“Oh, Janey, is everybody dead?” said Ursula. “How dull it is! You should see London—”
“Ursula,” said Janey firmly, “once for all, I am not going to stand this London! A nasty, smoky, muddy place, no more like Carlingford than—I am like you. You forget I have been in London; you are not speaking to ignorant ears,” said Janey, drawing herself up, “and your letters were quite bad enough. You are not going to talk of nothing but your disagreeable London here. Talk to people who have never seen it!” said the girl, elevating her shoulders with the contempt of knowledge.
“That time you were at the dentist’s—” said Ursula, “and call that seeing London! Cousin Anne and Cousin Sophy took me everywhere. We went to drive in the Park. We went to the Museum and the National Gallery. And, oh! Janey, listen! we went to the theatre: think of that!”
“Well, I should like to go to the theatre,” said Janey, with a sigh. “But you told me in your letter. That’s what comes of being the eldest. Unless you get married, or something, nobody will ever think of taking me.”
“You are five years younger than I am,” said Ursula, with dignity. “Naturally, people don’t think of a girl at your age. You must wait till you are older, as I have had to do. Janey! guess what is in that?”
“Your new dress—your ball-dress. If it isn’t crumpled as you said, you can’t have danced very much. I know my dress will be in tatters if I ever go to a ball.”
“I danced as much as I wished. I did not know many people,” said Ursula, drawing herself up. “Of course at this time of the year nobody is in town, and we hardly knew anyone—and of course—”
“Of course, you only knew the fashionable people who are out of town in winter,” cried Janey, with a laugh which echoed along the street. Ursula had not come home from London to be laughed at by her younger sister, she who had been petted by the Dorsets, and whose opinion even Sir Robert had asked on various occasions. She felt this downfall all the more deeply that she had been looking forward to so many long talks with Janey, and expected to live all her brief ten days’ holiday over again, and to instruct her young sister’s mind by the many experiences acquired in that momentous time. Poor Ursula! ten days is quite long enough to form habits at her age, and she had been taken care of, as young ladies are taken care of in society; accompanied or attended wherever she went, and made much of. To find herself thus left to arrive and get home as she pleased, with nobody but Janey to meet her, was a terrible falling-off; and to be laughed at by Janey was the last step of all. Tears filled her eyes, she turned her shoulder to her companion, averting her head; and this was all poor Ursula had to look to. The dreary Carlingford street, papa finding fault, everything going wrong, and Janey laughing at her! To be Cousin Anne’s maid, or governess to the little Indian children would be better than this. For five minutes more she walked on in offended silence, saying nothing, though Janey, like the schoolgirl she was, made frequent use of her elbow to move her sister.
“Ursula!” the girl said at last, with a more potent nudge, “what’s the matter? won’t you speak to me?” And Janey, who had her own disappointment too, and had expected to be received with enthusiasm, burst out crying, regardless of appearances, in the middle of the street.
“Janey, for Heaven’s sake—people will see you! I am sure it is I who should cry, not you,” said Ursula, in sudden distress.
“I don’t care who sees me,” sobbed Janey. “You have been enjoying yourself while we have stayed at home, and instead of being pleased to come back, or glad to see us—Oh, how can you be so cold-hearted?” she said with a fresh burst of tears.
Here the other side of the question suddenly dawned upon Ursula. She had been enjoying herself while the others stayed at home. It was quite true. Instead of feeling the shock of difference she should have thought of those who had never been so lucky as she was, who had never seen anything out of Carlingford. “Don’t be so foolish, Janey,” she said, “I am glad;—and I have brought you such beautiful presents. But when you do nothing but laugh—”
“I am sure I didn’t laugh to hurt. I only laughed for fun!” cried Janey, drying her eyes not without a little
