Part 18 (1/2)

”What do you mean by 'middle-aged'?” demanded Diana sharply.

”Why, anything over thirty! I call _my_ mother middle-aged.”

”Do you?”

”Of course!” (Meg was still examining the photo.) ”What a perfectly glorious dress to be taken in! And I adore her necklace. She's like the pictures one sees in _The Queen_. It must be lovely to have a pretty mother.”

Diana was looking at Meg with an unfathomable expression in her grey eyes.

”Don't you call your mother pretty, then?” she asked.

”Oh, yes! she's a darling; but she's had her day. She's not a society beauty, is she?”

”N-n-n-o, I suppose not,” said Diana thoughtfully.

The boys came into the room just then; the conversation was interrupted, and Meg probably forgot all about it. Diana, however, did not. At lunch-time she critically studied her hostess's features, and mentally compared them with those of the photo which had arrived that morning from Paris.

”I don't believe Mrs. Fleming is really any older than Mother,” she decided. ”She's been very pretty some time, but she's let herself go.

It's a pity. All the same, I could shake Meg!”

An impression that had been gathering in Diana's mind ever since she arrived at the Vicarage now shaped itself into definite form. She did not like the att.i.tude of her friends towards their mother. They were devoted to her, but their love lacked all element of admiration. Mrs.

Fleming had made the common mistake of effacing herself utterly for the sake of her children. She had dropped her former accomplishments, even the music in which she had once excelled, and made herself an absolute slave to her household. So long as Meg and Elsie wore pretty frocks she cared nothing for her own dress; she never bought a new book or took a holiday; her interests were centred in the young people's achievements, and she had become merely the theatre of their actions. Going away seldom, and reading little, had narrowed her horizon. She often felt her ideas were out of date, and that she was not keeping up with the modern notions her children were imbibing at school. They always spoke with more respect of their teachers' opinions than of hers, and would allude to subjects they were learning as if they did not expect her to understand them. Sometimes they a.s.sumed little airs of patronage towards her. Among themselves they occasionally referred to her as ”Only Mother!”

Diana, thinking it all carefully over, raged mentally. ”I guess I've got to make those Flemings admire their mother!” she said to herself. ”Just how to do it beats me at present, but I don't give up. I'd like to fix her hair for her if I dared. She strains it back till she looks like a skinned rabbit, and her dresses were made in the year one, I should say.

She's a dear, all the same, though. If she could only be cured of feeling on the shelf, she'd grow ten years younger.”

Having set herself the surprising undertaking of rejuvenating Mrs.

Fleming, Diana went warily to work. It would certainly not do to reproach Meg, Elsie, and the boys for lack of appreciation of their mother; they would simply have stared in utter amazement. Somehow, by hook or by crook, she must be made to s.h.i.+ne, so as to command their honest admiration. Diana catalogued her personal attractions:

1. A really quite cla.s.sical nose.

2. A nice, neat mouth.

3. Good teeth.

4. A pretty colour when she gets hot or excited.

5. Quite fascinating brown eyes.

6. Hair that would be lovely if it were only decently done, instead of scooped away and screwed into a tight k.n.o.b at the back.

Anybody with these points might make so much of them, if they only knew how to use them properly. Diana wondered if it would be possible to buy a book on the secrets of fascination. It was just the element that was lacking. Putting personality aside, she began probing into the extent of her friend's mental equipment. She induced her to bring out the water-colour sketches of former years, and even wrung from her a half promise that some day--when the weather was nice, and if she had time--she would paint a picture of the church.

”The boys would each like a sketch of their mother's to take to school with them,” decreed Diana. ”Monty would have his framed and hang it in his study, and show it to all his friends as _your_ work.”

”Why, so he might,” said Mrs. Fleming, looking much surprised. The idea had evidently never occurred to her before.

From painting, Diana pa.s.sed to other accomplishments. Mrs. Fleming rendered the accompaniments to Elsie's violin pieces and Meg's songs with a delicacy of touch that revealed the true musician.