The Girl's Own Paper, Vol. XX. No. 1010, May 6, 1899

EFFIE’S HERO.

“I’ve just been telling Effie that we must do something to cheer her up and put heart into her. She’s got the summer before her now, and she’s getting stronger. We can’t let her shut herself up much longer. We must get her out into the fresh air and sunshine, and make a new woman of her.”

Cyril was the speaker, and he looked at Effie with a kindly smile. She smiled back, and her cheek glowed. There was an animation and brightness about her that Sheila had not seen before.

“I should like that,” she said eagerly, “but they will hardly let me do anything. I’m always asking to do things; but I can never get leave—hardly.”

“Then we’ll take French leave,” said Cyril gaily. “Look here, Effie; suppose I dress up in a wig and spectacles, and play the part of a new doctor, will you let me prescribe for you?”

She clapped her hands and laughed.

“I should think I would indeed! Oh, Cyril, do be doctor for a little while and tell me what to do! You have such splendid ideas!”

“Well, my first idea would be to get you out on to horseback. You would like it no end if you once got used to it, and it would be a capital thing for you. Here’s Sheila with her horse to be a companion, and I can always hire a decent hack from Lovejoy and take you out. Your father would make nothing of getting you a little easy-paced cob, gentle, and used to a lady; and there’s the park for you to take your first rides in, till you have got your nerve and seat well assured. It would be no end of a good thing for you; don’t you think so yourself?”

“Oh, yes, Cyril!” cried Effie eagerly, and Sheila’s eyes were shining, for she saw that if Effie once took to riding, she would get her share of her favourite exercise. “You know I used to have my pony, but when I outgrew him they never got me another. Mother is nervous, and there was so much trouble and illness in the house, and then I got ill myself. But I’ll talk to father. I’ll get his leave, and you’ll choose me a cob, won’t you, and teach me how to ride again? I hope I sha’n’t be very stupid; but you know I do get rather nervous sometimes now; I suppose it’s being ill. Things get on my mind and I can’t get them off; but I should feel safe with you.”

“Oh, I’ll take care of you!” answered Cyril. “We shall just have to get the doctor on our side and everything will be right, you’ll see.”

“I don’t care what the doctor says!” cried Effie. “I mean to do as I like now. I’ve obeyed doctors quite long enough, and I’m not a bit better for it. You shall be my doctor, Cyril. I shall obey you and defy everybody else. Won’t it be fun? Do ask about a nice horse for me. Father will give me anything I want, I know. And he thinks such a lot of you, Cyril. If you’ll only be there to help me, he won’t mind what I do.”

“And when once you can ride, there’ll be plenty of fun for us all in the summer,” went on Cyril. “We can get up picnics and water-parties and things like that; and when your birthday comes we might have a regular fête in the park, with sports or mild polo or steeplechase, and you should show off your prowess. Perhaps by the autumn you might be promoted to a hunter and ride to hounds. There’s some very good country all round here, and I don’t see why you shouldn’t take your place as the heiress of Cossart Place, which is what you are, Effie. You ought to be quite a great lady in Isingford and its vicinity.”

When Cyril was gone, after spending an hour with the two girls and leaving them quite roused up and full of pleasureable excitement, Effie turned to Sheila and exclaimed eagerly—

“Isn’t he splendid!”

“He’s very kind and nice,” answered Sheila, “so different from the rest. I don’t mean that they’re not all nice; but Cyril seems to belong to a different world.”

“Yes, doesn’t he? That’s just how I feel. He’s always been so different from the rest. The funny thing is, that father does not think half as much of him as he does of North; but I never could care a bit for North. Cyril is worth ten of him.”

“He has been brought up so differently—has been to public school and college. I like University men; they are quite different from others. I can’t bear that Oscar shouldn’t finish his course there; but still, he always will have the air of an Oxford man everywhere!”

Sheila spoke with sisterly pride, but Effie was not listening. Her thoughts had gone off on their own tack. Presently she asked with a would-be air of carelessness—

“Did Cyril ever talk about me to you, those days you were in River Street?”

Sheila paused and hesitated. Cyril had sometimes spoken of Effie, but always in a rather slighting fashion, not unkindly exactly, but as though he held her in rather small estimation. If Sheila had not hurt Effie’s feelings once already to-day, she might have answered with more truth than diplomacy, but she had had a lesson and was too good-natured to give pain willingly, so she replied after a moment’s pause—

“Yes, he talked about you several times. He is fond of coming here, I think. He likes the house and the park and garden. Are you and he great friends, Effie? I thought you seemed to be.”

“Yes, I think we are,” answered Effie with a pleased and conscious smile. “You see, Raby and Ray aren’t a bit intellectual, they don’t care to read or talk about books, and Cyril is so clever. He reads to me sometimes and lends me books, and we talk about them afterwards. I have a lot of time for thinking about things. Cyril thinks a great deal too. I suppose that’s why he likes coming. Do you think he thinks me clever, Sheila?”

“I don’t know. He did not say.”

“I don’t call myself clever,” went on Effie, “but I think in my own way; I don’t go by what other people tell me. I like to have my own ideas about things. One ought to be original, don’t you think? Mother often says I have such an original mind. I think perhaps I shall write some day when I am stronger. I have done a few things. Cyril saw one or two. I think he was rather anxious for me to go on. Perhaps I’ll show them to you some day. I took a prize once at an essay competition; Cyril helped me. He was very proud when I got the prize.”

Effie was quite happy now, fairly launched upon her favourite topic. Sheila listened and tried to be sympathetic, but wished that Cyril had stayed longer. His conversation was more interesting a good deal than Effie’s. Presently there was rather a long silence between the girls, and then Effie asked suddenly—

“Sheila, do you think there’s any harm in cousins marrying?”

“I don’t know,” answered Sheila, waking from her day-dream. “Why should there be? Don’t they often do it?”

“Yes, very often; but some people don’t like it. I never quite know why. I can’t see why they shouldn’t.”

Sheila turned a glance rather full of interest upon Effie.

“Does Cyril want to marry you?” she asked, with the outspoken candour of girlhood.

Effie’s face flamed, but there was a lurking smile in her eyes. She looked down and twisted her hands together.

“I don’t know. He has never said so. Did you think that yourself, Sheila?”

It had not entered Sheila’s head till Effie’s own words had suggested it; but certainly Cyril had paid a good deal of attention to Effie, and had seemed anxious to see more of her.

“I’ve never seen people in love,” she answered; “I don’t know what they do, or how they look. Do you think you would like to marry Cyril, Effie?”

Effie blushed, but looked up with a sparkle of defiance in her eyes.

“He’ll have to fall in love with me first, and then I’ll perhaps think about it. You don’t suppose I’m going to care for anybody in that way if he doesn’t care for me? I’m the heiress of Cossart Place—you heard Cyril say so himself. I believe I shall have a very big fortune some day. You don’t suppose I’m going to be had just for the asking—not even by Cyril!”

Sheila held her peace; her ideas about love and marriage were very elementary and immature, but she did not see that what persons had could make very much difference. It was whether they cared for each other, she thought.

The following weeks were rather amusing ones for Sheila and Effie. Cyril had taken up in earnest his plan for getting Effie to ride again; and Mr. Cossart had been talked over when he found that the doctor approved and that Effie’s heart was set upon it.

Cyril was the master of the ceremonies throughout. He first hired for her a trained circus pony, who would obey at a word, and who carried Effie patiently round and round the sweep of the drive till she had regained some of her former aptitude for the saddle. Meantime he was scouring the neighbourhood in search of a suitable cob for her future use; and when he had heard of a likely animal, he would call for Sheila to accompany him to the place, because, as he said, though she might not know whether the creature were sound or not, she could give a very good opinion as to whether its paces were easy and comfortable, and whether it was the kind of creature Effie would like.

These rides were a source of great enjoyment to Sheila. She found Cyril a delightful companion, and he seemed to find her the same. It was a relief to get away from the atmosphere of Cossart Place for a few hours—away from Effie’s companionship, and the feeling of irritation and constraint which she often experienced there.