Averil assented, and felt it a dreary thing to have an incomparable brother.
But when Leonard came home, the face of the house was changed. Now she had something to look forward to. Now there was something to hear that stirred her deeper feelings—some one who would understand and respond—some one to make common cause with. Little as she saw of the schoolboy, there was life in her day, for sympathy and comprehension had come home with him.
After all, there were recesses in Leonard’s confidence to which Ave did not penetrate; but there was quite enough to be very happy upon, especially those visions that had been built on the Melanesian letters. They were not near enough to terrify her with the thought of separation, and she was sufficiently imbued with Mary May’s sentiments to regard mission-work as the highest ambition. Leonard’s strong will and manly disposition would have obtained her homage and affection, even without the lofty sentiments and the lesser graces that made the brother and sister thoroughly suited to one another; and the bond of union was unfortunately cemented by equal annoyance at Henry’s peculiarities.
It certainly was rather hard on a young head of a family to have a younger brother his superior in every respect, and with an inseparable sister. That Henry had not found out Leonard’s superiority was no reason that it should not gall him; and his self-assertions were apt to be extremely irritating. Even in the first flush of welcome, he had made it plain that he meant to be felt as master of the house, and to enforce those petty regulations of exact order that might be easily borne from a mother, or played with in a sister—would be obeyed grudgingly from a father, but could be intolerable in a brother.
The reception of Mab and the ammonites was but an earnest of similar ungracious acts on the one hand, and aggressions on the other, often unintentional. Averil did, indeed, smooth matters, but she shared Leonard’s resentment, and outward submission was compensated by murmur and mockery in private.
Still the household worked on fairly; and Mrs. Ledwich was heard to declare, with tears in her eyes, that it was beautiful to see such a happy family of love as those dear young Wards!
‘The happy family—in Trafalgar Square!’ muttered Dr. Spencer.
The confidence of the happy family was on this wise. When Leonard came home with his unpresentable face, he baffled all Ave’s anxious questions, and she was only enlightened by Henry’s lamentations, in his absence, over the hopelessness of a brother who was so low and vulgar as to box! Her defence being met by a sneer, she flew to tell Leonard of the calumny, and was laughed at for her innocence, but extorted that he had fought with a fellow that talked impudently of some of the Mays—cause fully sufficient in her eyes; nor did Henry utter any open reproof, though he contrived to exasperate his brother into fierce retort and angry gesture by an unnecessary injunction not to show that ungentlemanly face.
Full consciousness of the difficulties presented by the characters of the two brothers would have been far too oppressive; and perhaps it was better for Averil that she had it not, but had her own engrossing interests and employments drawing off her attention and enlivening her spirits. Her church music was her object in life—the dedication of the talent that had been cultivated at so much time and cost, and the greatest honour and enjoyment she could imagine, and she had full participation from Leonard, who had a hearty love for sacred music, readily threw himself into her plans, and offered voice and taste to assist her experiments. Nor had her elder brother any objection to her being thus brought forward: he was proud of her performance, and gratified with the compliments it elicited; and all went well till the new hymnals arrived, and books upon books, full of new tunes, anthems, and chants, were accumulating on the music-stand.
‘What are you about there all the evening, not opening your lips?’
‘Leonard is writing out his verses, and I am copying music.’
‘I wonder you neither of you will remember that that table was never meant to be littered over with all sorts of rubbish!’
‘I thought tables were to put things on,’ returned Leonard coolly.
‘Drawing-room tables were not made to be inked! That cover will be ruined in a day or two!’
‘Very well—then we’ll pay for it!’ said Leonard, in the same aggravating tone.
‘Here are newspapers spread between it and the ink,’ said Averil, displaying them with an air of injured innocence that made Henry subside; but he presently exclaimed:
‘Is that copying to go on all night? Can’t you speak, nor play anything, to send one off to sleep?’
With a martyr look, yet a satirical glance, Averil opened the piano; and Henry settled himself in the master’s arm-chair, as one about to enjoy well-earned rest and entertainment after a hard day’s work.
‘I say, what doleful drone have you there!’
‘I am trying a new chant for the “Nunc Dimittis”.’
‘Nothing but that day and night! Give us something worth hearing.’
‘I thought you only wanted to go to sleep.’
‘I don’t want to dream myself into church, listening to Scudamour’s proses: I’ve quite enough of that on Sunday.’
Ave began to play one of her school waltzes; and the touch of her fingers on the keys had so sharp-edged and petulant a tone, that Leonard smiled to himself as he ran his fingers through his hair over his books. Nor was it soothing to Henry, who, instead of going to sleep, began to survey the room, and get food for annoyance.
‘I say,’ said he, looking across at a little brass-barred bookcase of ornamental volumes on the opposite chiffonniere, ‘what book is out there?’
‘Scott’s “Lay”,’ said Leonard; ‘it is up in my room.’
‘I told you, Ave, not to let the drawing-room books be carried about the house to be spoilt!’ said Henry, who seldom reproved his brother direct, but generally through Ave.
‘You’d better get some made of wood then,’ said Leonard.
‘Remember then, Ave, I say I will not have my books taken out, and left about over the house.’
Leonard dashed out of the room passionately, and presently came thundering down again, every step audible the whole way, and threw the book on the table, bringing in a whirlwind, and a flaring sloping candle dropping upon the precious cloth. Henry started up and pointed.
‘I’m glad of it!’ exclaimed Leonard; ‘it will be a little amusement for you. Good night, Ave! I’m going to finish up-stairs, since one can’t read, write, or touch a book without your being rowed!’
He was gone, and Averil, though rather frightened, gave him infinite credit for keeping his temper; and perhaps he deserved it, considering the annoyance and the nature of the provocation; but she did not reflect how much might have been prevented by more forethought and less preoccupation. She said not a word, but quietly returned to her copying; and when Henry came with paper and poker to remove the damage, she only shoved back her chair, and sat waiting, pen in hand, resigned and ironical.
‘I declare,’ grumbled Henry, as he examined the remaining amount of damage, ‘these day-schools are a great inconvenience; there’s no keeping a place fit to be seen with a great uncivilized lad always hanging about!’
‘Leonard is considered particularly gentlemanlike,’ said Ave, with lips compressed, to keep back something about old bachelors.
‘Now, I should have thought a lady would have some regard to her own drawing-room, and object to slovenliness—elbows on table, feet everywhere!’
‘Nothing is in worse taste than constraint,’ said Ave from the corners of her mouth—’at least for those that can trust their manners without it.’