Life's Little Stage
9781465685322
213 pages
Library of Alexandria
Overview
SOME girls would be glad in your place. "It's just the other way with me." "Not that you have not been happy here. I know you have. Still—home is home." "This is my other home." Miss Mordaunt smiled. It was hardly in human nature not to be gratified. "If only I could have stayed two years longer! Or even one year! Father might let me. It's such a horrid bore to have to leave now." "But since no choice is left, you must make the best of things." The two stood facing one another in the bow-window of Miss Mordaunt's pretty drawing-room; tears in the eyes of the elder woman, for hers was a sympathetic nature; no tears in the eyes of the girl, but a sharp ache at her heart. Till the arrival of this morning's post she never quite lost hope, though notice of her removal was given months before. A final appeal, vehemently worded, after the writer's fashion, had lately gone; and the reply was decisive. Many a tussle of wills had taken place during the last four years between these two; and a time was when the pupil indulged in hard thoughts of the kind Principal. But Miss Mordaunt possessed power to win love; and though she found in Magda Royston a difficult subject, she conquered in the end. Out of battling grew strong affection—how strong on the side of Magda perhaps neither quite knew until this hour. "There isn't any 'best.' It's just simply horrid." "Still, if you are wanted at home, your duty lies there." "I'm not. That's the thing. Nobody wants me. Mother has Penrose; and father has Merryl; and Frip—I mean, Francie—is the family pet. And I come in nowhere. I'm a sort of extraneous atom that can't coalesce with any other atom." A tinge of self-satisfaction crept into the tone. "It's not my fault. Nobody at home needs me—not one least little bit. And there isn't a person in all the town that I care for—not one blessed individual!" Miss Mordaunt seated herself on the sofa, drawing the speaker to her side, with a protesting touch. "There isn't. Pen snaps them all up. And if she didn't, it would come to the same thing. I'm not chummy with girls—never was. I had a real friend once; but he was a boy; and boys are so different. Ned Fairfax and I were immense chums; but he was years and years older than me; and he went right away when I was only eleven. I've never set eyes on him since, and I don't even know now what has become of him. Only I know we should be friends again—directly—if ever we met! The girls and I get on well enough here, but we're not friends." "Except Beatrice." "Bee is a little dear, and I dote on her; and she worships the ground I tread on. But after all—though she is more than a year older, she always seems the younger. And I'm much more to her than she is to me. Don't you see? I wouldn't say that to everybody, but it's true. I want something more than that, if it is to satisfy! Bee looks up to me. I want some one that I can look up to."
