– and in the very middle of the street a ‘growler’ turned round, so that she had to stand quite still. And, of course, there was ‘no policeman.’ The traffic was really getting beyond bounds. If only she didn’t meet Timothy coming in from his constitutional, and could get a word with Smither–a capable girl–and have the little dog fed and washed before anybody saw it. And then? Perhaps it could be kept in the basement till somebody came to claim it. But how could people come to claim it if they didn’t know it was there? If only there were someone to consult! Perhaps Smither would know a policeman–only she hoped not–policemen were rather dangerous for a nice-looking girl like Smither, with her colour, and such a figure, for her age. Then, suddenly, realising that she had reached home, she was seized by panic from head to heel. There was the bell–it was not the epoch of latchkeys; and there the smell of dinner–yes, and the little dog had smelt it! It was now or never. Aunt Juley pointed her parasol at the dog and said very feebly: “Shoo!” But it only crouched. She couldn’t drive it away! And with an immense daring she rang the bell. While she stood waiting for the door to be opened, she almost enjoyed a sensation of defiance. She was doing a dreadful thing, but she didn’t care! Then, the doorway yawned, and her heart sank slowly towards her high and buttoned boots.
“Oh, Smither! This poor little dog has followed me. Nothing has ever followed me before. It must be lost. And it looks so thin and dirty. What SHALL we do?”
The tail of the dog, edging into the home of that rich smell, fluttered.
“Aoh!” said Smither–she was young! “Paw little thing! Shall I get cook to give it some scraps, Ma’am!” At the word “scraps” the dog’s eyes seemed to glow.
“Well,” said Aunt Juley, “you do it on your own responsibility, Smither. Take it downstairs quickly.”
She stood breathless while the dog, following Smither and its nose, glided through the little hall and down the kitchen stairs. The pit-pat of its feet roused in Aunt Juley the most mingled sensations she had experienced since the death of Septimus Small.
She went up to her room, and took off her veil and bonnet. What WAS she going to say? She went downstairs without knowing.
In the drawing-room, which had just had new pampas grass, Ann, sitting on the sofa, was putting down her prayer-book; she always read the Service to herself. Her mouth and chin looked very square, and there was an expression in her old grey eyes as if she were in pain. She wanted her lunch, of course–they were trying hard to call it lunch, because, according to Emily, no one with any pretension to be fashionable called it dinner now, even on Sundays. Hester, in her corner by the hearth, was passing the tip of her tongue over her lips; she had always been so fond of mincepies, and these would be the first of the season. Aunt Juley said:
“Mr. Scoles was delightful this morning–a beautiful sermon. I walked in the Gardens.”
Something warned her to say no more, and they waited in silence for the gong; they had just got a gong–Emily had said it was ‘the thing.’
It sounded. Dear, dear! What a noise–bom–bom! Timothy would never–Smither must take lessons. At dear James’ in Park Lane the butler made it sound almost cosy.
In the doorway of the dining-room, Smither said:
“It’s ate it all, Ma’am–it was THAT hungry.”
“Shhh!”
A heavy footstep sounded in the hall; Timothy was coming from his study, square in his frock-coat, his face all brown and red–he had such delicate health. He took his seat with his back to the window, where the light was not too strong.
Timothy, of course, did not go to church–it was too tiring for him–but he always asked the amount of the offertory, and would sometimes add that he didn’t know what they wanted all that for, as if Mr. Scoles ever wasted it. Just now he was getting new hassocks, and when they came she had thought perhaps dear Timothy and Hester would come too. Timothy, however, had said:
“Hassocks! They only get in the way and spoil your trousers.”
Aunt Ann, who could not kneel now, had smiled indulgently:
“One should kneel in church, dear.”
They were all seated now with beef before them, and Timothy was saying:
“Mustard! And tell cook the potatoes aren’t browned enough; do you hear, Smither?”
Smither, blushing above him, answered: “Yes, sir.”
Within Aunt Juley, what with the dog and her mind and the difficulty of assimilating Yorkshire pudding, indigestion had begun.
“I had such a pleasant walk in the Gardens,” she said painfully, “after church.”
“You oughtn’t to walk there alone in these days; you don’t know what you may be picking up with.”
Aunt Juley took a sip of brown sherry–her heart was beating so! Aunt Hester–she was such a reader–murmured that she had read how Mr. Gladstone walked there sometimes.
“That shows you!” said Timothy.
Aunt Ann believed that Mr. Gladstone had high principles, and they must not judge him.
“Judge him!” said Timothy: “I’d hang him!”
“That’s not quite a nice thing to say on Sunday, dear.”
“Better the day, better the deed,” muttered Timothy; and Aunt Juley trembled. He was in one of his moods. And, suddenly, she held her breath. A yapping had impinged on her ears, as if the white dog were taking liberties with Cook. Her eyes sought Smither’s face.
“What’s that?” said Timothy. “A dog?”
“There’s a dog just round the corner, at No. 9,” murmured Aunt Juley; and, at the roundness of Smither’s eyes, knew she had prevaricated. What dreadful things happened if one was not quite frank from the beginning! The yapping broke into a sharp yelp, as if Cook had taken a liberty in turn.
“That’s not round the corner,” said Timothy; “it’s downstairs. What’s all this?”
All eyes were turned on Smither, in a dead silence. A sound broke it–the girl had creaked.
“Please, Miss, it’s the little dog that followed Madam in.”
“Oh!” said Aunt Juley, in haste; “THAT little dog!”
“What’s that?” said Timothy. “Followed her in?”
“It was so thin!” said Aunt Juley’s faint voice.
“Smither,” said Aunt Ann, “hand me the pulled bread; and tell Cook I want to see her when she’s finished her dinner.”
Into Aunt Juley’s pouting face rose a flush.
“I take the entire responsibility,” she said. “The little dog was lost. It was hungry and Cook has given it some scraps.”
“A strange dog,” muttered Timothy, “bringing in fleas like that!”
“Oh! I don’t think,” murmured Aunt Juley, “it’s a well-bred little dog.”
“How do YOU know? You don’t know a dog from a door-mat.”
The flush deepened over Aunt Juley’s pouts.
“It was a Christian act,” she said, looking Timothy in the eye. “If you had been to church, you wouldn’t talk like that.”
It was perhaps the first time she had openly bearded her delicate brother. The result was complete. Timothy ate his mincepie hurriedly.
“Well, don’t let ME see it,” he muttered.
“Put the wine and walnuts on the table and go down, Smither,” said Aunt Ann, “and see what Cook is doing about it.”
When she had gone there was silence. It was felt that Juley had forgotten herself.
Aunt Ann put her wineglass to her lips; it contained two thimblefuls of brown sherry–a present from dear Jolyon–he had such a palate! Aunt Hester, who during the excitement had thoughtfully finished a second mince-pie, was smiling. Aunt Juley had her eyes fixed on Timothy; she had tasted of defiance and it was sweet.
Smither returned.
“Well, Smither?”
“Cook’s washing of it, Miss.”
“What’s she doing that for?” said Timothy.
“Because it’s dirty,” said Aunt Juley.
“There you are!”
And the voice of Aunt Ann was heard, saying grace. When she had finished, the three sisters rose.
“We’ll leave you to your wine, dear. Smither, my shawl, please.”
Upstairs in the drawing-room there was grave silence. Aunt Juley was trying to still her fluttering nerves; Aunt Hester trying to pretend that nothing had happened; Aunt Ann, upright and a little grim, trying to compress the Riot Act with her thin and bloodless lips. She was not thinking of herself, but of the immutable order of things, so seriously compromised.
Aunt Juley repeated, suddenly: “He followed me, Ann.”
“Without an intro–Without your inviting him?”
“I spoke to him, because he was lost.”
“You should think before you speak. Dogs take advantage.”
Aunt Juley’s face mutinied. “Well, I’m glad,” she said, “and that’s flat. Such a how-de-do!”
Aunt Ann looked pained. A considerable time passed. Aunt Juley began playing solitaire–she played without presence of mind, so that extraordinary things happened on the board. Aunt Ann sat upright, with her eyes closed; and Aunt Hester, after watching them for some minutes to see if they would open, took from under her cushion a library volume, and hiding it behind a firescreen, began to read–it was volume two and she did not yet know ‘
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