I
Mary Cole had been,all her life,that thing beloved of the sentimental novelist,a misunderstood child.She was the only misunderstood member of the Cole family,and she was misunderstood,as is very often the case,in a large measure because she was so plain.Had she been good-looking as Helen,or independent as Jeremy,she would have either attracted the world in general,or have been indifferent as to whether she attracted it or not.As it was,she longed to attract everyone,and,in truth,attracted nobody.She might have found consolation in books or her own highly-coloured imaginations had it not been for the burning passions which she formed,at a very early age,for living people.For some years now her life had centred round her brother Jeremy.Had the Coles been an observant family they might,perhaps,have found some pathos in the way in which Mary,with her pale sallow complexion,her pear-shaped face with its dull,grey eyes,her enormous glasses,her lanky colourless hair,and her thin,bony figure,gazed at her masculine and independent brother.
Uncle Samuel might have noticed,but he was occupied with his painting.For the rest they were not observant.Mary was only seven years of age,but she had the capacity for being hurt of a person of thirty.She was hurt by everything and everybody.When somebody said:"Now,Mary,hurry up.You're always so slow,"she was hurt.If Helen told her that she was selfish,she was hurt,and would sit wondering whether she was selfish or no.If Mrs.Cole said that she must brush her hair more carefully she was hurt,and when Jeremy said anything sharp to her she was in agony.She discovered very quickly that no one cared for her agonies.The Coles were a plain,matter-of-fact race,and had the day's work to finish.They had no intention of thinking too much of their children's feelings.Thirty years ago that was not so popular as it is now.Meanwhile,her devotion to her brother grew with every month of her life.She thought him,in all honesty,the most miraculous of all human beings.There was more in her worship than mere dog-like fidelity.
She adored him for reasons that were real and true;for his independence,his obstinacy,his sense of fun,his sudden,unexpected kindnesses,his sudden helplessness,and above all,for his bravery.He seemed to her the bravest hero in all history,and she felt it the more because she was herself compact of every fear and terror known to man.It was not enough for her,the ordinary panic that belongs to all human life at every stage of its progress.
She feared everything and everybody,and only hid her fear by a persistent cover of almost obstinate stupidity,which deceived,to some extent,her relations,but never in any degree herself.She knew that she was plain,awkward and hesitating,but she knew also that she was clever.She knew that she could do everything twice as fast as Jeremy and Helen,that she was often so impatient of their slow progress at lessons that she would beat her foot on the ground in a kind of agonised impatience.She knew that she was clever,and she wondered sometimes why her cleverness did not give her more advantage.Why,for instance,should Helen's good looks be noticed at once by every visitor and her own cleverness be unnoticed?
Certainly,on occasions,her mother would say:"And Mary?I don't think you've met Mary.Come and say,how do you do,Mary.Mary is the clever one of the family!"but it was always said in a deprecating,apologetic tone,which made Mary hang her head and hate both herself and her mother.
She told herself stories of the times when Jeremy would have to depend entirely upon the splendour of her brains for his delivery from some horror--death,torture or disgrace.At present those times were,she was bound to confess to herself,very distant.He depended upon no one for anything;he could not be said to need Mary's assistance in any particular.And with this burning desire of hers came,of course,jealousy.There are some happy,easy natures to whom jealousy is,through life,unknown.They are to be envied.
Jealousy in a grown-up human being is bad;in a child it is terrible.Had you told Mrs.Cole--good mother though she was--that her daughter Mary,aged seven,suffered tortures through jealousy,she would have assured you that it was not,in reality,jealousy,but rather indigestion,and that a little medicine would put it right.
Mary was quite helpless.What is a child to do if she is jealous?
Other children do not understand her,her elders laugh at her.Mary,with a wisdom greatly beyond her years,realised very quickly that this was some sort of horrible disease,with which she must wrestle alone.Above all,she must never allow Jeremy to know anything about it.He was,of course,sublimely unaware of the matter;he knew that Mary was silly sometimes,but he attributed that to her sex;he went on his way,happily indifferent whether anyone cared for him or no.
