Produced by Kevin Handy, Dave Maddock, and the Project
Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
WILD KITTY.
BY L. T. MEADE
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I. Bessie, Alice, Gwin, and Elma
CHAPTER II. The Blarney Stone
CHAPTER III. Is that the Girl?
CHAPTER IV. Tiffs all Round
CHAPTER V. Incorrigible Kitty
CHAPTER VI. The Tug-of-War
CHAPTER VII. Elma
CHAPTER VIII. The Little House in Constantine Road
CHAPTER IX. The Head Mistress and the Cabbage-Rose
CHAPTER X. Paddy Wheel-About
CHAPTER XI. In Carrie's Bedroom
CHAPTER XII. The "Spotted Leopard"
CHAPTER XIII. Coventry
CHAPTER XIV. The Lost Packet
CHAPTER XV. Gwin Harley's Scheme
CHAPTER XVI. Paddy Wheel-About's Old Coat
CHAPTER XVII. "We Are Both in the Same Boat"
CHAPTER XVIII. "I Cannot Help You"
CHAPTER XIX. Kitty Tells the Truth
CHAPTER XX. An Eye-Opener
CHAPTER XXI. The Lady from Buckinghamshire
CHAPTER XXII. Stunned and Cold
CHAPTER XXIII. Stars and Moon, and God Behind
CHAPTER XXIV. Sunshine Again
CHAPTER XXV. Kitty "Go-Bragh" (Forever)
CHAPTER I.
BESSIE, ALICE, GWIN, ELMA.
Bessie! Bessie!
"Yes, mother," replied Bessie Challoner. "You'll be late for school, child, if you are not quick."
"Bessie!" shouted her father at the top of his voice from below stairs.
"Bessie; late as usual."
"I am really going, father; I am just ready," was the eager reply. Bessie caught up her sailor hat, shoved it carelessly over her mass of thick hair, and searched frantically round her untidy bedroom for the string bag which contained her schoolbooks.
"Oh, Bessie, you'll get into a scrape," said Judy, one of her younger sisters, dancing into the room. "Why, you are late. I hear the schoolbell ringing; it will stop in a moment."
"Don't worry me, Judy," cried Bessie. "Do you know where my bag is?"
Judy ran into the middle of the room, turned round, and began to laugh ecstatically. "Do you know where it is, you little good-for-nothing? Have you put it hiding?"
"Yes, yes, yes," screamed the child, jumping up and down in her joy.
"Then, if you don't give it to me at once, I'll—"
But Judy had dodged her and was out of the room. Up to the attic flew the child, and after her dashed Bessie. The bag was found in the corner of the linen-cupboard. Bessie aimed a frenzied blow at Judy, who once again dodged her, then the schoolgirl ran downstairs and was out of the house.
"Bessie, for shame!" said her brother, who was standing smoking his cigarette in a very lazy manner in the garden. "Why, you'll never get full marks."
"Don't," said Bessie. "I feel quite hunted between you all."
She had got on the highroad now, and could walk away in peace. She was a tall girl, somewhat bony-looking at present, with a face which showed abundance of intellect, large dreamy eyes, a wide mouth, a flat nose, a long chin. Bessie was certainly not at all a pretty girl; but, notwithstanding this fact, there were few of all the pupils at Middleton School who approached her in popularity. She was clever without being a scrap conceited, and was extremely good-natured, doing her work for the pleasure of doing it and not because she wanted to outstrip a schoolfellow. She was conscientious too, and would have scorned to do a mean or shabby thing; but she was hopelessly untidy, careless to a fault, late for school half her days, getting into countless scrapes and getting out of them as best she could—the butt of her class as well as the favorite, always true to herself and indifferent to the censures or the praise of her fellow-creatures.
"Well, Bess, is that you? Do wait for me," called out a panting voice in the distance.
Late as she was, Bessie stopped. It was never her way to leave a fellow-creature in the lurch.
A girl with dancing eyes and rosy cheeks came panting and puffing round the corner.
"I just caught a sight of the red ribbon with which you tie your hair," she said. "I am so glad you are late; I am too, and I am quite ashamed of myself."
"Why in the world should you be ashamed of yourself, Alice?" asked
Bessie. "I don't suppose you meant to be late."
"Of course not; but I shall lose my mark for punctuality; and you know, Bessie, I am feverishly anxious to get a move, and to—to win the scholarship at the midsummer break-up."
Bessie yawned slightly.
"Come on, Alice," she said; "I am disgracefully late as usual, and we need not make matters worse. I suppose we must wait in the hall now until prayers are over."
"It's too bad," said Alice. "I'll tell you afterward how it happened, Bessie. I am glad you waited for me. They always scold you so much for being late that they will not take so much notice of me. May I slip into my place in form behind you?"
"If you like," said, Bessie.
They entered the great schoolhouse, turned down a long corridor, deposited their hats and jackets on the pegs provided for the purpose, and went into the schoolroom just when the pupils were filing into their different classes.
Both girls had marks against their names for unpunctuality. Alice frowned and fidgeted, turned scarlet, glanced nervously at her fellow-pupils, but Bessie took the matter with her wonted calm. Soon she forgot all about it. She became absorbed in her different studies, each one of which she had prepared with extreme attention. As she answered question after question her great, full, dreamy eyes seemed to lighten with hidden fire, her face lost its plainness, the intellect in it transformed it. One or two other girls in the class watched her with a slight degree of envy.
Bessie was very high up in the school. As usual she quickly rose to the head of the form; this position she kept without the slightest difficulty during lesson after lesson.
Alice, muddled already by that mark for unpunctuality, got through her work badly; as Bessie rose in the class Alice went down. At the end of the morning's work the two girls were far as the poles asunder.
"I can't think how you do it," said Alice, coming up to Bessie during recess, and linking her hand through her arm. "You never seem to mind disgrace at all."
"Of course I mind disgrace," answered Bessie. "Come out into the playground, won't you Alice? We can't talk in here."
They went out and began pacing up and down the wide quadrangle devoted to the purpose. Other girls passed them two and two, each girl talking to her special companion.
"How very handsome Gwin Harley looks this morning," said Alice, pausing in her grumbling to gaze at a slender and lovely girl who passed them, walking with another dark-eyed, somewhat plain girl of the name of Elma Lewis.
"I wish she was not such friends with Elma," said Bessie. "I like Gwin very much indeed; I suppose every one in the school does."
"Catch Elma not making up to her," said Alice. "Why, you know Gwin is as rich as ever she can be; she has a pony-carriage of her own. I cannot make out why she comes to Middleton School."
"Because it is the best school in the neighborhood," said Bessie somewhat proudly. "It is not a question of money, nor of anything but simply of learning; we learn better at Middleton School than anywhere else; there are better teachers and—"
"But such a rum lot of girls," said Alice. "Of course we all go in sets, and our set is quite the nicest in the school; but all the same, I wonder a rich man like Mr. Harley allows Gwin to come here."
Gwin and Elma drew up at that moment in front of the other two.
"Bessie," said Gwin, "I saw you carrying everything before you this morning. But," she added hastily, "that is neither here nor there. I shall never be a great learned genius like you, but I shall admire geniuses all the same. Now, I want to say that Elma is coming to tea with me this afternoon, and will you both come as well? We have a good deal to talk over."
Bessie's face lightened.
"I should like it very much indeed," she said; "but you know I must get through my studies first."
"Oh, you won't take long over them."
"Yes, but I shall," answered Bessie; "there is a very stiff piece of German to translate this afternoon. I can manage French and mathematics of course, and—"
"Oh, don't begin to rehearse your different studies," said Gwin, holding up her hand in a warning attitude. "I don't care in the least what you learn, Bessie; I want you to come. Because," she added, "you are such an honest creature."
"Why should not I be honest?" said Bessie, opening her eyes wide. "I have never had any temptation to be anything else."
"My dear Bessie, you are too painfully matter-of-fact," said Elma. "Gwin meant that your nature is transparent—it is a beautiful trait in any character."
"Well, Bessie, will you come or will you not?" interrupted Gwin.
"Yes, I'll come. I'll manage it somehow," said Bessie. I can't resist the temptation."
"And you too, Alice?" said Gwin, turning to Alice Denvers, who was watching Bessie with envious eyes.
"I don't suppose mother will let me. I am ever so vexed," said Alice.
"But why not, dear; you have nothing special to do to-day?"
"Well, I had a bad mark for unpunctuality, and—"
"What does that signify?"
"But listen; I have gone down several places in class. Father and mother are so particular; they seem to think my whole future life depends upon my position in school. Of course I know we are not very rich, like you—" Here she flushed and hesitated.
Gwin Harley flushed also.
"When you talk like that," she said, "I feel quite ashamed of being well off. I often long to be poor like—like dear little Elma here." As she spoke she patted her somewhat squat little companion on her arm. "But never mind, girls; I am not one of those who intend to throw away all my money; that is one reason why I want to have a good talk this afternoon. You must come, Alice; you simply must."
"But there is another reason," said Alice. "Kitty Malone is coming to-day."
"Kitty Malone! Who in the name of fortune is she?"
"Oh, a wild Irish girl."
"Truly wild, I should think, with that name. 'Kitty Malone, ohone!' I seem to hear the refrain somewhere now. Isn't there a song called 'Kitty Malone'?"
"There is a song called 'The Widow Malone,'" said Bessie; "don't you know it? You read all about it in 'Harry Lorrequer.'"
"But who is Kitty Malone, Alice?"
"I say a wild Irish girl."
"And what has she got to do with you?"
"She is coming to board with us. She is going to join the school, and mother is to have the charge of her. A precious bore I shall find it."
"When did you say she was coming?" asked Gwin eagerly.
"I expect she is at home by now; she was to arrive this morning."
"Delightful!" said Gwin, clapping her hands, "she shall come too. I want beyond anything to become acquainted with a real aborigine, and of course any girl called Kitty Malone hailing from the sister-isle must belong to that species. Bring the wild Irish girl with you by all means, Alice; and now, as you have no manner of excuse, I'll say ta-ta for the present." She kissed her pretty hand lightly to the two girls, and went on her way, once more accompanied by her faithful satellite, Elma.
"Isn't she fascinating?" said Alice; "aren't you quite in love with her,
Bessie?"
"Dear me, no," answered Bessie Challoner. "I never fall in love in that sort of headlong fashion; but all the same," she added, "I admire Gwin very much, only I do wish she would not take up with Elma."
"So do I," said Alice.
"It was very kind of her to ask us," continued Bessie, "and I for one shall be delighted to go. I have not the least doubt that in a big house of that sort they have 'Household Encyclopædia,' and I want to look up the article on magnetic iron ore."
"Oh, what in the world for?" cried Alice.
"I am interested in magnets, and—but there, Alice why should I worry you with the sort of things that delight me. I am going, and that is all right. You will be sure to come too; won't you Alice?"
"Yes, I must manage it somehow; and as Gwin has asked Kitty Malone it won't make it quite so difficult. I know mother would not let me leave Kitty this afternoon, for it is, from the money point of view, a great thing for us her coming. Her people are quite well off, although they are Irish. They live in an old castle on the coast of Donegal, and Kitty has never been out of the country in which she was born. They are paying mother very well to receive her, and mother is ever so pleased. Of course it's horrid for me for she will be my companion morning, noon, and night; we are even to sleep in the same room. It was that that made me late for school this morning, and got me that horrid, horrid mark for unpunctuality."
"But why? I don't understand," said Bessie.
"Well, you see, I put it off until the last minute. I know it was all my fault; but I would not empty the cupboard in the corner of the room, although mother told me to do so at intervals for the past week. Well, mother came in this morning and found it choke full—you know the sort of thing, full to bursting, so that the door wouldn't shut—and she said that I should empty it before I went to school. I told her I should be late, and mother said it was a just punishment for me. Didn't I bless Kitty Malone! But of course I set to work, and I scrambled out the things somehow. Of course I am in hot water, and father is so terribly particular; but I will try and come. Yes, I'll try and come, and I'll bring Kitty."
"Very well; if you are going we may as well go together," said Bessie.
"Gwin never mentioned the hour she had tea; but I suppose if we are at
Harley Grove by five o'clock it will do."
"Yes, I should think so," said Alice in a dubious voice. "It is a pity she did not mention the hour. There she is still hobnobbing with Elma. I'll just run across the quadrangle and ask her."
Alice left her companion, obtained the necessary information from Gwin, and came back again. "She says if we are with her sharp at five it will do quite well, and we are to stay until nine o'clock, then we can all go home together."
"Delicious!" said Bessie. "I love being out late. I hope there will be a moon, and that there won't be many clouds in the sky, for I want to examine the position of some of the planets. Did I tell you, Alice, that Uncle John has a telescope through which I can see the asteroids?"
"What on earth are they?" cried Alice, yawning as she spoke.
"Oh, the very small planets."
"Then, my dear, I hope you will see them. But really, Bessie, I can't run round nature as you do—your intellect is quite overpowering; one moment you want to get up information with regard to magnetic iron ore, and the next you confound me with some awful observation about asteroids. Good-by, Bessie; good-by. I shall be late for dinner, and then no chance of going to the fair Gwin's this afternoon."
"Well, if you do go, call for me," shouted Bessie after her; "I'll wait for you until half-past four, then I'll start off by myself."
"Yes, yes, I'll come if I can, and bring Kitty also if I can."
"Be sure you don't fail. I'll look out for you."
Alice put wings to her feet and set off running down the dusty road, and
Bessie more soberly returned home.
CHAPTER II.
THE BLARNEY STONE.
Alice's home was nearly half a mile from the school. It was a big, commonplace suburban house standing at a corner. It had a small garden in front and a larger one at the back; but neither at front nor back were the gardens tidily kept. They were downtrodden by the constant pressure of many feet, and were further ornamented at intervals by sheds and kennels, for Fred and Philip Denvers were devoted to all sorts of pets; there was also a rabbit-run at one end, and a little railed-off place where Mrs. Denvers tried to keep fowls.
Alice at intervals had sighed for a tennis lawn; but whenever she dared to mention the idea she was hooted by her big brothers, who did not want the garden to be made in the least bit, as they expressed it, ornamental.
"But tennis isn't ornamental!" said Alice.
"Beastly game," remarked Fred. "Only meant for girls; just to give them an opportunity of hobnobbing together, and talking gossip, and making up mischief."
"You talk in the most ridiculous, unfair way," said Alice in indignation; but she did not dare to mention the subject of the tennis court again, and the boys still continued to build fresh sheds and introduce new animals.
On this occasion, as Alice walked up to the house, she was met by Fred, who ran out to meet her in some excitement.
"I say, Alice," he cried, "she's come, and she is a rum 'un!"
"Who has come?" asked Alice; "not—not Kitty Malone?"
"No one else, at your service, Kitty Malone, ohone!" cried Fred. "And oh! isn't she Irish! You come along and see her. I never saw anything like her before."
"Why, Fred, I didn't think you cared for girls."
"Nor do I as a rule, but this one—oh! I say she is a jolly sort. Why she's been down in the kitchen and up in the attics—she knows every one in the house already; and do you know what she is doing now—sitting in the drawing-room with the window wide open, grinning down at you, and she has got Pointer in her arms. You know Pointer, dirty old fellow!—well, she caught him up the moment she came in, and insisted on bringing him upstairs, and he has taken to her as if he had known her ever since he was a puppy. Mean of him, isn't it; but I declare I don't blame him. Oh! there you are, Kitty Malone." Fred raised his laughing face to encounter another as laughing, a face at that moment grinning from ear to ear.
"Are you Alice?" called a voice. "Are you the one I am to sleep with? Just say, call out loud; don't mind if you shout, because I'm accustomed to that sort of thing."
"Is this Kitty Malone?" thought Alice. She liked frank, jolly girls; but she was not quite prepared for Kitty.
She entered the house, flung down her bag of books, and ran upstairs to the drawing-room. The next moment she found herself in the firm embrace of a girl a little taller than herself, a slim, very pretty, very untidy, very overdressed girl.
"Here I am and welcome to yourself," said Kitty. "I was so vexed you were not here to greet me; but bless you, my dear, I'm quite comfortable. No, I'm not a bit tired—you haven't asked me, by the way, but I suppose you mean to. I had a spiffin' journey. Sick! not I. I'm never seasick, and I enjoyed the train. I made friends with such a dear old gentleman and with two boys. I nearly kissed the boys when I was leaving them, but I didn't quite. Is that you, Fred? Come along in now and let us be jolly together. Why, Alice, how stiff you are; you have not opened your lips yet."
"I have not had an opportunity," answered Alice. "You do talk such a lot, Kitty."
"Do I? I expect we all do in Old Ireland. Bless her! she's a dear old country, and I'm as sorry as anybody to say good-by to her. But, all the same, I am glad to see England (poky, stiff sort of place it seems). Say now, Alice, do you like my dress? It was made in Dublin; it's the height of the fashion I am told."
"It's very showy," said Alice.
"Do you think so? Well, you are plainly dressed; nothing but that brown merino. And—my dear, I thought they were always dressed up to the nines near London. This place is near London, isn't it?"
"Yes, a few miles off. Oh, of course your dress is very nice; but now I must get ready for dinner."
"Oh! and ain't I peckish?" said Kitty, clapping her hands and winking broadly at Fred.
Alice turned to leave the room.
"We may as well go together," said Kitty, following her and slipping her hand through her arm. "Do you know," she said, "when I first came to the house I could scarcely breathe. Why, it's nothing but a nutshell. I never saw such a deeny dawn of a place in the whole course of my life. How many of you live here?"
"Father and mother, and the two boys and I," answered Alice.
"And you are the only girl?"
"Yes."
"Now come to the window and let me have a good squint at you." As Kitty spoke she dragged Alice forward, put her facing the light, and stood herself with her back to it. She began to make a careful scrutiny, calling out her remarks aloud: "Eyes passable, forehead so-so, mouth pretty well, complexion not bad for England, hair—"
"Oh, I say, Kitty, I can't quite stand this," said Alice. "Are those your manners in Ireland? What a wild country it must be!"
"Dear, darling, jolly old place!" said Kitty, dancing up and down.
"And you really give me to understand that people make remarks on one another in that sort of fashion?" said Alice, darting away from her companion and pouring some water into a basin to wash her hands.
"Well, yes, love, they do when they like, and they don't when they don't like. We are free and easy folk, I can tell you, and we have a gay time. I'll tell you all about father and the old castle, and the dogs, and the cows, and the cats, and the rabbits, and the mice when we have a spare moment. That brother of yours, Fred, is not half a bad old chap; and I saw a nice, curly-headed little gossoon coming in just now with his books under his arm. What's his name?"
"Oh, you mean Philip. Yes, he's the youngest; he's well enough if you don't spoil him, Kitty."
"I won't spoil him, bless his heart," said Kitty; "but of course I'll make friends with him. I couldn't live without boys. There are two at home, Pat and Laurence; and, oh! I shall miss Laurie, dear old chap! I must not think of him." Kitty's face underwent a swift change, the brightness went out of it just as if a heavy cloud had swept away the sun; the big, very handsome dark-blue eyes, so dark as to be almost black, grew full of sudden tears; the exquisitely curved lips trembled; she turned her head aside and looked out of the window.
At that moment it seemed to Alice that she saw beneath Kitty's wild, eccentric manners a heart of gold. She only caught a glimpse of it, for the next moment the girl was chatting away in the most light, frivolous, extraordinary style. The dinner-bell sounded through the house, and the pair went down to dinner.
"I'd like to sit near you, please, Mr. Denvers," said Kitty.
Philip's place was always near his father; this had been a custom ever since he had been a baby. Kitty now ensconced herself in the little boy's chair.
"Am I taking anybody's seat?" she asked, looking up.
"Only mine," said Phil.
"Never mind, little gossoon; you shall have it to-morrow. I want to sit near Mr. Denvers because I expect he can tell me a good many things I don't understand."
"You must allow me to eat my dinner, Miss Malone. You see I have a good deal of carving to do, and besides I am a busy man," said Mr. Denvers in a good-humored voice, for it was difficult to resist the roguish glances of Kitty's eyes, and the sort of affectionate way in which she cuddled up to her host's side.
"Oh, I won't talk over much," she said, glancing with her flashing eyes round at the entire party. "But you see I am quite a stranger; and, oh my! the place does seem lonely. You are all so stiff, I cannot quite understand it. Is it the English fashion, please, Mr. Denvers?"
"Well, you see," answered Mrs. Denvers from the other end of the table, "we don't know you yet."
"But I am sure all the same we shall be very good friends," said Mr.
Denvers. "May I give you a glass of wine?"
"Wine! Bless you, I'm a teetotaller," said Kitty. "Why, it isn't habits of intoxication you'll be putting into me. I never take anything but water, or milk when I can get it; and it isn't Miss Malone you're going to call me is it, for if it is I tell you frankly that I'll die entirely. I must be Kitty from this moment, or Kitty Malone, or anything of that sort, but Kitty something it must be. Now, is it settled fair and square, Kitty shall I be? Here's my hand on my heart; I'll die if I'm called Miss Malone!"
Fred burst into roars of laughter.
"I say," he cried, "what an extraordinary girl you are!"
"Well, and so are you an extraordinary boy," said Kitty. "Oh, dear me, I am hungry! Do you mind handing me over the potatoes? Why, you don't mean to say you peel 'em. I never heard of such a thing! Why don't you have them in their jackets?"
"Potatoes are generally mashed or peeled or something of that sort in
England," said Mr. Denvers. "I see, Kitty—" he added.
"Ah! bless you now for calling me that! What is it you want to say, dear
Mr. Denvers?"
"I see we shall have a good deal to teach you," he said, and then he too burst into a fit of laughter, and so the merry, somewhat rollicking meal proceeded.
Alice alone would not succumb to the fascinations of the Irish maiden. She sat holding herself somewhat stiff, feeling a good deal disgusted, wondering what Bessie Challoner would say, what Gwin Harley would think, anticipating in advance Elma's sneers.
Kitty, however, subjugated Mr. and Mrs. Denvers and the two boys completely. As to Pointer, he would not leave her side; as her long, white, taper fingers touched the top of his grizzled head, he looked at her with eyes of unutterable love.
"What have you done to the dog?" said Fred at last. He felt almost afraid, in his great admiration of the bewitching stranger.
"Only given him a taste of blarney," was the reply. "Tell me now, Fred, were you ever in Ireland?"
"No," answered Fred.
"Ah! I thought as much. If you had been, and if you had kissed the
Blarney Stone, why then, it's nothing could withstand you."
"What is the Blarney Stone?" asked Fred.
"Don't you know that much? Why you are an ignoramus out and out. Well, I'll tell you. It's a stone on Blarney Castle, set low down in the wall, five or six feet from the top; and to kiss it, why that is no easy matter, for you have to be held by your heels and let hang over the wall; and if you can get some one to hold you tight—very tight, mind—you slide down and you reach the stone and you kiss it, and from that moment—oh glory! but you carry everything before you. There's not a man, a woman, nor a child, no, nor a beastie either, that can resist you. You bewitch 'em."
"I have no doubt, Kitty, you kissed the stone," said Mr. Denvers.
"Why then, it's yes, sir," she answered raising her big eyes and then dropping them again with an inimitable expression.
"What a queer little girl you are!" he said. "You are very amusing; but
I think we must tame you a bit."
"You won't do that, sir. They call me the wild Irish girl at home, and the wild Irish girl I'll be to the end of the chapter. If it's schooling I want, why, I'll have it, but taming, no thank you."
Kitty jumped from her seat and began to dance a sort of improvised Irish jig about the room.
"Do you know the jig?" she said, dancing up to Fred as she spoke.
"No," he answered; "are you trying it on now?"
"Yes; jump up, my hearty, and I'll teach you in a twinkling. Here, watch me; point your toes so, turn round—pirouette as we call it. Now, then, put your hand on your hip, courtesy to me, and come back again. That's how it's done. Oh, Fred, I'll soon have you as beautiful a broth of a boy as if you were born in Old Ireland."
"Fred, my son, it is time for you to go back to college," said his father. "Kitty, we are very pleased to have you here, and you are a very amusing girl; but you know life is not all play."
Kitty pulled a long face. Fred darted a laughing glance at her, and ran off. Kitty and Alice at last found themselves alone.
"You're disapproving of me a good bit, aren't you, Alice?" said Kitty, going up to the other girl and taking both her hands in hers.
"Well, I think you are very odd," said Alice.
"And do you want me to be quite sober and tame, and to have all the spirit knocked out me, alanna?"
"No; but we don't do exactly as you do in this country."
"And you think you'll tame me into your cut-and-dry pattern?"
"I don't know about that. I don't understand you, Kitty."
"You will after a bit, Alice. It's here I am for sure, and a gray sort of land it is! Why, the sun doesn't even shine!"
"Oh, doesn't it," said Alice angrily. "It's ridiculous to talk in that strain about this country. We have much finer weather than you have in Ireland."
"Don't be cross, darling; I mean it metaphorically. You see we live a gay life over there, we have a joke about everything, and the wit that runs out of our mouths—why, it's like flashes of lightning. Oh, we have a good time in the old country, and when you come and stay with me at Castle Malone you'll say so for yourself. Now, then, what do you want to do this afternoon?"
"I must look over my lessons first."
"Lessons—how many?"
"A good few. You see of course I want to get on."
"By the way, Alice," said Mrs. Denvers, who came into the room at that moment, "I am afraid you had a bad mark for unpunctuality this morning."
"Yes, mother, that is so."
"And what is your place in form?"
"I went down two or three places, mother."
"I am sorry to hear it; your father will be very much annoyed."
"I'll try and make up for it to-morrow, mother. And, mother, Gwin Harley has asked me to go to tea with her this afternoon—may I?"
"I don't see how you can. There is Kitty Malone."
"But she has asked Kitty too."
"What's that?" asked Kitty, bounding forward. "A tea party, bless you?"
"You have been asked to tea at Harley Grove. Mother, may we go? I think
Kitty would enjoy it."
"If you are sure you are not too tired, Kitty; you have had a long journey," said Mrs. Denvers.
"I'm not a scrap tired," said Kitty. "I'm as gay as a lark and as fresh as a daisy. I hope it's rather a big swell party, for I have got some awfully pretty dresses. I want to make myself look smart. You can tell me how they manage these sort of things in England. I'm all agog to go."
"Yes, Alice, you may go," said Mrs. Denvers. "But Kitty, my dear, if I were you I would let them down lightly."
"What do you mean, dear Mrs. Denvers?"
"Don't startle them too much. They are not accustomed to such—such frankness as you are disposed to give."
"I'll bewitch 'em," said Kitty, beginning again to dance with light fantastic measure up and down the room. "I'll bewitch 'em one and all. I have made up my mind. I didn't kiss the Blarney Stone for nothing!"
CHAPTER III.
IS THAT THE GIRL?
Kitty and Alice went up to their bedroom, where Kitty began to unpack her trunks and toss her dresses about—they were all new and most of them were gay. She had scarcely a quiet-looking dress in the entire collection.
"What will you do with those?" said Alice, who saw nothing to admire in the fantastic clothes, and much to condemn. Alice had not the smallest love for dress, and at this period of her life she considered any pains taken over clothes a sheer waste of time.
"But don't you like them?" said Kitty. "I thought girls loved pretty dress. Aunt Honora says so, and so did Aunt Bridget when she came to see us at Castle Malone a month ago. When she heard I was going to England she said: 'Why, then, my dear Kitty, you must titivate up. It will never do for them to see you not looking as bright as a sunbeam and as gay as a cricket. It's colors you'll want, Kitty, and rich materials, and spangles, and jewels, and beads, and all the other fal-lals.' And father said to Aunt Bridget:
"'Why then, now, Biddy,' said he, 'you just get what's right for the child, for she hasn't a notion, and no more have I, what's worn in that foreign place England.'
"So Aunt Bridget said: 'A wink's as good as a word,' and I'll dress her up in dashing style!' So she took the measure of my chest, and the round of my waist, and the length of my skirt, and she saw how many inches I wanted in the sleeve, and she said: 'You leave the rest to me, Kitty.' And of course I did, and in three weeks' time down came a trunk that would make your eyes shine even to look within it. Oh! wasn't it just the darling entirely! Here's one of the dresses. Now, what do you think of that?"
As Kitty spoke she pulled out a pink nun's-veiling, made up with innumerable ruffles and frills and laces and embroidery, a really very pretty dress for quite a gay party, but totally unsuitable for a schoolgirl of Kitty Malone's age.
"Why, it's a long dress?" said Alice. "How old are you, Kitty?"
"It's fifteen I'll be my next birthday, darling. Well, and is there anything wrong about fifteen? I always thought it was a jewel of an age."
"Yes, but this dress is long; why, there's a train to it!"
"Oh, mercy me! so there is," said Kitty. "To tell you the truth, I never even tried on the skirt, I was so bamboozled and overexcited with the others. A train to be sure! Oh, won't I bewitch 'em entirely. Let me try it on, darling. Have you got a long looking-glass anywhere?"
"Not in this room," answered Alice; "it is not necessary."
"Not necessary? Well, now, I should say it's the one thing you ought to have in every room, a long looking-glass that you can see yourself in from top to toe. Why, half your elegance is lost if you cannot see how you look your own self. Is there one in any other room?"
"In mother's dressing-room, I think."
"And where's that room situated, my jewel?" asked Kitty.
"Oh, at the other end of the passage; but really, Kitty—"
Kitty, however, was off. Alice stayed in her room, too disgusted to follow her.
"Something must be done to put a stop to this," she thought. "Of course, mother won't keep a girl of that sort. Why, she's a regular wild Indian; I shall be ashamed to take her out this afternoon."
But at that moment a high voice, accompanied by peals of laughter, was heard shouting for Alice.
"Alice, mavourneen, come along this minute! Alice, come quick! quick! Why, it's enthralling I am! You never saw anything like me before, did you? Oh, the Blarney Stone, what it has done for me. Come, Alice, come, come quick!"
"What can be the matter?" called Mrs. Denvers from downstairs. "Has anything happened?"
"Oh, it's only me, dear Mrs. Denvers. Do come up this minute, my dear ducky woman, and see me. I found a dress with a train to it in my trunk, a new dress from Dublin, and I'm in it, and beautiful I look. Come up and see me. I'm gazing at myself in your glass. I never saw anything so lovely in the whole course of my life."
Mrs. Denvers and Alice now both appeared upon the scene. Kitty in her new dress, with a train nearly a foot on the ground, was stepping backward and forward before the long glass in Mrs. Denvers' wardrobe. Her eyes were flashing with merriment and delight. Her small arched feet were dancing a pas de seul in and out of the many flounces which befrilled the end of the pink dress.
"Well, do you like it?" called Kitty. "How do you think I look? Did you ever see anybody more elegant in all your born days? Oh, if only the dear old dad could see me! I feel as if I must kiss myself." Here she commenced blowing kisses vigorously at the gay figure reflected in the glass.
"Come, Kitty," said Mrs. Denvers, "you are not going out in that dress."
"And why not, my dear Mrs. Denvers? Why shouldn't I go out and captivate the natives? That's what a pretty girl is made for."
"Not in this country," said Mrs. Denvers in a somewhat severe voice. "It cannot be done; Kitty, you are much too young to wear a dress of that sort. While you are with me you must expect to be guided by my taste and wishes."
"But, dear Mrs. Denvers, Aunt Bridget ordered it."
"Well, of course, dear, you can wear it at Castle Malone, but not here—at least, not out of doors. Yes, my child, it is a very pretty dress; but I do understand what is right for girls to appear in. You must have something quieter, Kitty."
"Then come along and choose for me," said Kitty, who was as good-natured as she was high-spirited and volatile. "Come straight and choose, for Alice, poor child, is troubled with the sulks."
"What do you mean?" said Alice indignantly.
"But isn't it true, darling; you have such a frown between your brows, and it doesn't improve you. There, cheer up, Alice, honey! Why, it's the best of friends I want to be with you; but you don't like me, not a bit. I'll win you yet, Alice, aroon! But at the present moment you're saying in your heart: 'What a nasty, forward, ill-bred girl that is, and I am ashamed, that I am, that my schoolfellows should see me with the likes of her.'"
"Come, come, Kitty, no more of this," said Mrs. Denvers. "If you are going out you have no time to lose. Yes, let me see your wardrobe. I think this dark-blue dress is the best."
"But you are not expecting me to go out in the open air without a body!" said Kitty, "and there's nothing but a skirt to this. I suppose I may wear one of my pretty blouses?"
"Yes; that skirt and a nice blouse will do. Now then, get ready, both of you, as quickly as you can. Kitty, remember I expect your things to be put away tidily."
"To be sure, ma'am. Why, then, it would be a shame to spoil all these pretty garments. I'll put them away in a jiffy, and come down looking as neat as a new pin."
Alice, who had brushed out her hair, put on a clean collar and a pair of cuffs, was now standing waiting for her friend.
"Look here," she said suddenly, "will you be long putting away your things and dressing?"
"Not very long, darling; but I must curl my fringe over again."
"I wish you wouldn't wear a fringe, Kitty; none of the nice girls do at the school."
"Is it give up my fringe I would?" answered Kitty.
"What a show I'd be! Why, look at my forehead, it's too high for the lines of pure beauty. Now, when the fringe comes down just to here, why, it's perfect. Aunt Bridget said it was, and she's a rare judge, I can tell you. She was a beauty in her youth, one of the Dublin beauties; and you can't go to any city for fairer women than are to be found in Dublin. I tell you what it is, Alice, I see you are in a flurry to be off. Can I overtake you?"
"You can," said Alice suddenly. "You can come to me at Bessie
Challoner's house."
"Bessie Challoner!—what a pretty name!—Challoner! I like that!" answered Kitty, looking thoughtful. "And where's her house, aroon? What part of the neighborhood is it situated in?"
"Come here to the window and I'll show you. When you leave this house you turn to the right and walk straight on until you come to Cherry Lodge—that's the name of the house. Bessie and I will be waiting for you."
"Well, then, off you go, and I won't keep you many minutes."
Alice ran out of the room. She found her mother waiting for her downstairs.
"Oh, mother," said Alice, "she's too dreadful."
"Come now, no whispering about me behind my back," called a gay voice over the stairs. "I thought it would be something of that sort. That's not fair—out with your remarks in front of me, and nothing behind."
"Kitty, Kitty, go back and dress, you incorrigible child!" called Mrs.
Denvers.
"Mother!" said Alice.
"My dear Alice," said her mother, "you will soon learn to like that poor child. She has a great deal that is good in her, and then she is so pretty."
"Pretty?" muttered Alice. "Oh, I see you're bewitched like the rest of them."
She left the house, feeling more uncomfortable, depressed, and angry than she had done for several years.
Mr. Denvers was a lawyer, and made a fairly good income; but his large family and the education of his boys had strained his resources to such an extent that he was very glad to accept the liberal sum which Kitty's father was paying for her. Alice knew all about this, and at first was more than willing to help her family in every way in her power. She did not murmur at all when she was asked to give up half of her room to the Irish girl. She was quite willing to take her under her patronage, to show her round, to try to get friends for her among her own schoolfellows—in short, to make her happy. But then Alice had never pictured any one in the least like Kitty Malone. She had imagined a somewhat plain, shy, awkward girl, who would lean upon her, who would give her unbounded affection, and follow her lead in everything. Now, this sparkling, racy, daring Kitty was by no means to her mind. There was not the least doubt that Kitty would not be guided by anybody, that she would never play second fiddle, and there was also a dreadful fear down deep in poor Alice's heart that she would fascinate her school fellows instead of disgusting them, and that Alice's own dearest friends would leave her in favor of the stranger.
She walked very slowly, therefore, a frown between her brows, discontent and jealousy in her heart.
Bessie was waiting for her at the gate.
"Why, Alice," called out Bessie, "how late you are. We shan't get to
Harley Grove by five o'clock."
"I can't help being late; it is a blessing you see me now," answered
Alice. "I wonder you waited for me, Bessie."
"Well, my dear," answered Bessie, "I would much rather walk with you than take a solitary ramble by myself. I thought," she added, "you were going to bring that new Irish girl with you. Has she come?"
"Has she not come?" answered Alice. "Oh, Bessie, Bessie, it is because of her I am late. Oh, Bessie, she is quite too dreadful."
"How so?" asked Bessie.
"She is the most extraordinary, wild, reckless, absolutely unladylike, vulgar person I ever came across in the whole course of my life."
"What a lot of adjectives!" laughed Bessie. "I shall be quite curious to see her; from your description she must be a monster."
"She is a monster, a human monster," answered Alice; "and the worst of it is, Bessie, that in some extraordinary way she has fascinated both father and mother, and even Fred—Fred, who hates girls as a rule; they are all so taken up with this blessed Kitty Malone that they don't mind her perfectly savage manners. I can tell you I am quite miserable about it."
"Poor Alice," answered Bessie in a sympathetic tone. "I suppose then, dear, she is not coming with us?"
"Oh, yes, she is; she is following us. She could not find anything quiet enough to put on."
"Quiet enough to put on! What do you mean?"
"Oh, my dear, her wardrobe is beyond description. She absolutely wanted to come to poor Gwin's quiet little tea party in a dress fit for a ball, flounced and frilled and laced and ribboned, and with a train to it, absolutely a train, although she is not fifteen yet."
Bessie could not help laughing. "I am sorry she is fond of dress," she answered; "I can't bear that sort of girl."
"Oh, you'll positively loathe her, Bessie. I quite pity you at the thought of having to walk with her this afternoon."
"My dear Alice, we must make the best of it," answered Bessie, "and I don't suppose she will quite kill me; she will be amusing at any rate."
"Amusing enough to those who have not got to live with her day and night," answered Alice in a very discontented voice. "Oh, and here she comes," she added; "and, look, she is running and racing down the road and waving her hands to us. Oh, Bessie, it is intolerable! Don't you pity me?"
"What! is that the girl?" cried Bessie. "How very—"
"How very what?" asked Alice.
"How very pretty she is!"
"Pretty," said Alice in a tone of such withering scorn that Bessie could not help gazing at her friend in astonishment.
CHAPTER IV.
TIFFS ALL AROUND.
Kitty's dark-blue skirt was all that was correct and proper; it reached just to her ankles, and her remarkably small and beautifully-shaped feet were encased in the neatest possible tan boots. But the blouse of light pink silk, all bedizened with bunches of ribbons and lappets of lace, was in Alice's eyes almost as painfully unsuitable as the trained skirt. Kitty wore a little close-fitting cap of dark-blue velvet on her head. Her hair, of the softest, cloudiest black, true Irish hair, was piled up in a thick mass behind; in front it waved and curled round her white forehead. Kitty was very tall, and, child as she still was in years, had a more formed figure than most girls of her age. She was drawing on her tan gloves now, and unfurling a parasol of tussore silk with a heavy lace fall.
"I do hope I'm smart enough," she said, panting slightly as she spoke.
"Is this one of your schoolfellows?"
"Yes; my friend, Miss Challoner."
"Haven't you got a Christian name?" asked Kitty, staring frankly with her wide-open eyes at Alice's friend.