On the following day the children and their governess went down to Yelverton. There was so much excitement and bustle in getting away that Caroline had little time to realize that she was tired. She saw nothing of Mrs. Lancing, who was in her room.
The children were told to keep very quiet because mother had a bad headache.
It was Dennis who had communicated the news to Caroline that she was to take Betty and Baby down to Mrs. Brenton's delightful country house by an early afternoon train.
It seemed to the girl that Dennis was in a great state of excitement about something. Also it was evident that the gloom that had appeared to settle so definitely on the little house the day before had been lifted.
When they were ready to go, the children crept into their mother's room to say "good-bye," but Caroline remained outside.
Betty brought out a message.
"Mother says we are to be as good as we know how, and to do everything we are telled."
It was very delightful to be welcomed by Mrs. Brenton so cordially.
Betty had dilated with enthusiasm on the joys that awaited them at Yelverton, and Caroline quickly realized that the child had exaggerated nothing.
The little people were installed in a wing of the house where there were any number of empty rooms and long passages just made to be danced in and to echo with happy voices—a veritable playground; and Agnes Brenton, who had studied the art of making people comfortable all her life, took the children's governess into her first consideration.
There were no guests when they arrived, though plenty were expected for Christmas.
The mere thought of having her house full, and of arranging all sorts of treats for the children, made Mrs. Brenton quite happy.
"I am going to keep you tremendously busy," she said to Caroline; "we must furbish up this old house. This is the first year that Camilla has let me have the children with me for Christmas. But I intend to make a bargain with her now. I shall insist that she sends them here as much as possible. I know Rupert Haverford will join forces with me in this. I suppose they will be married very soon."
Caroline looked so surprised that Mrs. Brenton laughed.
"Do you mean to tell me you have not heard the great news? It is known now to everybody," she said, "therefore I am not betraying confidences. I am so delighted about it, for I confess I have been hoping for this for a long time past. You know how dear Camilla is to me, and I like him immensely. Don't you?" Then Mrs. Brenton laughed. "Oh, I forgot you don't know him! It is funny that you never came across him when you were with his mother!"
"He used to go very seldom to see Mrs. Baynhurst," Caroline answered. She spoke slowly, as if her thoughts were occupied.
The engagement between Mrs. Lancing and Rupert Haverford was of course largely discussed at Yelverton, and was the favourite item of gossip elsewhere for the moment. As Camilla had prophesied, the world gave nearly all its congratulations to Haverford's betrothed. Mrs. Lancing was very delightful, very pretty—in every way a most charming woman; but there are any amount of charming and delightful and pretty women in the world, and rich men (rich, at least, in the great way that Haverford was) are so scarce.
Caroline was sharply startled when she heard that Mrs. Lancing was pledged to marry Rupert Haverford.
There was a suggestion of anxiety in the way her thoughts worked about the other woman.
Camilla had ceased utterly to be a stranger to her. If there had been nothing else to bind them together, that scene in the silence of the night would have put them into very close touch with one another. Moreover, it was natural that the girl should sit and weave stories to herself out of the material that lay to her hands.
There was everything about Camilla Lancing to excite the imagination, to stimulate the appetite for romance.
Agnes Brenton rejoiced frankly over the enormous material satisfaction this engagement signified, and Caroline joined with her in this; but she was unlike Mrs. Brenton in one respect, for whereas the older woman saw nothing but a certainty of happiness in this marriage, Caroline, young, unworldly as she was, felt from the very first that there was in this prospective union a doubtful element; that difficulties would most certainly present themselves—great difficulties, every whit as great, as black, and as heart shadowing as any that had belonged to Camilla in the past.
She needed very little now to convince herself that Haverford would meet those difficulties in a firm, a straightforward way. But what about the woman?
Although she had only seen him twice, Caroline had been instantly impressed with the restraint, even the coldness of Haverford's manner.
To her he seemed to be the very last man in the world who would be able to assimilate himself with Camilla's effervescent nature. Surely her fanciful inconsequence, her pretty conceits, her irresponsible ways, would never wed with his seriousness and restraint, his peculiar gravity?
That spell of definite heart anguish, witnessed and shared by herself, charged all memory now of the children's mother with pathos. She could not help associating it with what had occurred.
Knowing nothing definitely, Caroline yet knew enough to assure herself that the engagement had been forced into existence by that very mental maelstrom of only a few hours before. And already she felt she understood Camilla well enough to be sure that this act, born of expediency, the outcome of intense excitement, would have its aftermath of judgment, perhaps of condemnation.
But for this sense of clinging anxiety about the woman she had learnt to love so dearly the girl would have been so happy.
"I want you to run wild," Mrs. Brenton said to her. "You can always leave the children with me when you want to be alone; they don't bother me in the least."
So on every possible occasion Caroline was out of the house either with the children or without them, and day by day she blossomed out a little more into health and good looks.
"I wonder if you have Irish blood in your veins," Mrs. Brenton asked her on one occasion when they went for a brisk walk together. "Your eyes are distinctly Irish, you know."
Caroline had laughed.
"I may be a Hottentot for all I know about myself. Undoubtedly I must have had some beginning, but what it was I have not the least idea."
Agnes Brenton did not answer at once, and then she said—
"You have never heard from Mrs. Baynhurst?"
The girl shook her head, and then laughed again.
"Oh no, I never expected to. I dare say Mr. Haverford has tried to make her speak, but I shall be very much surprised if he gets anything out of her."
"I am quite sure he will have tried," said Mrs. Brenton warmly.
"Oh!" said Caroline, "he must have so many things to think about just now. I expect he has forgotten all about me."
On Christmas Eve Mrs. Brenton handed over the completion of the decorations to Caroline. People were arriving all day.
Towards the afternoon Betty fell into a state of great consternation. They had run out of gold and silver paper, and there were any amount of other little things that had been forgotten.
Caroline rose to the occasion.
"Look here, sweetheart, I'll tell you what I will do. I will ask Mrs. Brenton if I may go and get everything for you."
"You will be gone ages, and ages, and ages, and I want it now," said Betty, who was like her mother in more than one thing. She pleaded to be allowed to go into the town, too, but the wind was much too cold.
Mrs. Brenton fell in quickly with the arrangement, only suggesting that Caroline should drive; but the walk did not frighten the girl.
Indeed, a sense of gladness radiated her as she progressed briskly along the muddy road, and yet perhaps it was inevitable that as she found herself alone, away from the warmth and the cosy atmosphere of the busy household, she should drift into comparisons; that she should awaken to the significance of how really apart she was from these happy elements of home, and family, and festival.
Oddly enough, it was not for herself as she was this day that she felt pity, it was for herself as that little, lonely creature left to pick what sunshine she could out of the bleakest surroundings that her heart ached.
The very pleasantness of her present circumstances emphasized all she had missed.
Christmas hitherto had been to her synonymous only with the packing of boxes and the departure of all of her schoolmates. The last winter she had spent in that old schoolhouse had, it is true, been less lonely than most, for two other little children had been left to share her solitude, and she had made gallant efforts at gaiety. She smiled faintly now as she recalled all she had done, but she sighed too.
"Yet we were really and truly happy," she said to herself. "At any rate, it was a hundred times better than last Christmas. Shall I ever forget that dull, long, miserable, foggy day! It seemed as if it would never end. My food sent up as usual to my room, and not a soul to say a kind word! Well, it is a little bit different now!"
The wind swept across the open places. It was so strong and cold that it made her gasp for breath every now and then, but it stung the colour into her cheeks, and made her dark eyes light up into extraordinary beauty.
"If only this could go on for ever," she said to herself; "but somehow I feel so afraid it can't last. She is so sweet, so affectionate"—the "she" was Camilla—"when we are together, but even now I believe she has forgotten my existence."
Indeed, though a daily report of the children's doings was sent to London, Mrs. Lancing had not even scribbled a word to the girl in reply. She wrote to Mrs. Brenton, she telegraphed, she telephoned, and she sent all manner of things to her children, but she showed no signs of remembrance to Caroline.
"And"—then the girl mused—"I am all very well now, but Betty will want a real governess in a little while. It will be very hard to leave them. I almost think," said Caroline, a little unsteadily, "that I was better off when I had no chance of growing very attached to any one. It cannot hurt to part when one does not know how sweet it is to care and to be cared for."
Cheerless and yet grey as the country was in its wintry aspect, it had always a charm and a beauty for Caroline.
Halfway to the town she marked a bush standing high above the hedge, on which clustered some brilliant red berries.
"Those are just what Betty wants," she said to herself. But she deferred picking them till her return.
The afternoon light was beginning to fade as she left the town; she was laden with parcels, her arms were quite full.
She had just passed into the long road that led to Yelverton, when a cab overtook her. It was an open fly, and a man sat in it alone, with some luggage piled in front of him.
Caroline just glanced round, and then to her surprise she recognized Rupert Haverford, who quickly stopped the cab as he in his turn recognized her.
"Are you walking?" he asked. "But it is getting quite dark, you will lose your way!"
She laughed.
"Oh, impossible! It is a straight road, one could not go astray."
"Give me some of those things," said Haverford, and he began to unload her arms. "This looks like Christmas." Then he said, "You will let me give you a lift?"
Caroline hesitated a moment, and then said, "Thank you. But I must stop a little way down," she said, "because I want to get some berries for Betty. I will tell you when we get to the place."
As he sat beside her in the cab, Rupert Haverford put a question to her rather eagerly.
"Do you know what train Mrs. Lancing came by?"
"Mrs. Lancing? She had not arrived when I left," Caroline answered. "I think she was expected just before dinner. At least, I heard Mrs. Brenton arranging that the carriage should go to meet the quick train down from London. I believe she expected that you would come together."
"It was arranged we were to come together," said Haverford. But that was all he said; he began immediately to talk about Caroline herself.
"No doubt you will have been expecting to hear from me, Miss Graniger?"
Caroline said "No," in a quiet way.
He looked at her.
"Surely yes. You must have expected to hear from me?"
"Well," said Caroline frankly, "I thought it possible that you might forget to write, or that you were so annoyed with me you might not care to bother about me any more."
"I was not annoyed with you," said Haverford quickly.
"Oh! weren't you? I thought you were!"
They drove on for a little while in silence, and then Caroline bent forward.
"Oh, will you ask the man to stop, please? I must really have those berries."
Haverford got out with her.
"They are much too high for you to reach," was his observation.
"They are rather high," Caroline agreed, "but I am sure I can reach them if I give a jump."
He laughed.
"I can get them without a jump."
He mounted the rough ground and reached up to the bush that stood high above the hedge.
Caroline thanked him.
"Betty will be delighted," she said; "we have been looking everywhere for those red berries, and somehow we never thought of coming down this road."
When they were back in the cab and jolting on again Haverford said to her—
"Although you pretend that you did not expect me to write, I suppose you will be a little interested in hearing that I have some odds and ends of intelligence to give you about yourself. I should have written to you days ago," he went on quickly, "but my mother is rather a difficult person to handle, as you know, and it was only yesterday that I managed to corner her on this subject. She knew what was coming, and shirked me accordingly."
Caroline said nothing. She waited for him to continue. Nevertheless, her heart began to beat a little nervously.
"It is quite true," Haverford said after that little pause, "my mother is your guardian, or rather was, for in future I intend to relieve her of that office. You are her niece by marriage. Your mother was Gerald Baynhurst's only sister. From what I can gather, this sister must have been very dear to him. I am really as much a stranger to my mother's life as yourself, Miss Graniger. Beyond knowing that she married Mr. Baynhurst after my father's death, I have never been informed, I may add that I have never cared to inform myself, about anything connected with this marriage. So I can only give you the bare outline of your story."
He paused again, and this time Caroline spoke, her voice sounding very low in her own ears.
"Of course, my mother and my father are dead?"
"Yes; your father died before your uncle," Haverford answered. "Your mother, apparently a very delicate woman, was left in the charge of her brother Gerald, and he was also appointed your guardian. When he died suddenly this charge passed on to my mother."
He ceased speaking abruptly. It would have been difficult to have grasped from his tone whether he judged his mother harshly or not.
"I hope to get you more details," Mr. Haverford said when he spoke again. "As a matter of fact, I have brought down with me a quantity of old letters and other papers which I dare say will throw some light on your early history. You seem to have been quite a baby when your mother died, and you came to England when you were a little child between three and four."
"Then I must have gone immediately to Miss Beamish, my old schoolmistress," said Caroline.
"Yes; my mother tells me you were placed in a school. She explains this rather strange proceeding by telling me that Cuthbert was at that time such a delicate child that her whole thought and care had to be given to him, and she herself was in such a poor state of health that she was not in a condition to charge herself with too much responsibility."
Caroline laughed. It was not an unkind laugh.
"No, I am sure Mrs. Baynhurst never did care about responsibilities," she said.
She stooped forward to push some of the parcels more securely on the opposite seat, and the colour rushed to her face as she asked him another question.
"There is one thing Ishouldlike to know," she said, "and that is if I have been kept by charity all this time. Did you find out anything about that?"
They were close to the gates of Yelverton now, and Rupert Haverford answered her hurriedly.
"You touch on a rather important phase of this matter, Miss Graniger," he said, "and I have more to communicate to you; but we cannot go into this properly now. As I shall be here for a day or so I hope you will afford me an opportunity for speaking quietly with you."
"Of course," said Caroline. Then she thanked him, and, indeed, she did feel grateful to him. It sent a warm sensation through her heart to realize that all this time, when she had imagined herself forgotten (when, indeed, it might have been excusable if he had put her out of his thoughts), he had been working on her behalf.
Just before they rolled up to the big door she turned to him.
"I want to ask you something. Please let me know that you are no longer vexed with me for having agreed to stay with Mrs. Lancing. I believe I am going to answer very well, and you can't think how glad I am to be with the children. I do see now," Caroline said quickly, "that I ought to have referred the matter to you, but the circumstances were against me. It seemed such a wonderful chance for me to find work in such a moment."
"Of course I am not angry," Haverford said.
He helped her to alight, and carried all her parcels into the house, and as Mrs. Brenton came forward to greet him, Caroline ran quickly upstairs to her own room.
She was conscious of a great desire to be alone for a few moments, for there was a pressure on her heart, and she hardly felt prepared to meet the children's searching eyes. Betty could ask the most pointed questions at times.
As she put down her packages in a heap on the table she found she had carried up with her a large brown glove. It was warm still with the imprint of the man's strong hand; he had drawn it off to pay the driver, and it must have fallen among her parcels.
Caroline picked it up and stood a little while holding it; she derived, quite unconsciously, a definite sense of pleasure from the touch of this glove; it recalled the owner so clearly.
"I am so glad he did not forget," she said to herself; "it is so nice to be remembered."
Caroline did not go down to dinner that night. When bedtime came Baby was restless and seemed inclined to cough. Caroline was anxious.
Mrs. Brenton came upstairs, however, and reassured the girl. She administered homely remedies, and prophesied that all would be well in the morning.
Then she tried to persuade Miss Graniger to go down to dinner, but she failed.
"If you won't mind, I would so much rather stay here," the girl said; "Baby likes to hold my hand, dear little soul, and I should not be a bit happy if I went downstairs."
"Well, do as you like, my dear," Mrs. Brenton said; then she added, "I am so glad you had a lift home this afternoon. Now my party is all complete except for Camilla. I am very vexed with her."
Caroline looked at her quickly.
"Why?"
"Well, she ought to have come down this evening as she promised," Agnes Brenton answered impatiently, "she arranged to meet Rupert at a certain time, kept him waiting about for an hour and a half at the station, and then, when he supposed she had come on here by some mistake, he follows her only to find a telegram saying she has gone to Lea Abbey and will not be here till to-morrow in time for luncheon. I cannot think what has induced her to go to the Bardolphs," Mrs. Brenton added irritably. "She says it is because Lady Pamela is ill, and sent for her; but to my certain knowledge Camilla and Pamela Bardolph have not been seeing one another for months past."
Caroline followed Mrs. Brenton out on to the landing. She felt subdued, even saddened, as she listened.
"Of course I am disappointed, but I am not thinking entirely about myself. I am sure Rupert is far more upset and annoyed than his manner shows. Ah well! by this time I suppose I ought to know Camilla too well to be surprised at anything she does! See that you have all you want, my dear, and if you should be at all anxious about the child, don't hesitate to send for me."
As she was passing on to the staircase Mrs. Brenton paused.
"Mr. Haverford has brought down a number of things for the children. He said he was going to send them up to you. I hope they will learn to grow very fond of him," said Agnes Brenton earnestly. "Do you know that he has made them two little rich people? He has settled quite a fortune on Camilla, and on her children. Nothing can touch this money; it is hers and theirs, whatever may happen. He has asked me to be one of the trustees for the children."
Once again Mrs. Brenton turned back as she was going, and kissed Caroline.
"For all reasons," she said, "I deeply regret that Camilla has not come to us to-night."
It was a long time before Baby would be wooed into slumber, and even then Caroline did not like to leave her; not until she had assured herself that the child was sleeping deeply and tranquilly did she go into the other room.
She only snatched a few moments to eat some supper. There was really so very much to do.
An enormous parcel of costly things had been sent down by Camilla for the children, and every one in the house had brought a little offering. All these had to be ticketed and tied up. No ordinary sized stocking would hold what awaited the children, so large baskets had been made ready to put at the foot of each bed.
On inquiring, Caroline found that Mr. Haverford had sent nothing up to the nursery as yet.
After a while she dismissed the maid to go down to the servant's supper, and was busy scribbling and tying, when there came a knock at the door.
"Come in," she called.
As the door opened Rupert Haverford appeared. His arms were full of parcels as hers had been in the early afternoon. He was smiling, but Caroline quickly noticed that he looked tired, as if he were worried.
"Mrs. Brenton said I might come up. I hope I am in time."
"Oh yes," said Caroline with a laugh. "I am only just beginning to arrange things. Won't there be a scene to-morrow morning?"
"Can't I help?" asked Mr. Haverford; "this seems far too much for one pair of hands to manage."
As he disembarrassed himself of his burden he said, "And I particularly desire to have my share in making the children's Christmas a happy one this year, for they belong to me now in a sense."
Caroline coloured.
"Yes, I know;" it was almost unconsciously that she added, "and I am so glad."
His eyes lit up and his lips took an eager expression.
"Are you?'" he asked; "well, then I ought to be content, for do you know, Miss Graniger, I have been hearing nothing but delightful things about you. Mrs. Lancing cannot say enough in praise of you."
"It is very good of her," said Caroline, and her voice was not very steady; "but she has to test me yet. She really knows so little about me."
Haverford sat down to the table, and began to help her.
They had to untie some of his packages to see which were the presents for the respective children.
"I think some of these things will have to disappear after to-morrow," said Caroline; "already these little people have enough toys to stock a shop."
It amused her to watch Rupert Haverford pack up and tie and direct as she commanded. He was so deliberate in all he did. Camilla would have lost her patience very quickly, but Caroline liked his slow ways. His parcels were so neat.
Every now and then he stole into the bedroom to see if Baby was still sleeping.
"I was rather anxious about her," she said to Haverford, "for Dennis has told me that she gets very heavy colds at times, and she seemed really rather feverish to-night."
As he remembered the interview with his mother the day before, he found himself looking every now and then with real interest at Caroline.
"I can't think why you want to bother about Caroline Graniger. I gave her a fair trial," Mrs. Baynhurst had said fretfully; "but she is a fool, and I hate fools. Give me a knave any day in preference to a fool!"
There seemed to be nothing foolish, or weak, or hesitating about Caroline as he saw her, but in the hours that had followed on his visit to his mother, he had been able to fill in the empty spaces that she had left, and he seemed to understand all at once why it was that Octavia Baynhurst had set herself so resolutely against Caroline, both as a little child and a growing girl.
Undoubtedly there had been an old and bitter feeling rankling in her heart for Gerald Baynhurst's sister.
It was inevitable that the love the man had evidently lavished on his sister had been a source of resentment and misery to such a woman as his wife.
On Caroline, the helpless child, therefore, had the accumulation of this bitter anger and jealousy been poured out.
He broke the silence after a long and busily filled pause.
"My mother has a new secretary," he said, and as their eyes met they both smiled. Caroline found his face very attractive when he smiled.
"I saw her. She is middle-aged and very alarming looking. It is my impression that my mother is going to be managed for the first time in her existence. You will be well avenged, Miss Graniger."
When all the little parcels were made ready, and they filled the table, he got up.
"Well, I suppose I ought to go downstairs again. You are very cosy here. I am so glad the children are not in London this dismal weather."
Before going he asked permission to look at Betty and Baby as they slept. When he rejoined Caroline he said—there was a very tender look in his eyes—
"I feel quite important to-night, for now I have three wards; those two tiny souls and yourself, and if one can go by tradition, the life of a guardian is not entirely free from anxiety."
"I don't require a guardian," said Caroline. But she said it shyly, not sharply. "I have always taken care of myself, and I am sure I can do it now."
"I am afraid that argument does not move me," he answered, and with a smile he held out his hand and said, "Good night."
When he was gone Caroline sat down and thought about him. She felt sorry for him.
"I do wish she had come," she mused to herself. "I wonder why she did not? He looks miserable when he is not talking. I should like him to have a happy Christmas; he certainly has helped to give me one, and I expect I am only one of hundreds.... I remember last year how his mother grumbled at all his charities; I little thought then that he and I should be together for this Christmas! So everything is coming with a rush," Caroline mused on. "To-night I discover that I actually had a mother and a father, and now I have a guardian," and then she laughed outright, "and of course Cuthbert Baynhurst is my cousin! That sounds funny! How pleased he will be!" She reverted again to the subject of Camilla later on. "Will she come to-morrow? Oh, surely yes!... Shecouldnot let Christmas go without seeing the children!"
And on the morrow, when every one was at church, except Caroline and Baby, who certainly was not quite her usual brisk little self, Mrs. Lancing arrived.
She went up at once to the nursery, flung off her furs, and sat down and took her Baby in her arms.
"She is not really ill, is she?" she queried anxiously.
"Oh, she is ever so much better this morning," said Caroline. "You see, it has been so damp the last few days, and yesterday the wind was very keen."
"And she always gets cold in the nasty wind, don't you Boodles, my precious?"
The mother hugged the little figure in her arms, then stretched out her hand to Caroline.
"A happy Christmas!" she said, and then in the same breath, "how well you look, and how nice! And oh, what a wonderful lot of toys! Why, Babsy, Santa Claus must have nearly broken his back bringing all these things."
With the child nestling in her arms, she leaned back and closed her eyes.
"I've got a most awful headache," she said wearily. "We were up till any hour this morning.... Have you some strong smelling-salts, Caroline? Chris Bardolph brought me over here in the motor." She sniffed the salts, and lay aback with closed eyes for awhile. Then she said, "I thought the air would do me good, but I feel quite cracked up. Where is everybody?" she asked the next moment languidly; and she smiled when she heard that the whole party had migrated to church.
"Has he gone?" she asked, and then she answered the question herself; "but of course. I am sure he must sing hymns most beautifully."
"I don't think Mr. Haverford went with the others," Caroline said; "he said he would take Betty and the maid who has gone with her to mass."
"But he is not a Catholic," Mrs. Lancing observed quickly; "there is another duty for me! I shall have to try and make a convert of him. Oh dear, my head!... It feels as if it would come in two! Babsy darling, mummy must go down and rest in her own room...."
But Babsy clung to her mother, refusing to be separated, and of course got her way.
Left to herself, Caroline Graniger stood and looked out of the window thoughtfully. A shadow had gathered on her face.
She felt both pained and irritated, and found herself hoping almost eagerly that Mrs. Lancing would not speak of Rupert Haverford to others in that slighting, half-mocking manner.
From where she stood she could see right down almost to the entrance gates, for the trees were leafless, and the window where she stood was set high.
Rupert Haverford was walking up the broad drive briskly, and Betty was dancing beside him.
Caroline studied him attentively for a time, then turned away from the window and laughed.
"How ridiculous I am!" she said to herself; "why on earth should I mind if she sneers at him or praises him? Assuredly it is no affair of mine."
Of course Betty went straight to her mother's room on entering the house, and after a while Miss Graniger went down to fetch both children.
She found Mrs. Lancing on the sofa with one little daughter crouched up beside her, and the other engaged in softly rubbing her brows.
"I wish I could go to bed," Camilla said. "I do hate these kind of family functions. And Agnes loves them."
There was a fretful tone in her voice.
"Poor mummy," said Betty, and stooping, she laid her pretty little lips on her mother's face.
Both children were so happy to be with her.
"Sit down and tell me all you have been doing since I saw you," commanded Mrs. Lancing. "How long have you been down here? It seems like a century to me."
"Have you wanted us very much, sweetie?" asked Betty, and Camilla turned to kiss the dear little face.
"So much—oh, so much!" and then she moved a little impatiently on the couch. "Some one is knocking," she said; "it must be Aunty Brenny. Open the door and bring her in, Betty."
She just flashed a look at Caroline and gave a little laugh.
"Now for my scolding," she said in a low voice.
But Mrs. Brenton did not scold. She greeted Camilla most gently and affectionately, and was greatly concerned to hear about the bad headache.
The mere fact, however, that she ignored all mention of the truant act of the night before stung Camilla into a little show of bad temper.
"Don't for goodness' sake follow Rupert's lead," she said, "and adopt a martyr-like expression. I know perfectly well, Agnes, that you were furious with me because I did not turn up last night, now, weren't you?"
"I was not furious exactly," said Mrs. Brenton, "but disappointed, and rather surprised."
"I couldn't help it," said Camilla, in the same impatient way; and then the colour flooded her face and her eyes lit up for an instant as she smiled.
"Don't grudge me my few remaining holidays; I shall not have too many in the future. Yes, darlings"—this to Betty—"you must go. Caroline wants to make you ready for lunch. You are going to put on those pretty new frocks that I sent down and make yourselves ever so smart. Of course you shall sit next me at luncheon. What an idea! Where else would you sit? I shall have one of you on each side of me."
Mrs. Brenton was speaking as the children were going out of the room with Caroline.
"So it was an excuse," Caroline heard her say, in a strained voice; "and Pamela Bardolph is not ill?"
"An excuse, of course," Mrs. Lancing answered, with a laugh. "I knew they were going to have a really lovely time, and when Pamela pressed me to go just for one night, I really could not resist the temptation. We had such fun, Agnes, and finished up with...."
Caroline hurried the children out of the room. She always dreaded what Betty would repeat. The child was very sharp, and her memory was extremely retentive.
It was difficult to chat lightly with the children as she dressed them and made them pretty for the big Christmas Day luncheon.
Caroline had said "Good-bye" to all her former isolation.
Though she still stood alone, and had no one on whom she could make a real claim, her life all at once seemed charged with ties and privileges; already she had commenced to expand, to weave the tendrils of her affections, her sympathy, and her tender thought in and about these people among whom she now lived and moved.
She recognized a great debt of gratitude to Agnes Brenton, but for Camilla she felt something deeper than gratitude.
In this phase of awakened emotions she would naturally have turned to some outlet for her feelings, even if she had drifted into touch with the most ordinary, the most commonplace of individuals; but thrust, as she had been, suddenly into the stirring atmosphere of life as it was lived in Camilla Lancing's household, and hemmed about by the beguiling influences of an absolutely fascinating personality, Caroline at once lost her heart.
But just because this heart was stirred so strongly, so deeply, she could not deny herself the right to judge Camilla; and it was an easy task to judge now.
"Why marry him if she despises him so much?" asked Caroline of herself. "There is surely no law to make her do this?"
Dennis came up to give her a helping hand, and told her that Mrs. Lancing wanted to go downstairs with the children.
"She's not fit to stand, that she isn't," said the maid; "but she'll go through the lunch somehow, and then she'll have to rest." Here Dennis exhibited, with great pride and excitement, the beautiful watch that Mr. Haverford had given her.
"There hasn't no one been forgotten," she said; "he is a proper sort of man! This is a happy Christmas for us, my dear."
Indeed, Dennis's aspect was entirely changed. She seemed to have grown a little fat, and Betty quickly discovered that she had on a new gown, apparently an amazing event.
Miss Graniger followed the children and their mother downstairs.
It made her heart thrill to see the way Haverford turned to greet Camilla. He was evidently sharply concerned about Mrs. Lancing's indisposition, but he did not fuss her, and she stood with both children clinging to her as she exchanged a few words with him.
At lunch-time Caroline found herself seated next to him. Betty was on his other side.
"Look after Miss Graniger, please, Rupert," Mrs. Brenton had said to him, and he took up the duty in a literal sense.
"This is a typical English Christmas dinner," he said to her once. He tried to make her smile and talk, but Caroline had no command of words. She felt dazed with the myriad sensations that encircled her about.
When the plum-pudding, all afire, was brought in with cheers, and every one stood up to sing "Should auld acquaintance be forgot," Caroline broke down for a moment. But only Haverford knew this. Almost at once she had conquered herself, and as he asked her to clink glasses with him she smiled. Her face moved him sharply; it was quivering with emotion; her eyes were most beautiful.
She had lost her white, careworn look, and though she was still thin there was a pinkish glow in her skin; no one would have called her plain in this moment.
"Suppose you change places with me," he said; "Betty wants to have you near her."
They effected the change quite quietly, and with the need of looking after the child, that oppression of emotion slipped gradually away from the girl's heart.
Long afterwards, when all that was new and strange had grown into a calm and natural background, Caroline remembered that Christmas luncheon at Yelverton as one of the pleasantest experiences ever granted to her.
Mrs. Lancing ate nothing, but she did her best to be bright; that she was suffering all the time was, however, clear to both Caroline and Haverford.
It was a long time before she could escape from the festivities, but when everybody had trooped to the Christmas tree, she managed to slip away, and she drew Caroline aside with her.
"Come and help me," she said. "This is one of Dennis's rare holidays, and I don't believe I can get upstairs by myself."
It was on Caroline's lips to ask if she should call Mr. Haverford; but glancing back, she saw that he had been summoned by Mrs. Brenton to officiate at the huge tree, so they passed out together.
"It is a shame to bother you," said Camilla when she got up to her room. She was trembling as with cold, and her brows and eyes were contracted with the sharpness of the pain.
"You know I am glad to come," said Caroline in her quietest way.
"I know you are very comforting; just the sort of person one wants about one when one is ill. Don't go away for a little while."
Caroline made up the fire, and then sat down in an armchair beside it, just as she had sat on another memorable occasion. She looked ever and again at Mrs. Lancing, who had crouched on the sofa, both her hands pressed to her head.
In a little while the tension seemed to relax, and Camilla opened her eyes.
"Has Rupert told you your own story?" she asked.
"A little bit; not all."
"He says it is my duty to let you leave me if you want to go," said Camilla, after another little pause.
Caroline looked at her with a little start.
"Why should I want to leave you?"
"Well"—it was a very weak little laugh that Camilla gave—"of course, now that you are an independent young person, you may not care to stop." Her brows came together again sharply for a minute, and she held her hand pressed tightly to her eyes, "Fancy that odious mother of his cheating you out of your money all this time," she said feebly when she spoke.
Caroline felt hot, and yet there was a blank sensation about her at the same time.
"Money?" she said.
"Oh, hasn't he told you? How like him! I suppose it will be a month before he will let you know everything."
"I think Mr. Haverford meant to speak to me this afternoon," Caroline said very hurriedly, "but we have had no chance as yet of any private conversation. He did tell me that I was right in supposing that I had a claim upon Mrs. Baynhurst, and he told me also a little about my mother, but that was all."
"Well, there doesn't seem very much to tell," said Mrs. Lancing, after a pause, "except that you have a certain small income of your own, which his mother, it appears, has kept entirely for herself all these years. I don't know that I ought to say very much about that sort of thing," said Camilla, with her half bitter laugh. "I am not so wonderfully straight and honest myself, and I hate throwing stones at anybody else. Still, I don't know that I should defraud a child, and that is what Mrs. Baynhurst did, and would have continued doing if she had not been in a bad temper one day, and turned you out of her house."
Caroline sat with her hands locked round one of her knees.
"I expect she did it because of Cuthbert," she said.
This remark seemed to rouse Mrs. Lancing.
"Oh, by the way, he is staying with the Bardolphs," she said; "it is the first time I have met him. You know he is a very handsome fellow, Caroline, and how clever! He sings enchantingly. Pam Bardolph is raving about him. He is painting her portrait. Did you ever know two men more unlike than he and Rupert?"
"Yes, they are very unlike," said Caroline.
Mrs. Lancing lay still a minute or two, and then she opened her eyes again and smiled at Caroline.
There was no light in the room, except the strong glow from the flames which shot up the chimney. From below they could hear the murmur of voices, and sometimes the excited laughter of the children.
"But you won't leave me just yet, will you?"
"I am afraid you will have to turn me out when you want to get rid of me," said Caroline. A moment later, in a low and moved voice, she said, "Do you imagine it would be so easy for me to separate myself from you and the children?"
The woman on the couch stretched out her hand, and Caroline stooped forward and took it in hers.
"I should like to think that you would stick to me, that you would never turn against me," she said, and her lips quivered.
Caroline's only answer was to tighten her hold on that slender hand. Then she rose and put a warmer wrap over Mrs. Lancing.
"Don't you think if I were to leave you now you would sleep? Perhaps I had better go downstairs again, and see what the children are doing. They may be getting into mischief and I am sure Babsy, dear little heart, must be nearly worn out."
And with some persuasion Mrs. Lancing assented to this. As she reached the big hall, Caroline met Rupert Haverford.
"Mrs. Lancing is resting. I have persuaded her to lie down. She wants to be well for dinner."
Rupert thanked her.
"I was just coming to look for you. The children are clamouring to know why 'Caroline' has vanished? So I volunteered to find her. Are you having a happy Christmas?" he asked, with a smile.
"I am happy altogether," Caroline answered him; "it is so wonderful to find that after all I have a little place of my own in the world, and that there are people who actually care to know what is passing with me."
They moved together through the big, comfortable hall to the room from whence issued a babel of voices and music and laughter.
"I want you to give me five minutes either to-day or to-morrow," said Haverford, in answer to this; and Caroline coloured hotly.
"Mrs. Lancing has just been telling me a little more about myself," she said nervously.
The warm colour in her cheeks was reflected in Rupert Haverford's face. His manner was rather abrupt, and his voice hard, as he said—
"I am sorry Camilla has spoken of this subject, for I particularly wished to broach it to you myself."
At that moment Betty caught sight of her, and Caroline had no opportunity of replying. The child rushed towards them; her cheeks were flaming, and her beautiful little head was crowned with a tinsel cap.
"Oh, you have found her!" she cried. "We have been wanting you ever such a lot, Caroline. Where have you been congregating to? Baby's beginning to make a nice noise. She's sitting on Aunty Brenny's knee now, saying that she feels like to cry." Then eagerly, "Caroline, I needn't go to bed yet, need I.... Say I needn't?"
Mrs. Brenton looked relieved to see Caroline. In her lap sat a very tired, a very cross, and much tumbled, lace-trimmed small person.
Caroline held out her arms.
"Come along, sweetheart, and Caroline will tell you a lovely story all to yourself."
"Shall I carry her?" Haverford asked.
Caroline shook her head.
"Oh no; she isn't a bit heavy!"
She closed her arms round her little charge. Baby rested her flushed cheek against the girl's pale one, and her tiny arms were tightly pressed round Caroline's neck.
As Haverford opened the door for her, Caroline gave him a bright little nod as she passed out.
"I think I shall say 'good night'" she said, "for I shall not come down again this evening. Baby wants to say 'good night' too, darling, don't you?"
Rupert Haverford stooped, and the child turned and kissed him fondly. His head was very close to Caroline; she noticed how crisply his brown hair curled just at the sides, and what fine brows he had. Baby refused to let him go—refused to be taken from Caroline's arms, and so, as the girl walked slowly up the stairs, Rupert Haverford followed close behind. He had hold of the child's small fingers over Caroline's shoulder; every now and then she felt the warm touch of his hand and wrist rest on her shoulder.
When the long corridor was reached, with babyish inconsequence, Caroline's small burden elected to go to his strong arms, and he carried her right into the nursery.
"Can you manage quite alone?" he asked, as this haven was reached, so cosy and quiet and warm. "Won't you have a maid or some one to help you?"
But Caroline shook her head, and so, with a parting kiss to the child, he turned away.
At the door he paused.
"If you see Camilla, will you say that I entreat her not to come down unless she is much better? I understand she sat up nearly all night with Lady Pamela, and she is not strong enough to do these sort of things. She wants nursing herself."
Caroline frowned sharply, and made no reply; indeed, she was so silent during the preparations for the bath that Baby made loud complaint; she wanted her story and her usual lullaby songs. It was long before the girl's composure returned to her.
As she sat rocking the sleepy child in front of the fire, she took herself to task a second time that day.
"This should be nothing to me; itcanbe nothing," she said. But she knew they were empty words, even as she whispered them to herself. Where these two people were concerned, she had passed far beyond the range of indifference.