same time?

I have not three daughters, my dear; I have only two. Letitia is not my daughter. She is my niece; she is my dear husbands younger brothers child. She happens to have been born within a month of Eileen and Marjorie, who are twins, consequently the three are practically the same age. They will be home in about an hour and a half. They are all devoted to each other; but I confess it will be something of a handful taking three into society at the same time.

Oh, you surely dont mean to introduce the whole three the same season? said Mrs. Acheson. How can you contemplate anything so appalling?

But I do contemplate it, said Mrs. Chetwynd, and I believe I shall manage very well. I have been, of course, in close correspondence with their invaluable teacher, Mrs. Marchland, and have had frequent photographs of the children. Eileen and Marjorie are alike in appearance and strikingly handsome; they will be foils to Letitia, who is as fair as they are dark. Letitia is pretty and fascinating, of the petit order. I should think the three would make something of a sensation. You see, my dear, I have large means, for my husband came in for the property of his elder brother, who died six months before him. I can do well by the children, and I mean to do so.

You contemplate matrimony as the aim and object of your ambition? said Mrs. Acheson.

Nothing of the kind, replied Mrs. Chetwynd, slightly reddening. If it comes, well and good. If a really estimable, worthy man takes a fancy to any of my girls, and his affection is returned, I shall look upon marriage as a suitable life for my children; but I do not take them into society for the sole purpose of getting husbands.

Mrs. Acheson slowly shook her head.

You will find it difficult to make people believe that, she said.

In all probability the three girls will marry, continued Mrs. Chetwynd in her calm, even voice, which seldom rose to excitement or dropped to melancholy. Marriage is what Providence intends for all happy women, early marriage and happy homes of their own. But I shall not hurry the matter nor put myself out about it. I mean the girls to have a good time, and will leave other matters to Providence.

Taking steps meanwhile to accomplish your real object, murmured Mrs. Acheson under her breath.

My dear Emily, do tell me about your Belle, continued Mrs. Chetwynd. So you have really sent her to St. Wodes College?

Yes; and she is very happy there, and hopes to do well in her tripos.

I must frankly say that I hate girls colleges, said Mrs. Chetwynd. After all, these new-fangled ideas that women have taken hold of are most disastrous. What awful creatures one meets now and then! All womanliness extracted out of them mere walking intellects with no hearts of any sort.

You really do run to the fair with the thing, replied Mrs. Acheson. I am sure my dear Belle

But Mrs. Chetwynd did not want to hear about dear Belle. Just at that moment there came a welcome interruption in the shape of tea. It was placed on a small table in front of the hostess, who poured it out, helped her friend to rich cream, and offered her hot buttered cake. Mrs. Acheson could only manage plain teas at home, and she enjoyed her friends meals, she was fond of saying, all the more by contrast.