The next morning after breakfast, Joanna returned to her room and sat down at the window, gazing thoughtfully out over the fields. She had been wondering at herself since last night, puzzled by her own reactions. It had always seemed to Joanna that she understood her feelings very well. But now, she was not so sure. Could her mother have been right after all? Had she never really loved Peter? Last night, when she had spoken to him for the first time in weeks, she had been amazed at her relative indifference. After a moment of tumult and embarrassment, she had felt almost nothing. She pitied Peter and wished him well, but that was all.
This realization led her to another less welcome one. If she had so misunderstood herself over this very serious matter, could she trust her own evaluation of any of her feelings? The possibility that she had no very clear knowledge of herself made Joanna distinctly uneasy.
She tried to talk this over with Selina when she came for a visit that afternoon, but the younger girl wanted instead to hear the details of the party she had missed. “Tell me everything,” she insisted as they sat together in the rose arbor. “My mother noticed nothing important, I declare. She spent the whole evening talking with Mrs. Townsend.”
Joanna obligingly told her what had occurred and with whom she had danced.
“Sir Rollin first,” sighed Selina. “And was he very elegant?”
Joanna nodded. “The most modish man at the party.”
The other girl clasped her hands. “To lead off with the most modish man present,” she sighed. “Did Jack Townsend wear his spotted neckerchief?” When Joanna shook her head, Selina smiled. “I knew his father would forbid it. Jack insisted it was the latest thing, but his father says the kerchief makes him look like a groom. I knew he wouldn’t wear it, whatever he said.”
Joanna shrugged.
“Did she dance?” added Selina portentously.
The other girl nodded, not having to ask whom she meant. “Several times. First with Mr. Townsend and later with Mr. Erland and Jack.”
Selina’s eyes bulged. “Was she very splendid? I daresay she overdressed and could not dance nearly so well as you, Joanna.”
Joanna considered. “She wore emerald silk and ribbons, a bit too much trimming, perhaps. But she danced very well, I must say.”
Selina shrugged. “I’m certain you were much prettier in yellow. What a fine gown that is. I should like one just like it.”
Privately thinking that yellow might not become her sandy-haired friend, Joanna nodded. “Yes, it is pretty. Poor Constance chose green, and she was put out that Mrs. Finley wore it also. Though her dress showed more taste, I thought,” she added generously.
Selina tittered. “Poor Constance, I daresay,” she added.
Joanna did not notice the venom in her tone. “You know,” she continued, “Constance is really quite nice. I’m beginning to like her very much. I am to go to tea at the vicarage today. It is nearly four; I must think of getting ready.”
Selina bridled. “Tea at the vicarage? But I thought we would take tea together. Perhaps here in the arbor, as we used to.”
“Well, that would be delightful, but I cannot today,” replied Joanna, still unheeding.
Selina stood. “Well, I do not mean to keep you, to be sure. Do not concern yourself with me. I shall go immediately.”
Joanna looked up at her, astonished. “Why, what is the matter, Selina?”
“Pray think nothing about it,” retorted the other dramatically. “I’m sure my feelings do not matter in the least.”
Nonplussed, Joanna stood also. “Of course they do. But whatever is the matter?”
“If my friendship means so little to you that you cannot see it,” declared Selina, “then there is no more to be said.” She made as if to turn away. “I shall go.”
“You will do nothing of the kind,” answered Joanna, getting a little angry at her friend. “You will sit down and tell me what is wrong.”
“You are occupied. You must go out.”
“Not for half an hour yet. Come, sit down.”
Selina sat reluctantly on the extreme edge of the seat. “Well, I certainly do not want to interfere with your other, more important friendships,” she said petulantly.
“What other friendships? You are making no sense, Selina.”
“Am I not?” cried the other. “I suppose if you wish me to abandon my friendship for Constance Williston, I should simply slink away quietly and never bother you again?” She rose again. “Well, I shall.”
Joanna stared at her. “Selina, there is no question of abandoning anyone. Are you acting this way because I said I like Constance? Do be reasonable.”
Selina burst into tears.
Amazed and appalled, Joanna went to her. “Selina! You are my best friend and always have been. There will never be any question about that. Do stop crying.”
Selina gulped down a sob. “Th-then you will not go?”
“Not go? To tea you mean? Of course I shall. Selina…”
But the younger girl burst out sobbing anew and ran from the garden.
Joanna looked after her, perplexed. The fact that she was beginning to like Constance had nothing to do with Selina. What was the matter with her? As she thought more about the incident, Joanna became a bit annoyed. Selina really was being silly; no doubt she would see it herself before she got home, and they would make it all up tomorrow. Joanna shrugged and started inside to change.
Dressed in cherry-striped muslin and a chip straw hat, Joanna arrived at the vicarage just at four thirty. Constance greeted her at the door, seeming very glad to see her. Mrs. Williston awaited them in the drawing room, and it was not many minutes before the rest of the family joined them, including the four Williston children who were not away at school.
Constance’s parents received Joanna kindly, Reverend Williston inquiring about her father and Mrs. Williston chatting amiably about London and the likelihood of their seeing each other in town next season. But when tea had been drunk and Constance urged Joanna to come up to her bedchamber for a good talk, Joanna was happy to agree.
“Wasn’t it a splendid party?” exclaimed Constance as soon as they reached her room. “I don’t think I ever had such fun.”
A little surprised at her rapturous tone, Joanna nodded.
Something in her face seemed to catch Constance up. “Did you not have a good time?” she asked.
“Oh, yes,” said the other, “of course.”
“Yes,” sighed Constance. “I shall never forget it.”
By this time, Joanna was thoroughly puzzled and rather intrigued. She had thought Constance a very reserved, and even perhaps a rather cold girl, but now she was speaking with amazing intensity. Joanna wondered what the reason could be. “What did you enjoy most?” she asked, attempting subtlety.
“Oh, the dancing,” responded Constance without hesitation, “and the talking, and, oh, everything.” Her blue eyes glowed.
“My mother took particular care with the supper,” said Joanna. “Did you like it?”
“Oh, yes!”
“What did you like best?”
“Oh, well, the, the…” Constance looked perplexed, then laughed aloud. “Oh, Joanna, I was having such fun that I do not even remember what I ate. But it was all wonderful.”
Joanna watched her new friend with astonishment, for she remembered that Constance had gone in to supper with Gerald. Had Joanna been forced to eat with her brother, boredom would have made her pay the closest attention to her food. Indeed, she still shuddered at the memory of a dinner alone with Gerald when they had traveled together to her aunt’s house. He had prosed on and on about some ancient Greek through the meal, so that though she had been scarcely ten years old, she could still name every dish she had eaten. “I hope Gerald did not weary you with talk of his studies,” she added tentatively.
“Weary me?” exclaimed Constance. “Not at all. I could never tire of hearing such marvels. Did you know, Joanna, that the comedies of Aristophanes contain many echoes of Aeschylus? It’s a small point to be sure, but reading in translation, one would hardly know it. Gerald says…” She stopped, blushed, then added, “but you don’t care for that, I daresay. Pardon me.”
Joanna’s mouth had fallen open a little, and she remained speechless under the onslaught of several astonishing ideas. That Constance should be genuinely interested in what she herself would not have hesitated to label the dryest of dull subjects was surprising enough. But she was beginning to realize something even more incredible. It really seemed that Constance had more than a casual interest in her brother Gerald! That any girl could like him was a new idea, but that the slender, superior Constance Williston did so left her unable to speak for a full minute.
Constance moved nervously under Joanna’s stare. “I, ah, I have always been interested in ancient literature,” she murmured, shame-faced.
Joanna recovered herself. She started to speak, then decided she would not add to the other’s embarrassment by referring to Gerald again now. They did not know each other well enough for that sort of confidence, perhaps. But later…Joanna smiled. “Have you?” she asked in a carefully neutral voice. “I confess I am very stupid about such things. I prefer novels, though I know they are inferior.”
Looking relieved, Constance hastened to say that she also enjoyed novel reading, and the awkwardness was passed off in an animated comparison of a book they had both read and liked.
When a pause came, Joanna turned the subject by telling Constance of the picnic being planned at the Abbey. “Mr. Erland has decided to have archery and games, too,” she said, “and the luncheon is to be quite grand.” She giggled. “Unless, of course, old Mrs. Smith makes such a fuss that he cannot have any gathering at all. He says she is outraged by the idea even now.”
Constance smiled. “I remember Mrs. Smith, I think. Was she not old Mr. Erland’s housekeeper?”
“Yes. And she is driving the new Mr. Erland into a decline, he says.” She repeated to Constance some of the tales Erland had told her.
The other girl began to giggle. “She truly threw a roasting pan at the baker’s boy? You are not bamming me?”
Joanna shook her head. “The baker has sworn he will not take bread to her any longer. One of the other servants must fetch it from the village.”
Constance laughed again. “What is Mr. Erland going to do?”
“He wishes to pension her off and get a new housekeeper, of course, but he says he is afraid to tell her so.”
They laughed together. “I like Jonathan Erland,” said Constance then. “At least, what little I have seen I like. He seems a very sensible, kind man.”
“Oh, yes.” Joanna shrugged. “It is a pity he spent so much of his life in the colonies.”
Constance raised her eyebrows. “Why?”
“Oh, well, he has never been to London, and I daresay he is five-and-twenty at least. He has had no chance to become cultivated or to learn the manners of a man of fashion.”
The other girl considered this. “I suppose you are right. But I find his manners quite acceptable, for my part. Many so-called men of fashion might learn from his consideration for others.”
It was Joanna’s turn to look inquiring.
“Indeed,” continued Constance reflectively, “I’m not sure but that I prefer the slight lack of polish that Mr. Erland exhibits. I confess I do not trust a man, or any person, who does not occasionally show some uncertainty. It is usually a sign either of intolerable conceit or utter stupidity.”
Joanna blinked.
“No one lives who is not at some time uneasy or clumsy,” Constance went on more positively. “To pretend otherwise is hypocrisy, don’t you think?”
Feeling a little out of her depth, Joanna nodded. What Constance said sounded true, though if it meant that one must prefer the dowdy Mr. Erland to a London beau, she emphatically did not agree. However, Joanna could not formulate what she felt in words smooth enough to match Constance’s. She changed the subject. “Do you know that Mrs. Finley means to hire a hermit?”
Constance had been lost in thought, but this jerked her back to the present. “What?” she said incredulously.
Joanna nodded. “She means to build a grotto, and she wants to hire an old man to play hermit within it.”
The other girl stared blankly for a moment, then collapsed in peals of laughter. “That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard,” she gasped.
On this subject, at least, they were of like mind, and the two spent an agreeable half hour discussing the Finleys’ plans for their estate and the obvious flaws in them. Joanna began to enjoy herself again.
It was by now nearing six, time for Joanna to think of going home. She said as much, and though Constance protested, they were soon standing together in the downstairs hall as Joanna tied the strings of her bonnet. When she took her leave, Joanna held out her hand and said, “Thank you so much for asking me. I truly enjoyed myself very much.”
“Oh, so did I,” replied Constance. “I hope we may do this again soon, and often.” Her genuine emotion was clear in her face.
“I, too,” said the other, once more flattered by this girl’s interest. Even if it stemmed partly from Constance’s feeling for Gerald, as Joanna now believed it must, she could see that more was involved. Constance did seem to like her, and to be rather lonely. “Let us go walking again soon,” she finished.
“Oh, yes,” agreed Constance, and the two girls separated happily.