Dorothy's Vocation

Front matter

Page 177. Frontispiece. BY EVELYN EVERETT GREEN, AUTHOR OF "OLIVER LANGTON'S WARD," ETC. OLIPHANT, ANDERSON & FERRIER, EDINBURGH; And 24 OLD BAILEY, LONDON. 1890. fBuinhurBi): PRINTED by lorimer akd gillies, FOR OLIPHANT, ANDERSON AND FERRIER, EDINBURGH AND LONDON. CONTENTS. CHAPTER PAGE I. MR. TEMPLETON'S FAMILY, .... 7 It. A COUNTRY COUSIN, . . . .20 III. MRS. SEYMOUR, . . . . .34 IV. AN ENIGMA, . . , . . .48 V. THE CHILDREN'S FAVOURITE, . . .60 VI. A TERRIBLE BLOW, . . . . .78 VII. SPEAKING OUT, . . . . .92 VIII. MISS TEMsLETON " AT HOME," . . . 105 IX. PLOT AND COUNTER-PLOT, .... 120 X. SICK CHILDREN, . . . . .134 XI. THE SISTERS, . . - . . 149 XII. A RIVER-SIDE PARTY, . . . .162 XIII AJJ ADVENTURE AND ITS RESULT, . . . 176 A VI CONTENTS. CHAPTER PAGE xrv. A SURPRISE, . . . . .188 XV. RALPH'S DECISION, ..... 203 XVI. A VOCATION FOUND, . . . .216 XVII. GUESTS AT SEYMOUR PARK, . . 230 XVIII. CONCLUSION, .....

Chapter I. Me

TEMPLETON'S FAMILY. TTWr/fY dearest Dorothy," said Claudia with a ■^ A,;/ [r little laugh, half condescending, half *J^£ -^ mocking, " girls with vocations do not (►rvJV care about riding in the Park." " I did not say I wanted to ride in the Park," answered Dorothy. "I don't; I think it is very dull. But I should like sometimes to have a ride again — a real good ride out into the country ; but I never get the chance. You always say the horses are wanted for something else. I don't quite know why you and Mabel always get it all your own way ; I think my turn ought to come just now and then." Claudia laughed again, touching Dorothy's face with the tips of her gloved fingers as if she had been a child. This kind of condescending treat ment always ruffled up Dorothy's feelings more than anything.

She was twenty-one, only five years younger than Claudia, and three years younger than Mabel ; she had at last been intro duced in society, and she saw no reason why she should be treated by her sisters as if she were a mere school-girl. She was not aggressive or exact ing — she accepted the third place as a matter of course; but she could not see why matters should be arranged as if a great gulf divided her from her sisters. She had willingly remained in the schoolroom a decidedly longer time than most girls do ; but now that she really was " out," and had made her debut, not altogether unsuccessfully, in society, she failed to understand why she was kept so studiously in the background. " My dear child, you must be reasonable. We have only three horses, and papa cannot get on without his ride in the Park, and he likes.

Mabel and me with him. In the afternoon there is always something to be done, or else in the even ing. You must consider the poor beasts. With Mil. templeton's family. 9 all the work they get, long country rides are out of the question. You go into your district like a good little girl, and give the children their music and French lessons. One of these days you shall have a turn in the Park, I daresay ; but you know papa is not fond of any changes." Dorothy said no more ; she turned away in silence, and quickly mounted the carpeted stairs. Her sisters laughingly gathered up their habits and swept away to the hall-door, where the horses were waiting. Mabel observed, in passing, that she hoped Dorothy was not " going to be troublesome." These words reached the ears of the younger sister as she ran upstairs, and brought a quick flush of mingled anger and pain to her cheek.

Mr. Templeton's large and commodious house in Belgravia was luxuriously furnished as far as the second floor. It was arranged after the fashion of most town houses. On the ground floor were entrance-hall, dining-room, and study ; on the first floor was a suite of reception rooms ; on the second, four good bedrooms appropriated to his own use and that o/ his two elder daughters, with a spare suest-chamber when need for one arose. But though there were two more storeys to the house, the air of luxury and beauty that pervaded the lower rooms stopped short here ; the staircase itself, which had been fine and wide, narrowed to smaller proportions after the second floor was passed ; and the carpet was no longer soft and yielding to the foot, nor did palms or flowering shrubs adorn the turns and corners.

Dorothy, however, heeded nothing of this as she ran lightly up to her own little room upon the third floor. Here, at least, beauty blossomed out once more — beauty of a quaint unconventional type ; for Dorothy had a passionate love of the beautiful, and had lavished endless care and taste, and a good deal of money, upon this little domain of hers, which she had gradually transformed into a miniature museum of art-treasures. Gorgeous bits of needlework, cunningly disposed, lighted it up as with gleams of sunshine ; choice etchings, engrav ings, or autotypes graced the walls; richly-coloured bits of pottery (some really good, others only beautiful from their colour and shape) stood in quaint medley upon table and cabinet, together with odds and ends of brass and silver work, bits of wood-carving from Germany and Switzerland, and grotesque Oriental figures or models in china of beasts and birds — the gifts of her little half-brother and sister.

The furniture was as mixed as the ornaments. There were two quaint-looking carved oak cabinets, a modern American walnut dressing table with large swing-glass and brass handles, and some bamboo lounging-chairs with plenty of cushions. A well-stocked bookcase and a cottage piano completed the furniture, for the bed itself and other accessories of a sleeping-room stood in a little dressing-closet that opened out of the larger room and contained a hanging-cupboard for dresses. Dorothy liked " her room," as she called it, to be something more than a mere bed-chamber. She liked to treat it as a boudoir, and in summer most of her time was spent here in reading, music, or study. She was not much addicted to making friendships, but it was pleasant to feel that she had a place of her own, where she could see her own special friends if she wished to do so; and this little sunny south room, with its two curtained windows and its bright array of treasured possessions, all her own, was the pride and delight of her heart.

On her last birthday, which, being her twenty-first, had been something rather more special than usual, she had got her father to give her a writing-table of American walnut to match the dressing-table. It stood in the corresponding window, and was still a source of pride and joy to her. Dreams of authorship had long been silently cherished within her, and she was seriously meditating the plot of a story that was to be the first stepping-stone to fame. But no such pleasant thoughts of literary glory were in her head as she stood in the middle of her little room to-day, recalling, with flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, and a sense of hot, angry irritation, the patronising airs of Claudia and Mabel's mocking glances. She had a quick, warm temperament of her own, and she could not live altogether in her own dreamland ; the realities of life were too strong, and her own nature was too practical and concrete.

She knew she was not unreasonable in what she asked for herself, and she resented being treated like a child. An artist would have found considerable pleasure in studying Dorothy's face and pose just then. Without being beautiful according to any received code or canon, there was something very attractive and piquant in the girl's bright, intelligent face, with its delicate, slightly retrousse type of feature, its large, dark, luminous eyes, and rich damask colouring, that town breeding could not dim or pale. The head was small, and crowned with a mass of dusky wavy hair which could not be kept smooth and neat ; the figure was slight and grace ful, instinct with energy and animation. Dorothy was not short, she was fully up to medium height; but, being small-made and slight, was often taken for less.

Claudia and Mabel, who were both some what taller, and altogether on a larger scale, were fond of calling her " little Dorothy," and speaking of her as a child ; but there was nothing childish in either face or figure, both had attained the grace and dignity of early womanhood. The girl had been a good deal noticed and admired since she had come out, and perhaps it was this which had given to her something of the new sense of power that generally comes to a woman sooner or later, and is just a little bit intoxicating when it is new. But Dorothy's moments of passion and rebellion were quickly over, and as she put on her hat and gloves, and took up the little basket that always accompanied her when she went into her district, she already felt half ashamed of her sudden flush of anger. By the time she reached her pretty room again every spark of vexation had been quenched.

There is nothing like personal contact with those who are battling with the real hardships of life, the very struggle for existence itself, to teach us the com parative insignificance of our own petty troubles and woes. Dorothy's felt dwarfed into utter insig nificance as she sat down in her pretty room after her walk, leaning back upon soft cushions, and seeing nothing but beauty and harmony around her. She almost wondered how she could ever have allowed herself to he vexed, simply because her sisters kept the horses for their own exclusive use. " What a little, little mind I must have," said the girl, half aloud, " to let such silly trifles as that annoy me ! How I wish I could act a little more up to my own ideals ! " Dorothy had never been content to drift along the current of life in the easy fashion some girls do, especially when they have been brought up like Mr. Templeton's daughters.

She had always had a loftier code of her own, higher ideals, more earnest aspirations, and a far more real hold upon those deeper truths that are so often accepted as a matter of course without being in any practical way a light to the eyes and a guide to the steps. Many years ago Dorothy had gravely asserted it as her opinion that every woman should have a vocation of her own. When pressed, with derisive laughter, to define what she meant by a vocation, she had not been altogether successful in the attempt ; but she made it clear that her idea of a vocation was something involving self-sacrifice, and somewhat, if not altogether, incompatible with the ordinary occupations of a fashionable young lady. She had never been permitted to forget this saying of hers, nor, for that matter, did she wish to.

Only, as the phrase " Dorothy's Vocation " had come to be a favourite family by-word and jest, she often felt somewhat sensitive upon the subject, and resented the laugh always raised at her expense. Every disagreeable duty as it turned up was handed over to Dorothy as a part of her vocation, and, to do her justice, generally accepted as such, and performed in a praiseworthy spirit after the first sense of irritation had worn off. When the second Mrs. Templeton had died three years ago, leaving four little delicate children behind her, the youngest barely a year old, the elder sisters had impressed it upon Dorothy that it was undoubtedly her vocation to look after the motherless little ones, and she had gladly accepted the charge, supple menting the efforts of the daily nursery governess, and being to them something between mother, sister, and playfellow — a something that entirely won their hearts, and made Dorothy the sun and centre of their lives.

When the good rector of their parish had tried to enlist the sympathies of the Miss Templetons on behalf of the poor around them, of course it was upon Dorothy's shoulders that all the real work fell. It was so in a hundred little minor offices, and the girl was so used to be thus employed that it was seldom she rose in revolt. A strong, con scientious wish to do right, and to make something more of her life than a mere vehicle for amuse ment, gave her energy and patience and forbear ance, and on the whole Dorothy was very happy, and little disposed to quarrel with her lot. When she had cooled down from her hot walk, and had re-done her unruly hair, washed her hands, and put on a cool, pretty cotton dress, she left her room again, and the moment she put her foot out side the door, the close proximity of children was clearly indicated by the babble of childish voices.

In fact, with the exception of Dorothy's own room, the whole of the third floor of the house was given up to nurseries, and the door of the schoolroom, or smaller of the two day nurseries, was close to that of her own room. Opening this door softly, Dorothy stepped across the threshold. Three out of the four children were sitting round a table, at which the nursery governess presided. They were pretty, gentle, delicate looking children, with an essentially town-bred air. They did not look as if they would ever have energy to chase butterflies across sunny meadows, or run races along garden paths, or tumble about in the hay-fields, as country children do. Even six-year old Winnie sat at her books with a demure air of quietude, almost absurd at her age ; and the " baby brother " Bernie, squatting in a corner over his toys, was still as a mouse at his games.

Bertie and Wilfred were saying their lessons to Miss Mansell the governess, an elderly woman with great experience of nursery discipline. She was very patient and painstaking, and Dorothy thoroughly liked and respected her, though she wished some times that she would infuse a little more life and B merriment both into her teaching and into her little pupils. Dorothy's advent at the close of lesson hours was always hailed with an outbreak of gladness, as animated as anything these quiet children ever indulged in. To-day was " half-holiday " too, and Miss Mansell left at one o'clock, which meant that sister Dolly generally spent the afternoon with them and often took them to the Park. To-day was to be a red-letter day in that nur sery, for the children had been promised a visit to the Zoo the first fine warm Wednesday afternoon that came, and they saw by Dorothy's smiling face that the promise was to be made good this very same half-holiday.

It was kinder of the sister to take them than they could understand, for money was not so plentiful with Dorothy that she could organise a party like this without self-sacrifice, and she never appealed to her father, who disliked to be asked for money at odd times, though he gave his daughters a liberal allowance, which Claudia and Mabel sup plemented by running bills, which he paid amongst housekeeping accounts without very much noticing the items. Dorothy never got into debt, and her charities crippled her resources to a considerable extent ; nevertheless, the children were indulged by her with a treat from time to time, which the elder sister enjoyed as much as they did. " Poor little dears ! " she thought that day as she brought them home, tired, but ecstatically happy with the pleasures of the afternoon, " if I did not take them out sometimes they would never go anywhere or see anything. It is so sad for little children to have no mother ! "

Chapter II

A COUNTRY COUSIN. -ELL, I do call this tiresome ! " exclaimed '^m'irlrf Templeton at luucheon-time a •^T^^p day or two later, looking up from an CsO ps open letter. " What, papa ? " " If there is a thing I hate, it is a crowd of poor relations fastening on to one and bothering one out of one's life, expecting to be introduced to one's friends, and to have the run of one's house ! I do wish country bumpkins would stay where they are, without being determined to see London sights and sponge on their unlucky relations there." Mr. Templeton was an idle, fashionable, " about town " man, addicted from paucity of ideas to out bursts of feeling, when things did not quite please him, out of all proportion to the subject-matter in hand. Claudia knew this, and asked what had happened, without much anxiety.

" Happened ! Why, this has happened : that a cousin of mine — or rather my mother's cousin she was, though a good bit younger than my mother and a good bit older than me, has suddenly taken it into her head to come up to town with her family, and of course she expects some civilities from me. As a boy I knew her well ; but I haven't seen her this thirty years. She went and married a man as poor as a church mouse, and I 've never heard a word of her since. I only hope she hasn't brought a whole tribe of needy children with her in the hope that I shall ' do something ' for some of them. She ' has hopes of seeing something of me and mine.' People never want to see one unless they think there 's something to be gained by it. I know the world ! " " What is the name of these people ? " " Seymour.

I remember the marriage. She married rather late in life — the man, as I say, was as poor as a church mouse. Can't think what such people want coming to town like millionaires. They 've been living all their life in some little rustic hole nobody 's ever heard of. No doubt she '11 wear crinolines and poke-bonnets, and they '11 all talk some horrid provincial dialect. And they expect us to introduce them in our set ! " " I don't see that we need do that," answered Claudia, who was used to her father's exaggerated way of viewing things, and who had now possessed herself of the letter. " Mrs. Seymour writes like a lady, and does not seem to expect any great things of us. I don't suppose they are as bad as you make out if they are relations of ours ; but of course country cousins are a fearful nuisance hang ing on to one through a London season.

We must manage to give them the go-by quietly and politely ; but there 's no real difficulty about that, if one only goes the right way to work." " Well, well, but what is the right way ? " asked Mr. Templeton, in a sort of nervous fidget. " What am I to say ? What are we to do ? If she doesn't get an answer of some kind to her letter soon, we shall have the whole house invaded by a crew of needy Seymours — ill-dressed, provincial people one would blush to own ; I know we shall ! " Claudia smiled in her serene way. "I don't think we shall be invaded quite in that fashion, papa ; but there is an easy way out of the difficulty. Dorothy can go and call at this place this afternoon, and explain how very busy you are, and all of us, at this time of year. She can say some civil things about hoping to meet sooner or later, but can avoid making any definite appointment.

There is little danger of our being in when they return the call. Dorothy can show them some little civilities in the way of taking them about to see the sights, and so on. A little diplomacy goes a long way with unsophisticated people like that; and if they are so poor, they will not be staying long. If you leave matters in my hands, I will undertake that you shall not be troubled." " It shall be Dorothy's vocation to look after the country cousins," cried Mabel, clapping her hands. It was Mabel's role to be girlish and giddy, as a sort of foil to the more stately Claudia. " It will be an office after her own heart. She will love playing the part of lady patroness to a whole crew of poor relations." " Well, well, my dears, settle it your own way ; only leave me in peace," answered Mr. Templeton, in his nervous, irritable way.

" I never did care for Selina Rivers — Selina Seymour she is now. She wasn't my style at the best of times, and will be less so than ever now. Be as civil as you like to her yourself, Dorothy, but don't you go and let us all in for a family intimacy. You understand ? " " Perfectly, papa," answered Dorothy, with a little flush in her cheek. " When would you like me to go ? " " Oh, the sooner the better, else we shall have them all here. Make it plain to them that we are in a perfect whirl of engagements, that it's really all but impossible to get a spare hour to oneself, and that we are out every night of oui lives." Dorothy's face had put on a look which made her sisters think it would be better to let her go on her errand without any further hints or cautions. They knew how "foolish, unpractical, and unworldly wise" their younger sister was, and that she was the more likely to take to people who were poor and insignificant than the well-to-do and successful.

She was very well suited to the mission, for she was certain to be warm and cordial herself; yet she must know her father and sisters too well to attempt to force upon them an acquaintance they wished to repudiate. She had plenty of shrewd common sense, and no lack of tact when she chose to exert it. In this case she was likely to do so for the sake of sparing the feelings of the " poor relations." Dorothy started willingly enough upon her errand. She was not in the least shy, and had no fear in the prospect of an encounter with her unknown kinsfolk, whilst the fact that they were poor and despised warmed her heart towards them better than anything else could have done ; and she made up her mind that anything she could do to render pleasant their sojourn in town should not be lacking to them.

She did not know the name of the street in which they were lodging, but the quarter was good, and when she reached the place, she saw at once that the houses were fine and large. It was a private hotel, she discovered, at which they were staying, and it seemed to her from its aspect as if it could hardly be a very inexpensive place of resort, How ever, that was no business of hers, and, in fact, proved nothing. She asked for Mrs. Seymour, " or any of the family," giving in her card at the same time. She was detained a few minutes in the hall whilst the messenger went to make inquiries, and was then taken upstairs and ushered into a pleasant, spacious first-floor drawing-room. It was tenanted only by a tall, long-legged young man, who had evidently been reclining on the sofa, and who rose up as Dorothy appeared, and held out his hand.

" How good of you to come so soon, Miss Templeton ! I am so sorry my mother is out ; but she will be in very soon, in less than half-an hour ; I hope you will wait and see her. She will never forgive me if I let you go. I suppose I must introduce myself to you. I am your cousin, Ralph Seymour. Cousins should always be friends, should they not ? " " I don't know, I 'm sure ; I never had any," answered Dorothy promptly, something in the lan guid, half-humorous, half-nonchalant air and manner of this tall young man awaking within her an instinct that she should have to hold her own with him. " You 're not my cousin at all, really ; you 're only," after a moment's rapid calculation, " you 're only my second cousin once removed ; we 're not even the same generation. I don't call that a relationship at all."

" I suppose 1 must introduce myself to you, I am your cousin, .Ralph Seymour." — Page 26. His sleepy eyes were gleaming beneath their heavy lids. " Now that is what I call really unkind," he answered ; " a sort of repudiation of country cousins which cuts deep — I assure you it does ; and I am very sensitive on such points — I am indeed. I thought better of you from the promptitude of your visit, and from the kindness of your face. I thought you would be willing to solace the loneli ness of an invalid by remaining here at least till my mother returns." Dorothy's colour had flown up at the words "country cousins" — a fact not unobserved by the sharp eyes of the cousin in question. She sat down as he finished his speech, looking at him with more attention than she had vouchsafed before. " I shall be pleased to wait and see Mrs. Seymour," she said, " especially as she will not be out long.

Are you an invalid ? " — with rather a sceptical look at the broad shoulders and long limbs of her companion. "Very much so, indeed," he answered, extending those same long limbs in a semi-recumbent posture upon the sofa. " It is mainly on my account that we have come up. My case is critical, you see." " I don't see anything. You look well enough. What is the matter with you ? " "Well, that, of course, they don't absolutely tell me. I incline to the opinion that I am in the last stage of a decline." Dorothy laughed heartlessly. " You look like it ! " " Looks are proverbially deceptive in such cases. Some day, perhaps, you will hear the truth from others. Then you '11 be sorry you laughed at me." Unfeeling Dorothy only laughed again. " I should not think you had any brothers and sisters, have you ?

" she asked with apparent irrele vancy. " No ; I occupy that touching position of an only child. Fils unique, you know." " Very unique indeed, I should think ! I guessed as much." " May I ask why ? " " Oh, if you 'd been one of a lot of brothers and sisters, you 'd not have been allowed to get so lazy, or to give yourself such interesting airs. One gets stirred up, you know." " You speak feelingly — from experience, I pre sume ? " " Oh, yes, I have plenty of experience. I have two sisters older than myself, and three little half brothers and one sister ever so much younger. It 's a great thing to be one of a family ; it keeps the nonsense out of one." Ralph's long, dark grey eyes were twinkling sleepily. " So it would appear, indeed. Then I was wrong just now in addressing you as Miss Templeton ?

" " Yes ; I 'm only Dorothy." " I 'm so glad ! ' Only Dorothy ' is much prettier than the other. I like cousins to be friendly. I 'm only Ralph, you know." " I did not say I was ' only Dorothy ' to you." " Pardon me, it was certainly to me you said you were ' only Dorothy.' " " That 's not a fair way of putting it." " I 'm so sorry; I thought it was particularly fair. I 've a constitutional dislike to those clever people who are always splitting hairs, and trying to make a distinction without a difference." " By which, I suppose, you mean me ? " Not at all. I was trying to show you that I could, under no circumstances, suspect you for a moment of belonging to that objectionable class." Dorothy felt that she wanted all her wits about her to hold her own with this country cousin. She began to entertain a shrewd doubt whether he was quite so countrified as she had been led to expect.

He had an ease and a self-possession of manner that certainly had nothing of rusticity in it, and accent and intonation were perfectly refined without the faintest trace of provincialism. Neither was there anything suggestive of the " poor relation " either in the young man him self or his surroundings. If the Seymours were poor in their country home, at any rate they intended to be comfortable during their visit to town. Ralph spoke as if they were fixtures at this private hotel, in which they evidently occupied the best rooms, and it appeared, by what he said, that they were to stay there some time. " I hope you enjoyed yourself at the Zoo the other day," said the young man, in a pause of the conversation. "You cannot think how your presence added to my enjoyment. I was getting bored with the beasts till I fell in with your party. — You know, country cousins always feel bound to go to the Zoo amongst the first sights.