'I can quite believe it of her, Mysie! And how did Cousin Rotherwood respond?'
'He sat down upon one of the seats, and took Fly on one knee and me on the other, though we were big for it- just like papa, you know-and made us tell him all about it. Lady Rotherwood got the others out of the way somehow-I don't know how, for my back was that way, and I think Ivinghoe went after them, but there was some use in talking to Cousin Rotherwood; he has got some sense, and knows what one means, as if he was at the dear, nice playing age, and Ivinghoe was his stupid old father in a book.'
'Exactly,' said Lady Merrifield, delighted, and longing to laugh.
'But that was the worst of it,' said Mysie, sadly; 'he was so nice that I said all sorts of things I didn't mean or ought to have said. I told him I would pay for the glass if he would only wait till we had helped Dolores pay for those books that the cheque was for, because the man came alive again, after her wicked uncle said he was dead, and so somehow it all came out; how you made up to Miss Constance and couldn't come to the Butterfly's Ball for want of new dresses.'
'Oh, Mysie, you should not have said that! I thought you were to be trusted!'
'Yes, mamma, I know,' said Mysie, meekly. 'I recollected as soon as I had said it; and told him, and he kissed me and promised he would never tell anyone, and made Fly promise that she never would. But I have been so miserable about it ever since, mamma; I tried to write it in a letter, but I am afraid you didn't half understand.'
'I only saw that something was on your mind, my dear. Now that is all over, I do not so much mind Cousin Rotherwood's knowing, he has always been so like a brother; but I do hope both he and Fly will keep their word. I am more sorry for my little girl's telling than about his knowing.'
'And Ivinghoe said my running in that way on all the company was worse than breaking the glass or the palm- tree. Was it, mamma?'
'Well, you know, Mysie, there is a time for all things, and very likely it vexed Lady Rotherwood more to be invaded by such a little wild colt.'
'But not Cousin Rotherwood himself, mamma,' said Mysie, 'for he said I was quite right, and an honourable little fellow, just like old times. And so I told Ivy. And he said in such a way, 'Every one knew what his father was.' So I told him his father was ten thousand times nicer than ever he would be if be lived a hundred years, and I could not bear him if he talked in that wicked, disrespectful way, and Fly kissed me for it, mamma, and said her daddy was worth a hundred of such a prig as he was.'
'My dear, I am afraid neither you nor Fly showed your good manners.'
'It was only Ivinghoe, mamma, and I'm sure I don't care what he thinks, if he could talk of his father in that way. Isn't it what you call metallical-no-ironical?'
'Indeed, Mysie, I don't wonder it made you very angry, and I can't be sorry you showed your indignation.'
'But please, mamma, what ought I to have done about the glass?'
'I don't quite know; I think a very wise little girl might have gone to Cousin Florence's room and consulted her. It would have been better than making an explosion before so many people. Florence was kind to you, I hope.'
'Oh yes, mamma, it was almost like being at home in her room; and she has such a dear little house at the end of the park.'
A good deal more oozed out from Mysie to different auditors at different times. By her account everything was delightful, and yet mamma concluded that all had not absolutely fulfilled the paradisiacal expectation with which her country mouse had viewed Rotherwood from afar. Lady Rotherwood was very kind, and so was the governess, and Cousin Florence especially. Cousin Florence's house felt just like a bit of home. It really was the dearest little house-and fluffy cat and kittens, and the sweetest love birds. It was perfectly delicious when they drank tea there, but unluckily she was not allowed to go thither without the governess or Louise, as it was all across the park, and a bit of village.
And Fly? Oh, Fly was always dear and good and funny; but there was Alberta to be attended to, and other little girls sometimes, and it was not like having her here at home; nor was there any making a row in the galleries, nor playing at anything really jolly, though the great pillars in the hall seemed made for tying cords to make a spider's web. It was always company, except when Cousin Rotherwood called them into his den for a little fun. But he had gentlemen to entertain most of the time, and the only day that he could have taken them to see the farm and the pheasants, Lady Rotherwood said that Phyllis was a little hoarse and must not get a cold before the ball.
And as to the Butterfly's Ball itself? Imagination had depicted a splendid realization of the verses, and it was flat to find it merely a children's fancy ball, no acting at all, only dancing, and most of the children not attempting any characteristic dress, only with some insect attached to head or shoulder; nothing approaching to the fun of the rehearsal at Silverton, as indeed Fly had predicted. The only attempt at representation had cost Mysie more trouble than pleasure, for the training to dance together had been a difficult and wearisome business. Two of the grass- hoppers had been greatly displeased about it, and called it a beastly shame, words much shocking gentle Mysie from aristocratic lips. One of them had been as sulky, angry, and impracticable as possible, just like a log, and the other had consoled himself with all manner of tricks, especially upon the teacher and on Ivinghoe. He would skip like a real grasshopper, he made faces that set all laughing, he tripped Ivinghoe up, he uttered saucy speeches that Mysie considered too shocking to repeat, but which convulsed every one with laughter, Fly most especially, and her governess had punished her for it. 'She would not punish me,' said Mysie, 'though I know I was just as bad, and I think that was a shame!' At last the practising had to be carried on without the boys, and yet, when it came to the point, both the recusants behaved as well and danced as suitably as if they had submitted to the training like their sisters! And oh! the dressing, that was worse.
'I did not think I was so stupid,' said Mysie, 'but I heard Louise tell mademoiselle that I was trop bourgeoise, and mademoiselle answered that I was plutot petite paysanne, and would never have l'air de distinction.
'Abominable impertinence!' cried Gillian.
'They thought I did not understand,' said Mysie, 'and I knew it was fair to tell them, so I said, 'Mais non, car je suis la petite souris de compagne.''
'Well done, Mysie!' cried her sister.
'They did jump, and Louise began apologizing in a perfect gabble, and mademoiselle said I had de l'esprit, but I am sure I did not mean it.'
'But how could they?' exclaimed Gillian. 'I'm sure Mysie looks like a lady, a gentleman's child-I mean as much as Fly or any one else.'
'I trust you all look like gentlewomen, and are such in refinement and manners, but there is an air, which comes partly of birth, partly of breeding, and that none of you, except, perhaps, Alethea, can boast of, and about which papa and I don't care one rush.'
'Has Fly got it, mamma?' said Valetta. 'She seemed like one of ourselves.'
'Oh, yes,' put in Dolores. 'It was what made me think her stuck up. I should have known her for a swell anywhere.'
'I'm sure Fly has no airs!' exclaimed Val, hotly, and Gillian was ready to second her; but Lady Merrifield explained. 'The absence of airs is one ingredient, Val, both in being ladylike, and in the distinction in which the maid justly perceived our Mouse to be deficient. Come, you foolish girls, don't look concerned. Nobody but the maid would have ever let Mysie perceive the difference.'
Mysie coloured and answered, 'I don't know; I saw the Fitzhughs look at me at first as if they did not think I belonged, and Ivinghoe was always so awfully polite that I thought he was laughing at me.'
'Ivinghoe must be horrid,' broke out Valetta.
'The Fitzhughs said they would knock it out of him at Eton,' returned Mysie. 'They got very nice after the first day, and said Fly and I were twice as jolly fellows as he was.'
It further appeared that Mysie had had plenty of partners at the ball, and on all occasions her full share of notice, the country neighbours welcoming her as her mother's daughter, but most of them saying she was far more like her Aunt Phyllis than her own mother. The dancing and excitement so late at night had, however, tired her overmuch, she had cramp all the remainder of the night, could eat no breakfast the next day, and was quite miserable.
'I should like to have cried for you, mamma' she said, 'but they were all quite used to it, and not a bit tired. However, Cousin Florence came in, and she was so kind. She took me to the little west room, and made me lie on the sofa, and read to me till I went to sleep, and I was all right after dinner and had a ride on Fly's old pony, Dormouse. She has the loveliest new one, all bay, with a black mane and tail, called Fairy, but Alberta had that. Oh it was so nice.'
